Live Review :: The Wombats @ The Annex [3.17.08]

The Wombats look a little like hell. They tell us they are sleep-deprived. They tell us they've been in seven time zones in two weeks. Their lead-singer looks a little bloated and is losing his voice - facts they don't need to tell us. It's debatably St. Patrick's Day on the Lower East Side and The Wombats look a little like hell.

Frontman, Matt Murphy is sweating through his green sweat shirt in little viral colonies. As little spots of sweat establish foothold on the front of his chest, they slowly expand to include other sweat-spots until there is an outbreak of wetness darkening the shamrock green. In a time-lapse video this would look like a reverse Pangaea - disparate parts coming together to form a larger whole. If he was working less hard, you might think he was sick. If The Wombats were playing less hard, you might question their ability to make it through the set. Murphy's voice strains but not from illness. He sweats but not from fever. This exhaustion isn't just from time change or sleep deprivation. It's from playing this hard in seven time zones and how the fuck can you sleep on that?

The Wombats open with "Lost In The Post," a song, ostensibly, about dating a girl who is all sunshine and rainbows when you're all rain storms and Wuthering Heights. There's some irony afoot when a band this exuberant addresses being too depressed for a girl who just wants to watch Mary Poppins. Then again, irony ain't a stranger and halfway through the set they play "Let's Dance To Joy Division" and everyone shouts the lyrics,"Let's dance to Joy Division/and celebrate the irony." A little like the irony of a band this tired playing a set with this much fervor. It. just. doesn't. wash.

Fast-forward to the end; instead of an encore, The Wombats' drummer makes a reference to cutting through the bullshit and why bother with the charade of going backstage when you and I know damn well that they've got two more songs they're planning to play. They've already played "Moving To New York," a song that uniquely lights up New Yorkers to feel successful and important based solely on zip code, and it's easy to wonder what the band has left to close this show. But, for a second-ever show in New York, The Wombats save "Backfire At The Disco" as their final note.

The song is about things going abjectly awful at a nightclub - about totally, completely bombing with woman. That seems a little out of sorts for band who just killed The Annex for the past 45 minutes. The irony is things have been going pretty well. But then again, a worn out band shouldn't have played this set in the first place. And again, the dark green sweat spots on Matt Murphy aren't simple exhaustion but they are why he'll feel a little worse tomorrow than he did today. Because sometimes you give enough to look like hell. And you can't fucking sleep on that.

Live Review: The Wombats @ The Annex (NYC) [8.15.07]

(photo courtesy of www.clickmusic.com)

It's pretty obvious The Wombats have absolutely no idea where they are or who they're dealing with. The band emerges from behind the curtain and steps, not to their instruments but instead, to the front of the stage where they gather in a tight horse-shoe formation around the main vocal mic. In a scene more reminiscent of an idyllic college campus, the trio begins to "ooo" and "ahhh" their way through an a cappella intro. What is this? Freshman Orientation?

They're singing lyrics, referring to their name, that say: "songs about boys/about girls/ and marsupials." No one can tell if this is really happening or if we've been secretly transported to a surreal hybrid of children's television and the adolescent emotion of Dawson's Creek. The crowd, previously excited, now has a look of trepidation - if not straight fear. These kids are one of the most buzzed about bands in the U.K. and in their first New York show, they're pulling this? But no one is running for the exits either. There is something earnest in the air and it's not to be missed. Even in a dark, bottle-necked bar on the Lower East Side there might, just might, be room for this level of optimism.

The Wombats are the band that other throw-back, 60s influenced "ooooo" and "ahhh," dripping-background-vocal bands would kill to be. Rooney would kill to be this band. Employing the best elements of twitchy British post-punk (think a more melodic Futureheads) and the richest dimensions of a band that has three members who can spit harmony, The Wombats are, musically speaking, way ahead of their peers.

And then there are the songs. Ripping through recent single "Kill The Director" with it's infectious secondary chorus, "this is no/Bridget Jones" and upcoming single, "Let's Dance To Joy Division," the band gets this somewhat suspicious crowd dancing and clapping and even call-and-responsing, "hell yeah." Tell me, please, when the last time you saw a Lower East Side crowd agree to shout "hell yeah" about anything except for Marlboro Reds, PBRs, and Irony?

So, The Wombats slowly get the crowd to buy in. They're young and they don't care what we think. In fact, with protracted on stage banter about things like soy beans, they could just as easily be performing to an empty room. This is really them - not who they want us to think they are.

They close with the predictable, yet entirely satisfying, "Moving To New York" and then return to the stage and encore with "Backfire At The Disco," a song loosely about striking-out at a nightclub. Now, it's likely lead singer, Matt Murphey is talking about a woman and not a live show because nothing backfired at The Annex on Wednesday night. After a dangerous opening, a bouncy band with an undeniable sound won out - even making three-part a cappella intros look cool. And that, my friends, ain't no Freshman Orientation. It's a Ph.D in charm.