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Empty bottles that once held Miller High Life and translucent plastic cups litter the front of the stage at One Eyed Jack’s, remnants of the last set, played by Twin Shadows. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart clamber on stage to their instruments, and though an awed hush fails to fall over the crowd, the dissonant distant sound, like an orchestra just beginning to hum, refuses to let up. The locals, confused, crowd the stage, and as the first song begins, they move with practiced efficiency: side-to-side, small dance-like movements, timid at first.
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart are that kind of band; they play what my father and Frances McDormand in Almost Famous would call “pothead music.” They play with a kind of methodical musical filibustering, long tracks with obscure lyrical meanings, words hidden under profound and booming drums and distorted keyboard synthesizer notes, and somewhere in the back of my mind, the part of me that is my father is asking, “How do they play with all that hair in their eyes?”
The answer is “Well. Very well indeed.” Each note is in its place, and The Pains’ composition is delicious. This is the first time I’ve heard any of their material in years, since some of their earliest stuff first passed across my desk in the KLSU offices, and we sat in the basement like cave dwellers and said, “Yeah, yeah; this is pretty good.” Following an opening song that displays a familiarity and comfort with the more emotionally resonant side of the indie scene, they begin to break their selection down into the heavier side of things, with a perfectly balanced abundance of minor chords, as the lead singer’s innocent but strong voice warbles with sincerity, a grin plastered across his face, as he scans the front row and locks eyes with each entranced listener, and like the Mona Lisa, wherever you stand, it’s like he’s smiling at no one but you. The bar’s staff photographer floats about in the midst of this revelry, jutting into the groups of twenty-somethings to get that perfect snapshot for the website, as the band’s second song begins, playing with a melody that seems oddly reminiscent of The Shout Out Louds’ “Show Me Something New,” but quickly shifts gears into something that is altogether different: less groundlessly upbeat, but more honest, not to mention infinitely more dance-worthy.
There are five people in the band, and like many indie bands seeking that illustrious and ephemeral crossover credibility these days, they have a female keyboardist, whose fingers dance across a stubby red mini. After the show, the lead singer will tell me, over a vodka soda, that she and I are comrades in arms: she is a former WTUL DJ. But for now she is just a part of the ensemble, and she, like her current compatriots, plays her instrument with obvious love, manipulating each faux-ivory key with dexterity and aplomb.
The set ends, surprisingly soon, and The Pains file off the stage to thunderous applause. This is not their usual crowd, and they are not this crowd’s usual band. It’s a Thursday, and the natives who come for 80’s Night rarely respond with such enthusiasm to having to postpone their dance party. Tonight, they call for an encore, with nothing but sincerity, their bodies still moving in time to the ringing in their ears, and The Pains of Being Pure at Heart are happy to oblige. In a few minutes, the “La Isla Bonita” will filter through the speakers, and Red Dawn will play on the screen between the statuesque go-go dancers, but for now, right now, all the people want is one more song, and The Pains refuse to let them down.
Mark “Boomer” Redmond is a former KLSU DJ, writer, and graduate student at the University of New Orleans. He currently lives in the Bywater with a cat named Murderface. He can be reached at boomerklsu@gmail.com.
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