BUILT TO SPILL + SUPERCHUNK + APPLES IN STEREO

4.27.00
Irving Plaza
New York, NY

After securing my spot up front, I looked around at the growing crowd of floor-bound NYU students smoking cigarettes and conserving energy in anticipation of the night's exciting indie rock extravaganza. A cheerful vibe spread as we waited around for our musical guests to appear. It felt like we were about to spend an evening with a few good friends who we hadn't seen in a while.

Apples In Stereo abruptly began the unannounced, exclusive NYU-sponsored show with one of their grittier footstompers. Robert Schneider, in full grizzly beard, beamed and rocked along with his band of merry psyche popsters in a most pleasant manner. Leave it to the Apples to spread the sunshine.

But the proverbial boat was about to get rocked. A palpable but relaxed excitement filled the room as we waited for Superchunk to politely storm the stage with their humble yet commanding stage presence and more than a decade's worth of sharp, melodic punk anthems.

"They're the only band I could see, like, twenty times," a fan blurted out from behind me, further evidence of the 'Chunk's knack for pleasing their followers. Moments later, a trio of chunkette-teers squeezed up front to have words with guitarist Jim Wilbur. Giggling triumphantly from the exchange, the indie rock cheerleaders did their part to let the band know how much they are appreciated throughout the show. Various random musings were tossed Wilbur's way throughout the show, such as "Jim, I need a DRINK!" to which he dryly replied, "Me, too." Damn school shows, no alcohol! The guitarist seemed a bit quiet and slightly standoffish on this particular evening, but that didn't stop audience members from directing attention to him between songs.

It's been nearly a decade since I first marveled at the hyper Chapel Hill, NC quartet's impressive ability to garner so much attention and respect from fans and critics alike, yet act so naturally like they have nothing to prove, on both disc and the stage. Superchunk are nothing if not consistent in what they do, as anyone who has bought their discs and attended their shows throughout the band's eleven-year career can attest. Whether it means shaking the foundations of a tiny club like Hoboken, NJ's indie Mecca Maxwell's or blowing the roof off of New York's big-time Irving Plaza, the "'Chunk," as they are known among their fans, will fail to disappoint.

Singer/guitarist Mac McCaughan and company pogoed seamlessly through frenetic classics such as "Skip Steps 1 and 3," "On The Mouth" and "Package Thief" as well as more somber numbers such as "Silver Leaf and Snowy Tears" from 1995's "When The Strings Come In." But the band did not direct the musical selections or their order, as these songs were heard at the request of a fan by the name of Eddie Finklestein. The band made it clear that they were going to stick to Finklestein's list, as he was the latest winner of the set list contest on the Superchunk web site. "We are following this list to a 't,' McCaughan insisted upon a shouted request, even if that meant the absence of "Slack Motherfucker" and a couple hundred Superchunk fans cursing one of their own.

But what a list it was. The proliferation of slower, mellower melodies such as "Martinis On The Roof" built up the anticipation, with Jon Wurster's steady beat, for the punchier tunes. McCaughan's eyes searched the crowd as he crooned the chorus to the reflective "Like A Fool," making sure we were all paying attention to one of the more measured songs.

As majestic as the slower material is, Superchunk fans are always ready to pogo, be it vicariously through a handful of scattered rising and falling heads throughout the crowd or through the band members. As customary of many shows in New York City, the four band members created more kinetic energy onstage than everyone in the attentive yet very placid crowd. Even McCaughan's and bassist Laura Balance's perfectly timed leaps into the air failed to lift many feet among the collective 'Chunk consciousness watching their every move.

The floor was so subdued that I had no problem catching every bit of action on stage, from Wilbur projecting his ax - cock-rock style from his crotch - and striking a chord Pete Townshend-style, to McCaughan's vicious windmill wrap-up on the manic "Precision Auto." I could have left Irving Plaza satisfied, but Built To Spill were up next.

Emerging on stage clad in gray Dickies slacks and "Musician's Pro Shop, Boise, Idaho" t-shirt, revered Built To Spill ringleader Doug Martsch managed a humble "Thanks for coming over." Just like Superchunk, BTS have little interest in encouraging hero-worship as part of their musical career. Although BTS provide the goods live, they pride their reputation on playing music and playing it well rather than inflating egos.

The longer I watched Martsch and friends, the more enigmatic they became to me. BTS appeared so wrapped up in their playing that only the occasional mumbled joke among band members or Martsch's frail "thanks" broke down the barrier between the band and the crowd. Tension seemed to build as the band dug increasingly deeper into each song. At times, Martsch seemed so isolated from the rest of the band and the audience that I wondered if he might not be able to stop playing his battered red Stratocaster.

Standing directly in front of Martsch, I lost myself in his reverb-drenched, epic noodling. I even closed my eyes for a moment or two so that I might block out any distractions from the music. Then, out of nowhere came the inexplicable shift into a straight-faced cover of Ozzy Osbourne's "Mr. Crowley." I hardly believed what I was hearing for a moment, naively expecting the band to truncate the snaking riff at its dark intro. But BTS weren't playin' around. How strange and ironic in context it seemed, for "indie" icons BTS to cover Ozzy, yet it sounded pretty damn good.

Rather than attempt to imitate Ozzy's trademark howl, BTS simply played the song as one of their own, with Martsch's high register adding a new dimension to the '80s metal classic. Except for a few scattered rock fans and me raising the heavy metal salute in appreciation of the song, BTS's rendition of "Mr. Crowley" met with a few questioning looks, but mostly indifference. If it had been a joke - and from the band's faithful rendition it wasn't - only a few of us were in on it.

There certainly was plenty of love in the room for BTS this night but nobody could have matched the ecstatic display of the European girl writhing next to me. Enraptured with Martsch, her hands clasping and unclasping, caressing each other in rhythm to the music, she felt every note. When Martsch turned his head to cough before a song on two different occasions, a sympathetic "ohhh!" escaped from her open mouth as if Martsch were her delicate pet bunny. But I easily understood her affection for Duggy-Wuggy, given the man's sincere performance of material from various BTS records as well as "Virginia Reel Around The Fountain" from his other band The Halo Benders, and of course the Ozzy cover!

Cigarette smoke from the communal band ashtray set in the center of the stage gently wafted over the set list, sometimes mysteriously changing direction along with a song. Drummer Scott Plouf soldiered away as bassist Brett Nelson and guitarist Jim Roth huddled together stage right, miles away from Martsch, giving the guitarist so much space that BTS seemed split into two musical forces, joining together somewhere in the vicinity of the large space around that ashtray.

"Once again," Martsch offered near the end of the set, "sorry to anyone who's been here the past few nights, hearing the same songs." Although some fans have complained about BTS's repeating sets each night during their recent three-night stint in NYC, tonight's audience seemed only grateful.

If you asked me to recall that night's set list it would be difficult for me to answer, but I do remember hearing that snappy tune "Big Dipper," as well as the sprawling "Carry The Zero." One song flowed into another endlessly as Martsch bounced on his heels, his hands trailing over the guitar frets.

"Nowhere Nothin' Fuckup" with a lengthy jam - probably Neil Young's "Cortez the Killer," I'm actually not sure - in tow, wrapped up the long-winding set. The jammy expedition found Martsch indulging in bouts of effect pedal-knob twiddling with his right hand while sustaining notes and noodling with his left. My back and feet would have given out at that point for most other bands, but tonight I could have stood there in front of the stage, eyes closed and mind swimming, forever.

- Hal Miller

This review was originally featured on Gigmania.com.