CLUBLAND

Between a forlorn, rail-thin troubadour from Abilene TX and a Scottish quintet bursting with such washes of melodic gale-force volume as to be reckoned a force of nature, the show last Sunday night (March 11, 2012) at the Doug Fir was a marvelous study in contrast.

Micah P Hinson represents, in a sense, the joys and tribulations of being a singular talent on the great American landscape. As he has no record deal in this country right now, he has no label support and therefore could not afford to bring a band along on the tour. It is emblematic that it was the patronage of a band from the UK - where his popularity far outdistances that of his native land; his most recent record, Micah P Hinson & The Pioneer Saboteurs can be found in shops there but not here - that brought him before his adoring US fans, of which there were a fair number attending this night.

Dressed in drainpipe jeans the color of a western desert and sporting enormous white-framed glasses that couldn't help but suggest Buddy Holly in negative, he was a warm but enigmatic presence on stage, at once self-effacingly polite and gently acidic. Hinson's main weapon, aside from disarmingly honest songs, is his voice, a boy-next-door baritone, albeit a boy with some dark secrets, a boy that's done some livin'. Watching him, hearing him, it's hard to believe that that voice comes from such a slight frame. Regardless, it's to his great credit that my initial disappointment with his bandlessness was vanquished from the off. The moment he hard-strummed into 'Take Off That Dress' from the Saboteurs record, wielding a sticker-bedecked electrified Godin Seagull acoustic, it was a palm-of-the-hand deal. I've been a fan since the first record (The Gospel Of Progress) so this 6-string version of "You had me at hello" was no surprise. But I should think that even those less eager to see him live than I would have been easily won over. Hinson manages somehow to be both fidgety and comfortable at the same time, and as such his stage persona, though outwardly gawky, never lacked authority. Highlights included - oh hell, all eight songs in his quick set were highlights, but for special mention I'll city "2s & 3s," also from Saboteurs, "The Life, Living, Death And Dying Of A Certain And Particular L.J. Nichols" (his grandfather and introduced with the inclusion of a cousin a few feet from stage) and closer "God Is Good," a scathing paean to existential doubt in the face of overwhelming social pressure, the classic spiritual conundrum into which Hinson was thrust via the simple agency of his birth. Great set, glad I saw him, finally.

The Twilight Sad, I must admit, is new to me (my bad - 3 LPs, 3 EPs since their 1st in 2006 but better late than never), though new in that way that betokens great interest, excitement even. In short, I'd heard great things, both via reviews I'd read and what I'd actually heard on youtube. Such spirited anticipation was not unrewarded.

No live account of this band can avoid the volume question so let's address that straightaway. The Twilight Sad is loud. Very loud. Hinson mentioned it in the course of thanking them during his set, citing My Bloody Valentine and in fact not since seeing MBV in 1992 have I witness such a sonic hurricane of a show. But I knew this going in, as did most of those in attendance and nearly all of us had earplugs safely in place as the band hurled themselves into the business at hand.

It seems hard to believe but no band that I can think of offhand has yet to marry shoegaze's sheets of sound to post-punk's slightly icy, driving template of melody and passionate, full-of-portent vocals. Thankfully, The Twilight Sad are here to remedy that oversight. Earlier in their career they described their sound as "folk with layers of noise, " but in recent years such influences as Can, Cabaret Voltaire, PiL and Magazine have come to the fore and were immediately evident in opening song "Kill It" from recent album No One Can Ever Know. Had the suggestion of such influence escaped me sonically - though that's not likely given Andy MacFarlane's commanding, McGeoch-like dexterity on guitar and the haunting melodics of organ from hired hand Martin 'Dok' Dohery (The Sad are a trio in the studio) - it would certainly have been brought to mind by lead singer James Graham's manner of lurching around in a controlled epileptic passion, jerked by the power of the band behind him, conjuring images of Ian Curtis though, OK, not quite that tic-driven. The further they get into their set the more the singer's commitment to song reminded me of Billy Mackenzie of The Associates, another (sadly-missed) Scot with memorable lungs. At one point early on, though, MacFarlane's on his knees as if praying to the mic, which as it turned out was futile as said mic insisted on cutting out.

That issue hastily resolved, the band plowed with merciless, emotionally-charged efficiency through a 13-song set with the bulk of selections coming from No One... and previous album Forget The Night Ahead. Throughout, that profound sound of a band pulled from the heady height of 1979 through a early 90s reverb-soaked wall and into the full throat of the present never falters. Drummer Mark Devine, along with journeyman bassist Johnny Docherty, keep them steadily anchored to the stage while MacFarlane, with his shaved head, outlaw mustache and Jazzmaster-looking Fender (wasn't close enough to be any more precise) soars regularly - though economically - into the stratosphere, Graham rolls the occasional 'R' and pop epic after thundering crescendo flow past to appreciative roars from the audience.

By the end - a fitting closer called "Burnside" from Forget The Night Ahead - they have indeed reached a level that can only be described as punishingly (if enduringly, endearingly) loud and even a bit shrill with a touch of feedback blowing over some very pretty piano notes and the deliberate beat of a cymbal. It's a telltale moment. The Twilight Sad, through hard work and the absorption of disparate elements, have carved a unique niche in the current musical environment, faring quite deservedly well in this brave new world of zip file mp3 hear-it-on-your-iPhone temporality. The band, in the end, make an inspiring racket that is decidedly outside all that. Soaring and shamelessly intense, this is a music from before the internet. Thank you, Twilight Sad.