Show Review: Radars To the Sky Record Release Show at Spaceland (8/26/10)

by Brad Roberts

 

The night of the Radars To the Sky CD release will forever remain as difficult to remember as it is hard to forget. (all photos courtesy of Carl Pocket from their Feb. Echoplex show. There are no photographic records of last Thursday night) I'm not certain whether I'm reviewing a concert or a party. I remember I got to Spaceland early, around 9:40, as I wanted to be sure to catch Seamus Simpson's new band, Smokers in Love. And, indeed, the club was bouncing already, as Simpson's searing guitar was matched by Mitch Powers' roaring bass guitar and Tom Goodale quaking drums delivering an early knock out blow. Pure, raucous, garage punk came flooding out of them in a squall of noise, with Seamus displaying a swaggering self confidence as he growls and howls out his songs, all the while shredding his frenzied guitar.

 

I looked around and realized among the scattered figures on the floor that I knew pretty much everyone there. As I moved around the club, all I could see were band members and bloggers and I was struck all at once with the sense that this was what I have been working for. When I first got into local music, I'd go out and see this incredible camaraderie among the audiences and bands and feel like a kid with his nose pressed up against the window of a candy store.

 

Now, a few years, a few hundred concerts and a few thousand words later, not only does the scene surround me, it has swallowed me up. Walking through Spaceland Thursday night (August 26), was like a private party. I felt like Harvey Keitel in that hypnotic scene with the roving camera from Mean Streets, when he walks through his local bar, greeting everybody he knows, accompanied by "Tell Me" by The Rolling Stones.

 

 

Everybody was in a party mood, maybe because Radars To the Sky are beloved members of the community and everyone wanted to show them some love. As Smokers in Love finished their blazing set and Kevin (Buzzbands) Bronson DJ'd from the corner, I got caught up in a gaggle of music bloggers from the long-unseen Mouse (Classical Geek Theatre) to the roving reporter Travis (Web In Front), to everyone's favorite new voice, Greg (The 704) along with my RFSL colleagues, Kathryn and Joel...and Seamus.

 

Death To Anders were up next and, I have to say, this had to be one of their best sets ever. Rob Danson's (seen at left) diabolical love letter to L.A., "Please Be Honest" opened the set, with a simple two person arrangement which really allowed Rob's punchy and ironic lyrics to shine. Various configurations of the band continued to morph and condense with each new song giving the set a casual and fluid context.

 

As they tore through "Handshakes and Earthquakes" and "Camera Lens" with their twisted dime novel narratives that often begin with someone dead and someone else with blood on their hands, and end with a criminal defense. Maybe Rob was a trial lawyer in a previous life. The addition of Andrew (Radars To the Sky) Spitzer has been a perfect fit for this band, as his impassioned guitar and voice are a perfect foil for Rob and elevate the vocals into something quite beautiful, while keeping the razor sharp edges of the compositions intact.

 

As the set progressed the frenzy factor increased, partly fed by the audiences ecstatic reaction, culminating in the spectacle of guest artist/former band mate, Nick Ceglio, who could have been arrested for assaulting a tambourine (at least it fought back).

 

Though I practiced mild restraint, I have to admit to having a few drinks (the festive atmosphere and all), and coupled with exhaustion from my radio debut the night before, it all amplified the effects of everything. The place was packed by this time and everyone was in the same frame of mind.

 

I've been seeing Radars To the Sky for a few years now and I've watched them hone their very best material to a fine sharp edge, and now they've committed to vinyl...or plastic...or whatever, a permanent record of these songs. I only got the CD, Supra / Infra, at the show and listening to it the last few days necessarily reflects back onto the live show.

 

Hearing this beautifully produced record, where each song creates a pang in my heart because it is so familiar, and sounds so good here, I almost feel like a proud parent. And that brings me back to their performance Thursday night. As wonderful an addition to Death To Anders as Andrew is, Rob Danson brings to Radars To the Sky an equal contribution showcasing his guitar skills as well as his exhaust pipe voice. Don't you sometimes think he sounds like a car with a loose and rusty muffler...that's gargling?

 

After delivering a powerhouse performance with D. to A., Andrew did it again as leader of Radars To the Sky, aided immeasurably by Kate Spitzer's (below) increased, and welcome, presence as keyboardist/singer. Indeed, her vocals contribute to the music, and the band's, duality: Andrew's shards of glass wrapped up in Kate's soft lace.

 

Andrew's stream-of-consciousness lyrics sound like unedited diary entries, blurted out loud and brutally honest. "See my ghost, 16 years old, and my reflection next to it cries, 'You look like shit!'". Kate is also capable of a similar frankness as evidenced in "Nine Months" when she sings, "For nine months I needed you just once to care, I could not find you anywhere". The set was inspired and celebratory.

 

O.K., here's the point when things get hazy, and I'm not going to name names, or single anyone out, but being this side of drunk and disorderly, I got to witness some amusing spectacles...and remember them...as, for once, I was on this side of that great divide. But exhaustion was taking it's toll.

 

The Henry Clay People went on sometime after midnight and colors and sounds begin to blur as they took off without a set list. Playing a glorious, sloppy mess of a set, they were wonderful. There is no other band that gets away with this as well as these guys, and they play their heads off. Joey and Andy were bouncing all over the stage like the balls in a pinball machine, ricocheting off of each other...and out into the audience, and no matter how out of control it got, the songs always came out right.

 

They fielded audience requests, and played whatever popped into their heads and blurred the line between audience and performer till we all became one. It's a pretty heady experience. The Henry Clay People may sing, "this ain't a scene", but I think they are wrong, and I think they know it.

 

I careened out into the night before they were done, but I could see where they were headed. Off down Silver Lake Boulevard I went to find a Sunset bus. Home. Bed. End.
 

Comments

[L.G.]

You're full of it, Roberts. You were the drunkest, most disorderly man in the room that night. "Sunset bus"? Please. They had to carry you out on a stretcher.