Listening to either The Airing of Grievances or The Monitor, one could assume Titus Andronicus would be a very good live band. The indie-punk quintet, (which begs the question of when it became necessary to distinguish punk bands as independent with regards to label or sound) produces albums with at least three catchy songs, the rest being comparatively drab as far as hooks and three chord progressions go. Yet the other nine songs, give or take, on each of these albums have the same vaguely spiritual energy of any of the so-called hits.
However, 45 minutes of screaming lo-fi guitar and affected singing by Patrick Stickles might give the impression that these guys (plus one girl) can cure cancers at their concerts.
As the build-up suggests, they can’t play a full set. Which is OK. Because there were moments of the Titus Andronicus show from last weekend at the little club called Slim’s which were better than anything on their album. There were moments of the show which caused massive amounts of blinking and induced awe-struck thoughts such as: “Did they just do that?”
One of these fine songs/moments, was the opening tune “A More Perfect Union.” The first cut off the band’s The Monitor, an American Civil War concept album (those five words being awe-inspring themselves), “Union” raised the stakes with its Springsteen-inspired cry, “Tramps like us, baby we were born to die.”
The band hails from Glen Rock, New Jersey-town and state being of heraldic import, not just because of the E Street influence, but also because lead singer Stickles introduced, interrupted or dedicated songs with thoughts and well-wishes for his home town/state and his fellow Jerseyans multiple times. This filled up a good portion of the hour and a half set, which started comically early. The all-ages concert, combined with a school night, made for a 9 pm start and 10:30 pm finish, which was perfectly OK with the delegation of graying and grumpy looking men in their late 40s.
Stickles and company proceeded to energetically and voraciously tear through chunks of their first album, full of literary allusions rather than historical ones, like “Albert Camus” and “Upon Viewing Breughel’s ‘Landscape with the Fall of Icarus.'” All of which was fine (but not the permissive fines, more like fine in the sense of very good Dijon mustard or a person particularly deserving of a cat-call).
Just at such a moment, Stickles, the bastard, took a moment away from the music to issue an apology to the event staff at Slim’s for a bit of hysteria he had and grief he gave them during soundcheck, which was completely unnecessary, of course, because the event staff at Slim’s are nice people. Regardless, it was OK. Except Stickles’s manic, depressive, Joosed-up-Conor Oberst-self extended into the cyclical apology to staff, then band, then audience going for five minutes.
Well, eventually he got started again-playing, not apologizing that is-and all was well again in the land of Titus Andronicus. There was a fair amount of slaughtering of the sound of course, but that was to be expected with this brand of lo-fi, indie punk rock. Atmospheric distortion might as well have been playing on loop like a David Lynch film. Yet the band seemed to run out of steam again a mere 20 minutes later, not only for extended interruptions, dedications and requests for room and board for the evening, but also for other unfathomable reasons. Perhaps the rest of the band should’ve taken a cue from rhythm guitarist Amy Klein, who was all pep, smiles and dance-hopping, rather than their continual course of tortured playing.
But for all these varying waves of energy, Titus Andronicus capped off the night with a brilliant stroke of experimental madness with this: a rendition of “John Brown’s Body” (or “Battle Hymn of the Republic” or “Jesus Can’t Play Rugby,” depending on whichever update of the classic you prefer) mixed with an unnamed original Titus tune, with Chuck Berry solo in the middle. Madness, awe and blinking ensued. If only they could do that for two full hours …