“It’s hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sock up here.” Frog Eyes frontman Carey Mercer’s introduction was hilariously endearing, but I don’t think he has spent enough time in Toronto during armpit season to truly appreciate how sticky it can get inside the Horseshoe, even with the A/C on.
Humidex disparities aside, Mercer’s between-song banter provided welcome sonic breathing space for fully absorbing the crackling density of Frog Eyes’ music. This was especially helpful considering Frog Eyes dropped a healthy slab of new material on their eager audience. The new music lurches about with more variety than even before, balancing Mercer’s unhinged guitar work with the calculated patterns of Melanie Campbell’s idiosyncratic drumming. Though they only played a few tracks from last year’s excellent Tears of the Valedictorian (“Idle Songs”, “Reform Your Countryside” and the reworked “Policy Merchant 2: Ah Shit Man” in particular) the crowd was more than happy to indulge the band’s ongoing evolution.
But it was already a night for tremendously affected vocals. Shearwater opened their set with Jonathan Meiburg’s lengthy a capella intro — which on the self-importance scale (ranging from 1 to Conor Oberst) is right up there around Van Morrison’s performance in The Last Waltz.
No, wait, I promised myself I wouldn’t be too hard on Shearwater. I’m impressed that Meiburg saw the light and left Will Sheff to his own (overwrought literary) devices in Okkervil River. Shearwater’s imaginative arrangements are far more engaging than Okkervil River, and I can’t even fathom how Meiburg’s grandiose presence remained so disappointingly restrained in his former band. Clarinet-accompanied stories about visiting the Museum of Natural History in New York aside, Shearwater played a set worthy of a headliner — which is likely why they treated the crowd to an extra couple tunes.
Where Frog Eyes and Shearwater dominated the evening in intensity and precision, Oklahoma’s Evangelicals left a lasting impression through sheer enthusiasm. Not only do they travel with their own smoke machine, flood lights and strobes, but they have that rare talent to carelessly flail about while nailing absolutely everything. Besides they are one of the best bands at playing to 20 people like it was a full-on festival — even though this evening they attracted far more bodies than their last El Mocambo appearance (and girls too — no sausage party tonight). Leading off the evening’s course in vocal 101, singer/guitarist Josh Jones steered the band through the best Rufus-Wainwright-sings-In A Priest-Driven Ambulance-on-acid impression this side of Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots on Broadway.