Show Review

Bishop Allen is a DIY paragon, though it’s hard to imagine how much longer they will be without an unforgiving swarm of courting record labels. Releasing 2003’s Charm School entirely on their own dime from their office-job savings, the band has cast a wide tour swath, blanketing most of the country and visiting most spots twice. San Francisco appears to be a favorite of the band – they have visited four times in various venues. As if we deserved it.

Given their herculean touring history, I anticipated an impervious, grizzled group of veterans that would hit the stage screaming and dancing right away. I was reminded, though, that not all bands are so effusive and many need some time to get used to their surroundings. The show started slow: there were some issues with a guitar, and they had to borrow one from opening band We Are Scientists. * After this speed bump, it took them awhile to get into a groove; their timing was off and they seemed slightly withdrawn from their songs. But, like your beloved first car, the band just needed a little while to warm up. When they did, inertia took over. Each song was an improvement on the one before it, with remarkably strong harmonies adding a pillowed background to the charged instrumentation. It was almost as if the sweat of a stage show was the spinach to their musical Popeye.

It’s not hard to like Bishop Allen’s music. Most of the songs they played were from Charm School, which makes sense, as it is the only record they’ve released thus far. The album is one of those front-to-back wonders; quirky guitar, eclectic background vocals and gentle choruses that start with “We were throwing furniture off the roof…” draw an immediate line in the sand between Bishop Allen and every other band out there. You find yourself singing along to it the second time you hear it—so ensconced do the eccentric cadences become in your head. The songs are each charmingly off-kilter, and collectively they form the album equivalent of that irregular shirt you bought at a thrift store and wear more than anything else in your closet. Their music has sometimes reminded me The Presidents of the United States of America, but a direct comparison is misleading because of the uniqueness of their sound.

Songs like “Things Are What You Make of Them” and “Empire City” got the crowd started at this show, but “Busted Heart” was the break point in the show. All four members of the band --Justin Rice, Christian Rudder, Christian Owens and Jack Delamitraux --seemed to begin to play from the same central nervous system. Everything was entirely in synch: hands hit the strings at the same time, heads tilted to the mike on cue. Taking a step back, though, you could see the stark differences between them.

Owens, the lone lady of the crew, hits her bass with concentration and reserve, and adds some welcome female background vocals. Justin Rice adds the acoustic guitar and lead vocals--he sounds like a modern and nuanced Ray Davies with a touch of David Byrne’s convulsive stage antics. Rice looks comfortably possessed on stage, the words of his lyrics released in what looks to be a rapturous dry-heave of mixed emotions. Guitarist Christian Rudder balances the more intense, apoplectic Rice with a blithe pep in his step and a smile on his face. He’s clearly the can-do component of the foursome, the straight man that balances Rice’s irreverent stylings. His electric guitar is the keystone of the band’s sound—simple, twanging and impeccably timed. Rounding out the band is drummer Jack Delamitraux--any change and any inspiration for new direction came through him, almost as if he were the wise sage of BA.

One thing was lacking from the show – interaction with the crowd. The show was a relatively short one and the band only spoke a few times during that time, almost sheepishly. Clearly the music spoke for itself, but with all of its inherent personality, the audience expects some of that personality out of its purveyors. And while BA didn’t seem in any hurry to go, they certainly didn’t seem to want to stick around all that much either. When bands rely almost exclusively on word of mouth to get their music out, it helps to add some spice to the show. Bishop Allen’s work onstage was yeoman-like, but it would’ve been nice to see a bit of a clown or a storyteller up there as well.

On the whole, though, a live Bishop Allen show further buoys the belief that complete independence fosters unfettered musical creativity. And their music drives home a cliché that’s as true as it is trite – if you want something done right, do it yourself.

* I would recommend We Are Scientists’ music. I would strongly recommend their website, however, which is hilarious. Check out the review page, which offers opinions on everything from gas station marketing to the color of snack cheese. The music is good; the comedy is better.

Photos by Allison Smith at Bishop Allen.com.