Dark Dark Dark / Pillars and Tongues / Cross Record

It is a dim, dim, dim cloud that hangs over those last dates-slash-locations on a band’s tour line-up: every-day wear and tear; the bleak undercurrent of “we all just want to get home” impatience; the basic friction incurred from being stuck with each other so long. Bands have touring expiration dates that sometimes exceed or are exceeded by the dates booked and posted—you just have to cross your fingers that you’ll get a fiery last hurrah over a sullen, sore, and un-showered “mmph” of a last performance. Or, cross your fingers that they’ll still be a band united by the time the last dates roll around. (Hi, Women, Wolf Parade, etc.)

So when I saw Dark Dark Dark’s posted date at the Hideout as one of the last on their long-winded tour, I had a moment of pause and finger-crossing before encouraging a friend to come bear witness to what, based on last year’s performance, I hoped would be a blisteringly awesome show. That is, if the road didn’t get to them first.

Now, last I saw Dark Dark Dark, they were a moody collective with a solo, stoic female vocalist opening the act all alone with her big guitar. So I was expecting something a little more laid back. This year, however, the two openers could not have been more fresh of face and deeply, deeply in love with being on the stage.

Cross Record, the local first opener, was headed by a Cat-Power-voiced little pea-sized girl with a heart-shaped face and charming way of climbing and maneuvering around and under her two, long-limbed, redwood-high hipster backup guys, one with moppish hair in an adorable sweater and the other looking like his mom dressed him for his first interview at a Circle K. It was adora-buh-buh-ble, right down to the way they scampered around each other to take turns singing into the single loop machine mic and share the oboe and two— two!—clarinets. Unfortunately their execution was a bit muddled, with no discernible beginning and few discernible songs. They initially began feeding and layering voices to a loop machine, strumming into it, while it looked like the other guy was still tuning up. It wasn’t certain when the first song started, or if it was a song at all, until it was over and we were like “Oh wait. Oh okay, that was a song, what they were just doing there?” As the set progressed, their execution (and adorableness) continued to be more on display than their songwriting—or even “music”—though ending the set with a clarinet duet was ballsy, if baffling and altogether anti-climactic.

The second opener was another trio, Pillars and Tongues, with a tall, willowy guy going at it kinda inappropriately with his upright bass, a girl immersed in her fiddle, and a bearded mountain-man version of Brian Weitz rapturously squeezing at his harmonium. But for all the eyes-pinched-shut bliss going on, Pillars and Tongues were primarily focused on…playing the same note. Together. For a long time. For a really long time. With chords held for a grueling 20 measures or so, it was kind of like the less interesting moments of a Grizzly Bear harmony drawn out into a whole song. And then drawn out into a whole set. Having brought a friend who’d never seen Dark Dark Dark or been to the Hideout before, I was forking up mad fliff for beers, coming up with vintage sweater jokes, and basically doing my best to keep up morale and keep her from suggesting we duck out early. Though by “early” I mean “midnight,” when Dark Dark Dark’s maudlin entourage assembled on stage.

And instantly Dark Dark Dark made it all worth it. Though looking a little worn around the edges, they dug deep and unearthed a kind of magical showmanship that rattled loose all grocery shopping lists I’d been boredly constructing in my head over the preceding couple hours. With back-up singers and a fully fleshed-out band, it really was like the circus came to town. And I mean that in the best way possible. Marshall LaCourt’s exuberance is always a nice contrast to Nona Marie Invie’s melodramatic, occasionally withdrawn stage focus, and that night it was most exceptionally busting out during his feature song, “Heavy Heart,” when he flipped his electric banjo—yeah, you heard—to “electric” and fucking wailed.

Nona was on the keyboard and accordion intermittently, plugging away at new songs like “Celebrate” (nothing like the wedding reception song you’re thinking of), staying preserved in her bubble of focus despite the tedious outcry of token drunk heckler guy, whom no one was taking responsibility for at that point, shouting, “DRY BONES!” between each goddamn song. Then one time he punctuated his request with a slightly more charming “Dark Dark Dark all up in this bitch!”

As much as I like the Hideout itself, I have a few minor complaints or grievances in general. See, I have a difficult time realizing I have nowhere near as many vintage knit pieces on as I should (even in summer! how do they do it?). Nor do I possess the group mind meld going on. Even during the most intolerably long, monotone “song,” there was a wave of blossoming, enthralled head-nodding. But despite this hive mind of support going on, these kids with their freaky-low body temperatures can really half-ass it towards the end of the night. And this night was no different. When Dark Dark Dark stopped playing, they seemed to lose their solidarity, not even giving the band a due encore cheer. Or a convincing one, until the band outright asked if they wanted to hear another song—to a resounding roar of encouragement.

The audience, they’re a quiet, dread-locked people, but their hearts seemed to be in the right place. And though we never heard “Junk Bones,” Nona consented to take a seat behind the keyboard for one last song: a scintillating solo version of “Wandering Man.” The only person who left disappointed was the dude who apparently came to hear a song he didn’t know the title of. Even broken clocks are right twice a day though, and drunk guy did have one good point: Dark Dark Dark was, with ringing affirmation, all up in that bitch.