Good God, it was hot. So hot that the first words out of Bob Weston's mouth were "Jeepers, it's hot," long before they started playing and actually broke a sweat. And sweat they did. This being the second of Shellac's first three shows in Texas ever, both the crowd and the band were a bit rabid. Shellac were devastating: Todd Trainer is probably the most delibrate drummer I've ever seen, staring down the crash cymbal for seconds before he hit it; Weston played bass like a pissed off giant; and The Asshole himself was in full regalia with his way too tight jeans, Chuck Taylors, "I Love Gambling" indian t-shirt, sweat-covered circles for glasses and spasmic jerks. Truly, I couldn't have asked for more. It felt heavy like this had been 15 years coming and Shellac was fucking delivering. I was all hyped up. I wanted to hear "My Black Ass" so bad. Then I heard it about 3 songs in. And everything went to shit. Now I had nothing to look forward to. They just played my favorite Shellac song. Everything began to blend together. I stopped caring. Unfortunately, the band kept playing. For, like, an hour and twenty minutes. I quickly grew from loving this band live to hating them and cursing them for writing the same song thousands upon thousands of times. I rejoiced when Albini needed to re-tune his guitar, prompting the first Q&A session. Something to break the monotony. But they started playing again until Albini broke a string and had another Q&A session. The questions this time were worse and not as interesting. They started to play once more, for about 30 seconds, when Albini broke the string he had just replaced. By this time, I hated even the Q&A sessions. The crowd was slowly moving into greater and greater forms of frenzy; jostling and pushing and trying to make things interesting. My little alcove right against the stage protected me from the pit but I wish it hadn't. The only thing to remove me from the world of hate and annoyance I'd created in my mind was Bob Weston's sweat hitting my arm. I had figured Shellac realized full well that their style couldn't carry a live show for an hour and a half. And I think they do. I think what I saw was the perfect Shellac show: the band's constant "fuck you" attitude finally affected me. Instead of just marveling at what brilliant assholes the band were, I felt it. And I hated them for it.
However, as momentous an occassion as Shellac's first Texas shows were, I was truly there to see The New Year. Bedhead being one of the absolute best bands of all time, I was giddy to see the Brothers Kadane in their new band, probably the closest I'll ever get to seeing the 'Head live. I was truly excited to see how this would work on stage, having never seen such a focused and tension-building band live before. Especially playing before a crowd frothing for Shellac. And it was amazing. Hypnotic and tight, the builds in all the right places with exacting timing, low vocals lulling. Matt Kadane's hair was unkempt and always in his eyes which were never open. Bubba was in the shadows, stepping forward only to sing his occassional part and then retreating back to his lair. Everything was timid and honest. They didn't play any Bedhead songs despite one girl's repeated cries for "Dark Ages" and my own telepathic longing but I didn't think they would and it really didn't matter. I had a huge, goofy grin on my face the entire time. Their set was miniscule compared to the behemoth that was getting ready to come after them but it was gorgeous. After Shellac wrapped up, I pushed myself towards the door but I caught Matt Kadane standing next to the stage. I'm not one to get star-struck (especially by someone of whom so few clear pictures exist) but all I could muster was a handshake and "That was amazing." Because it was.
