Head of Femur/The Mendoza Line, Second Story 3.24.2006

While waiting in line for the first of what would be many beers at Bloomington’s Second Story on Friday evening, I asked the bartender if he knew in which order the bands, Head of Femur and The Mendoza Line, would be playing. He didn’t know, but the girl in line behind me did, and she affirmed that Head of Femur would be opening. I mentioned that it might be interesting to see how the crowd would react to the bright, boisterous sound of Head of Femur followed by the relatively slower, quieter music of The Mendoza Line.

The girl came back with something along the lines of “you’d be surprised”, at which point I realized, somewhat embarrassingly, that she was in fact Shannon McArdle, one-half of the singing/songwriting duo at the core of the headlining band. She was surprisingly cool at my complete ignorance of both their music and physical appearance, and even informed me that the Harp beer I was drinking was made in the same part of Ireland from which her family originates. Truth be told, I was there that night more for Head of Femur, and generally because I’ll hit up any name concert that comes through Bloomington–we’re not exactly Chicago. But I’d listened to the Mendoza Line before, I just couldn’t remember anything about them other than “We’re All In this Alone”, which I’d downloaded a long time ago, or the vaguely political new album Full of Light and Full of Fire, which I’d listened to somewhere. So I had nothing insightful to say to her other than “thanks for coming to Bloomington”, which I meant.

Head of Femur (seen above) took the stage soon after local dumbass Indy band Big Big Car finished their opening set, and impressed me with the live interpretations of the songs that I’d liked so much from last year’s Hysterical Stars. They’re kind of like a modern, American pub-rock band—updating the shambling, ultra-poppy textures of Thunderclap Newman and Nick Lowe’s Brinsley Schwarz—but one that offers intricately phrased melodies (keyboards courtesy of Tyson Thurston, ex-Commander Venus) supporting the wonderous, plaintive-but-powerful voice of lead singer Matt Focht, whose distinct presence was assisted by a killer afro.

Their performance was assured and tight, although they totally didn’t play “Ringodom or Proctor” (mp3), easily one of last year’s best singles. The crowd was predictably sparse but very energetic, populated mostly by groups of friends ostensibly looking for something to do on a Friday night. This manifested itself in lots of annoying group circle jumping/dancing-while-holding-hands, and one girl who had split from her friends and was dancing, alone but fervently, in front of us. She repeatedly tried to recruit the two girls I attended with, my girlfriend Forrest and best friend Jolie, to no avail. More on her later.

At some point during their set, I ran into McArdle at the bar again, by which point I’d remembered her activity in the group Slow Dazzle, whose record I’d listened to and enjoyed last year. I boldly and lamely tried to regain my credibility by asking if the name came from the John Cale record, which she smiled and affirmed. I think I thanked her for coming to Bloomington again, but I don’t remember.The Mendoza Line finally made it to the stage at about 12:30, by which time the crowd had thinned a bit, leaving those remaining in a state of not-sobriety. There was thus little patience during the band’s slower numbers, which were nicely delivered (McArdle has a beautiful voice, recalling Hope Sandoval at times) but generally received in a state of distraction. I learned that the Mendoza Line are not as gloomy as their name would seem to dictate, nor are they as haute as their appearance would seem to indicate. They play clean, twangy and rootsy Americana pop that takes some concentration to appreciate–it’s unassuming enough to slide by unnoticed.

After the first two songs, a drunk from the back of the room yelled “tell us a joke”, to which McArdle responded by relating her experience the night before in a Columbus, Ohio hotel bathroom, when she slipped and fell (or something—I was about 5 beers deep at this point myself) and slightly injured herself. Timothy Bracy, looking very much like Spoon bassist Josh Zarbo, mentioned something about his subsequent chivalrous response—he got her a new room, or let her sleep in his, or something. This sort of give and take between the two leads permeated the band’s performance after the midway mark, when they decided against following the setlist and began playing whatever came to mind. This may or may not have included “Catch a Collapsing Star” from the new record (mp3), I don’t quite remember. I do remember McArdle shooting glances at Bracy that could be read many ways, but which I took as severe sexual tension, because that makes things more interesting between two remarkably attractive people, which these two clearly are: Regardless, there was an insider air that permeated the otherwise solidly delivered performance, which itself was probably a reaction to the crowd’s drunken annoyingness and general apathy. Which brings me back to the lone dancing girl. Turns out she was super drunk, drunker than she needed to be, and totally puked all over the place. And of course, I took a picture:

Filed under: bloomingtopia  concert  Head of Femur  Mendoza Line  Second Story