Carissa’s Wierd ::: photo by Josh Lovseth
Mat Brooke: “This is so much different than playing house parties and basements.”
Jen Ghetto: “You can’t even believe it.”
Some bands, no matter how gifted the musicians are or how beautiful the songs they write, are best suited for basements, small clubs and the intimacy of headphones. And having seen the rapturous whisper that is Carissa’s Wierd barely able to compete with a chatty crowd of a thousand at The Showbox last Friday, I’m positive when I say that they are such a band.
Last Friday, the lauded and long-missed Seattle band took the stage for the first time in seven years in front of the largest crowd they had ever played at a nearly sold-out Showbox. Seeing them take the stage with looks of disbelief and trepidation, trying to fathom that the crowd was there for them and their repeated heartfelt thank yous, was by my estimation, an unmissable moment in Seattle music history. Unfortunately the din of conversation that challenged the delicacy of Carissa’s Wierd and a back bar full of people hell bent on proving Seattle will talk through anything, didn’t seem to agree with the momentousness of the occasion or the reverence it deserved.
It wasn’t all conversation that was challenging the band on stage, all over the Showbox there were people shrieking with unabashed ecstasy and making sounds usually not heard outside of the bedroom. And throughout the Showbox, which I traversed trying to find the best spot to actually hear Jen, Mat and Sera harmonize, games of “Who’s the Biggest Cariss’a Wierd Fan Here?” were being played. It’s a game jam band fans are most familiar with, the one where people yell out “Oh I know it!” or “Oh my God its _____” at the first note they recognize. They then proceed to sing along at the top of their lungs to further prove their devotion to and archival knowledge of the band. 30-somethings around me giggled about how seeing Aveo and Carissa’s Wierd made them feel like they were in college again and everywhere I looked there were wide grins and lots of happily tear stained cheeks.
Those sounds, as well as Mat’s emphatic thank yous to the crowd (including the telling “thank you so much, this is the biggest show we’ve ever played”), didn’t distract from the show as much as the conversation; rather they punctuated and reminded that what was happening at the moment was special, a once-in-a-lifetime event. The songs that got the biggest reactions from the crowd were the few songs like “Blanket Stare” and “Alphabet on the Manhole” that didn’t make Hardly Art’s retrospective, where knowing and singing along was a mark of true, original fandom.
Had I been such an original fan, and this wasn’t the lone time I had the chance to breathe with the band’s sighing songs, perhaps the chattiness wouldn’t have bothered me so much. But I wasn’t. I just discovered Carissa’s Wierd this year, courtesy of Kevin Cole’s afternoon show on KEXP and have spent the majority of this year listening to their albums on repeat and kicking myself for having never seen them. When Hardly Art announced they would be reissuing the band’s records, including a “Best Of” and that Carissa’s Wierd would be performing once again, I actually yelped with joy and sent an ALL CAPS thank you to my friendly Hardly Art press person. I didn’t care that I’d paid a lot of money for copies of the original releases on Amazon, I just relished in the fact that I would be able to hear these songs that have lived in my heart and headphones all year, live and against all odds. The world was a wonderful, giving, redeeming place and from the moment the show was announced, I counted down the days with giddy anticipation.
And, as long as you could hear them and appreciate the perfectly mixed sound that night, the band delivered upon the heart-aching promise of their albums. The emotion of songs like “You Should Be Hated Here” and “So You Wanna Be a Superhero” hit you square in the chin, which was inevitably quivering. Jen Ghetto sings in a sighing whisper that you find yourself craning towards even when listening on your headphones, thin on forcefulness, but thick with longing and sad-knowing. Mat Brooke’s voice haunts like the ghosts of loss that many of Carissa’s Wierd’s songs center around. And at times, the strains of Sarah Standard’s violin felt as if they were being played upon my spine. There were moments of magic, where with your eyes closed, the songs felt like long forgotten lullabies being sung just for you. That is to say, exactly how they sound on their albums and how I imagine they sounded in those basements and house parties a decade ago.
Even with the largest crowd of their life, Carissa’s Wierd stayed true to their original incarnation, as that band that thrived in the intimacy of small shows, sticking to the softest and slower part of their canon and refusing to sing louder or faster to match the size of the show. And just as Carissa’s Wierd wouldn’t change for their one-night reunion, it would seem Seattle hadn’t changed for Carissa’s Wierd. The faithful fans were there early and they stood rapt, hanging on every word, hands raised towards the stage in blissful praise. Meanwhile, the disinterested or less knowledgeable arrived late, chatted away mindlessly and once again completely missed the beauty and subtle brilliance in their presence. I for one am grateful that the Carrisa’s Wierd reunion show only lasted an hour and a half, but that the band and their songs get to live forever in my headphones, just where they sound the best.
Carissa’s Wierd ::: photo by Josh Lovseth
See the full set-list and more photos from the show, after the jump
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