Seattlest Should Have Had a V8
Or we should have gone to see Brand Upon the Brain. Or stayed home to watch 30 Rock. Even Dancing with the Stars probably would have been more exciting than last night's show at Neumo's. Normally, we'd side with Donte, but we're going to have to go with Eric Grandy over at the Stranger on this one: Project Jenny, Project Jan fucking sucked. Perhaps they were casualties of a nearly empty house, which seemed odd considering that doors opened at 9 instead of 8, and they didn't even go on until after 10, all of which may have had something to do with the absence of Dirty Projectors. Regardless, their music was flat and uninspired. We went expecting dorky raps with handclaps and cowbell--maybe a smaller-scale Scissor Sisters--and after just one song spent the set chatting with another Seattlest contributor over beers back at the bar as the monotonous beats drizzled in from the main room. We agreed that maybe if we'd stumbled into their set a bit tipsy with a full crowd, we could have gotten into it, but weren't certain even that would save them.
Thankfully, people had finally started filling the main room as Fujiya and Miyagi set up, so the tumbleweed was no longer drifting about and we expected a fairly good show. It was still roomy enough that we pulled up to the railing on the mezzanine just as they started into "Ankle Injuries," the first song on their most recent release, Transparent Things. OK, but nothing overwhelming. Next, into "Sucker Punch." They sounded oddly similar. No chit-chat or contact with the audience, and zero energy on stage. That's when we thought, Why was David Best whispering the whole time? His vocals on the disc are understated, but clear and precise. Then they slide right into "Photocopier," it too sounds just like the previous songs and oh god he's still forcefully whispering all the lyrics.
It felt like we were watching a rehearsal in their basement; a sad, robotic run-through of their album with no new creative touches or adjustments. The pacing on all songs was the same, the levels flat and muddy. Was it a sound engineer problem? Likely not. They seemed tired, or perhaps nervous. Gone were the punchy, bouncy arrangements over lumbering beats and bass lines that made this album one of our road-trip staples this summer. What should have been a room full of funky dancing people was just a sea of polite, bobbing heads (and in this instance we're not blaming that on lame-o, hipster Seattle crowds). One more song, yep he's still whispering. And so we went home, unable to face the prospect of them butchering "In One Ear and Out the Other," our favorite song on the disc.
