Ra Ra Riot, Walter Meego, Pepi Ginsberg and the Letter Division
September 14, 2008
The Jackpot Music Hall
Better than: Drinking a Heineken at home.
By CRYSTAL K. WIEBE
Four acts is a lot for a Sunday night, especially a show that doesn’t kick off until after 9 p.m. Or maybe I’m just old and jealous of all the KU students who got to walk home from the Jackpot last night while I had to drive on back to Kansas City. Regardless, the line-up of three touring bands and one local group was worth the sacrifice of sleep.
Lawrence boys the Letter Division opened the show with some geekiness. While he waited for a couple of his band members to get onstage, singer Caleb Goellner regaled the crowd of about 20 with the tale of the Mego toy company, which stupidly passed up the chance to make Star Wars action figures back in the day. Goellner (also a Pitch contributor) would continue to toss out such random facts – and get chided by the rest of his band – between angsty songs with names like “Exterminate All Humans.”
Goellner is new to the Letter Division, having parted ways recently with the slightly heavier Roanoke. His high voice and calisthenic-style dancing suits his new band better.
More after the jump.
The most underrated act of the night followed. It was the kind of performance that should have taken place at one of Lawrence’s many coffee houses – or at least just not immediately after the Letter Divison’s emo explosions. Pepi Ginsberg, a brunette gal took the stage alone, electric guitar in hand. She sang indie folk songs with a pained expression. I couldn’t tell if she was just feeling her own words deeply or if she was depressed that most of the crowd wandered to the bar or outside for her set. This line stuck out to me: “Coca cola, have another. It’s on me.”
Walter Meego was on next. My pal Richard informed me that Heineken uses one of the Chicago band’s songs in a commercial. The song is called “Forever,” and the chorus goes, “I could make you excited.” Unfortunately, Walter Meego did not make me excited. I’d classify most of the set as synthesizer shoegaze. The band consisted of three guys -- one who always sang (and who looked like Viggo Mortensen), one who almost always played guitar and a third guy who turned a lot of dials. Sometimes they all twisted dials and pressed keys. I hoped all this emphasis on electronica would inspire a dance party – the band DJ sure was bopping and grooving – but everyone in the crowd just kinda stood there for a bunch of hookless, shallow love songs. The high point of the performance for me was a shrill guitar solo right at the end – finally, the music has built up to something. Nevertheless, the people at the merch table (who were themselves practically asleep during the set) got swamped when Walter Meego finished. Maybe I just don’t get it.
The dance party happened for Ra Ra Riot, a highly buzzed and lively group from Syracuse, New York, that weaves a joyful noise through tambourines, guitars, keyboards, drums, violin and cello. Most of the bar poured toward the stage for the set. Fratty-looking guys in polo shirts grinned big and nodded their heads alongside chicks decked out in their indie rock finest – short skirts, tall socks, head bands and fancy hats. Ra Ra Riot is one of those bands that makes music creation look so easy and fun. The whole band seemed to smile, eyes on each other, through a set of bustling tunes that were fresh, folksy and often somehow both mournful and uplifting. The emotional depth of the music is related to the band’s biography, specifically the death of member John Pike. His spirit seemed evident in such lines as, “If you were here, winter would not pass so slow.” Frontman Wesley Miles sang in a soft, high, sweet voice, one hand always gripping the mic stand as if for support. But he never appeared sad, and the dancing inspired on the floor extended to the stage, as well. Toward the end, Miles held up a handful of twisted instrument cords and announced, “We’ve got some spaghetti going here.”
Random detail: During Walter Meego’s Heineken song, a pretty college student turned to me and said, “Yeah, I like the Cure a lot, too.”
Personal bias: Half of the Letter Division used to get bossed around by my dog at a local t-shirt company.
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