Surfer Blood / Japandroids

Detained at the border for something like three hours because of too much merch (that’s right, Canada, you can keep your tee-shirts and cheap vinyl), Little Girls opted not to show, leaving more time to antsily drink, warm, and buzz in anticipation of similarly slurred garage rock; appropriately, the Holocene somewhat resembles a garage and the crappy Fender amps lugged on stage looked as if they were haphazardly stored in a garage. Just as my patience began to wear as thin as my blood, four young guys and some huge love-child of Bradford Cox and Dan Bejar emerged from the back-corral. Fresh-faced doesn’t even begin to describe Surfer Blood: their cheeks look eternally untouched by acne, pretty and hairless and predisposed to erythematic chiaroscuro between porcelain whiteness and virgin red—except for the aforementioned scarecrow twice my height and half my waist-size, while captivating on a series of woodblocks and non-guitars, I became worried about his electrolytes and never actually saw his face through the palm tree of frizz continuously erupting from his scalp. They ran smiling through almost all of their upcoming, invigoratingly excellent Astro Coast and I couldn’t help but agree with everything I’d heard pre-show: that they sounded great. That is how they sounded, they sounded unadorned, practiced, capable of writing ten more songs exactly alike and as good as their debut. The lead singer was wearing the same shoes I am wearing at this very moment.

Meanwhile, Dave From Japandroids was frequently crossing the floor, from stage left to bar and back, with whiskey shots. Brian From Japandroids was ceaselessly flirting with the girl working the soundboards for the small room—which isn’t a bad thing, just obvious, partly because she was attractive but also because Brian From Japandroids seems like the type of Drunk Bro to hold up an already late show by taking forever to set up their fucking amp-and-kit no-brainer because he is using all functioning ken to conspicuously brush against said soundperson’s cardigan. When the duo did eventually begin, Brian From Japandroids declared proudly that they were wasted when they got there and that the Monday night would be treated as a Friday night and only a few shows were left in the tour so let’s get crazy and belligerent and so on. What followed was just as obvious as Brian From Japandroids’ libido and alcoholism: atonal, simplistic, one-chord screamo buttered up by futile loudness and standing-on-the-kickdrum-ness, too impressed with itself to notice me walking out after two songs.