Viva Voce/Silversun Pickups - Chicago, IL

By: Jennifer Wagner

Wednesday November 08, 2006

The trip provided by Anita's fret board-bending salute to Nugent-era "Stranglehold" was absolutely transformative.
Photo: Alicia Rose


Ahhh...Bender's birthday party was a whole ton of fun at the Empty Bottle. Bender, dear aficionados of the keen and adorable, is my deceptively sweet little neighbor who as a child enjoyed putting rodents on her head. I am fairly certain she outgrew that habit. Her choice to celebrate her birth with the Silversun Pickups and Viva Voce was brilliant, and inviting me along was also quite a good idea. I mean, she's smart. My editor, the Captain, was on board for the shows anyway, so on a dark and gloomy Friday night in Chicago we had a delicious dinner and some nice wine at Bite, the restaurant attached to the Empty Bottle. Afterwards, we parted ways briefly; he had a little chat with the Silversun Pickups backstage while I wandered up and down the street looking for a car air freshener (a birthday gift for Bender; what better surprise for a person with no car?) and an ATM. I found both, returned to the Bottle which at that point was filling up nicely, and attempted to woo a cute little Asian girl in a beat-up biker jacket away from her boyfriend. I actually sort of succeeded in that endeavor, only to discover to my disappointment that she was really quite boring. Ah, well. Re the Silversun Pickups' opening set (the two bands were on a co-headlining tour where they switched off opening and closing sets each night): I'll throw this in - it was just like my last uninhibited, dirty sex with a beautiful woman: tight, loud, and the moment seemed to go by much too quickly. A momentous warm-up for Viva Voce!

Fresh off of their full-length debut on Dangerbird Records, Carnavas, California's Silversun Pickups were a breath of fresh indie-rock air. They played with verve and passion, as if they were reaching for rock's lauded brass ring. The band mix a level of indie-rock earthiness and major-rock ambition. The Smashing Pumpkins influence is in no way downplayed, as the swirling guitars and groovy, Gish-era bass are matched evenly by the steadfast drumming and textural keyboards. It had been a long time coming to see the band live and they did not disappoint. They'll be back through town in mid-November opening this time for Wolfmother.

Husband and wife team Anita and Kevin Robinson took the stage unpretentiously, and to the best of my recollection started out with "Believer" from their just-released record Get Yr Blood Sucked Out. Despite their unassuming demeanor, The Alabama-to-Portland transplants bit into the set with impressive confidence, tackling a large chunk of the new album. The whole show surged on really rapidly, and the crowd stretched and swelled in synch. Two particular songs stood out; a difficult feat in the face of such a solid performance overall: "So Many Miles" had me almost convinced for a moment I had not quit smoking pot...the trip provided by Anita's fret board-bending salute to Nugent-era "Stranglehold" was absolutely transformative. The other high point, so to speak, was the set's climax - the humorous, affirming war cry called "We Do Not Fuck Around."

Though I've sung the praises of Ms. Anita and her mystical musical powers, I need to make it clear that husband Kevin is no slouch, either: he proved the versatile backbone throughout the set; handling drums, guitar, electric piano, and I'm sure a few other instruments I'm failing to mention...point is, his talent has range, his presence is big, and he proves his credibility more strongly every year. They pretty much shared the vocals, though Anita carried for the most part. My only real complaint there is that her thready, coquettish soprano simply did not always support such a big rock sound. When that voice did fit, such as in "When Planets Collide," it pleasantly waxed of the Deal sisters...other than that, as I said, her singing was distractingly high and thin.

Although the Captain and the birthday girl beckoned from more remote parts of the club (my editor was watching some sexy lesbians play pool in the front room, and Bender was holding up a wall towards the back of the club), I was glued to the spot, transfixed for the rest of the set. This Anita woman was just incredible. So adept, fingering the frets like a harpist; precision and speed combining to birth an amazingly loud, strong rock riff. Her sweet face and minuscule frame served only to highlight the powerful sound she created, leaving me weak-kneed and brainless. Too soon, the show was over and the crowed dispersed. On a massive, yeah, I'll say it, natural high, I took my Zeppelin-licked, ecstatic ass to the foyer, saluted the Captain where we parted ways, and got scooped up by the birthday girl and her goon squad for a cozy, spent ride home.