6/12, Studio B: Sunset Rubdown, Witchies, Elfin Saddle

The fear, of course, is that Spencer Krug will burn out. A member of four different bands, an unceasing writer, and a nearly-omnipresent performer--the biology just can't be in his favor on this, right? Right? Well, maybe. Certainly, no visible evidence of this decline yet exists.

I strolled around Brooklyn for a bit, so I missed the first opener, Elfin Saddle. Witchies were next; they seemed to epitomize the type of band that is all good and fun in a small club, but not deserving of any listening time otherwise. But sure, I'll admit I found their ability to thread the needle between "good band" and "indie rockers du jour who just make a lot of noise" quite well. Witchies actually had legitimately foot-tapping songs, even though their drummer looked like a lab-created mutation of Machinist-era Christian Bale and Chris Cornell and the frontman evoked wanted-to-be-forgotten images of the cueballesque lead singer of The New Radicals. Creators of unapologetic rock that works in synth background harmonies incredibly well, The Witchies seem to pride themselves on creating a melodic mix of keyboards and jangly guitar that is so immediately accessible that one wonders why it hasn't been created before. Unfortunately, the lyrics and singing do little to back up these initial salvos, but I can't complain.

It almost didn't matter which songs Sunset Rubdown chose to play. They could've done a set purely of rock versions of Bach and it would have had the audience reeling. Spencer Krug has a level of captivation over his subjects that is hard to find analog to in modern, non-mainstream rock; to quote Austin Powers, "Women want him, men want to be him." A musician's musician and a songwriter's songwriter, Krug is certainly most well-known as one of the frontmen for Wolf Parade, but his work with Sunset Rubdown, whose sound can easily be found at the foundation of Wolf Parade's songs, is far from unremarkable. Indeed, with the imminent release of their new title, Dragonslayer, Sunset Rubdown may indeed be on the verge of leaving large swaths of modern rock in the dust.

I complained (well, that might be excessive terminology) earlier this week that The Decemberists' live show didn't deviate from their album versions. Well, much the same can be said for Sunset Rubdown. But here is where the comparison diverges: Sunset Rubdown already incorporates these moments of experimental spontaneity into their songs. If you want to develop an Advil addiction, spend a few minutes trying to wrap your head around the sheet music for "Mending of the Gown." The number of tempo changes in any given S.R. song makes a simple recreation of the studio version an impressive act in and of itself. And the songs on Dragonslayer only serve to enhance this idea; with the possible exception of "Nightingale/December Song," nearly every track is not a song, per se, but rather a collage of several songs, stitched together into a fabric using Krug's knack for the musical transition. As he often exhibits with Wolf Parade, Krug has what can only be rightly deemed an obession with the multi-song song. The process would seem to go as such: He has an idea for a super catchy rhythm or riff, and so, instead of trying to extrapolate a full-blown song from it, he--smartly--simply attaches it on to an existing song. Call it the modern effect of "Stairway to Heaven." It's precisely the reason that, with many of the best Wolf Parade tracks--"Animal In Your Care," "Soldier's Grin," "I'll Believe in Anything"--and most of Dragonslayer--notably "You Go On Ahead (Trumpet Trumpet II)" and "Black Swan"--the best part always lies at the finale. And that's not to shortchange the entire song. But if you took the latest Sunset Rubdown album and cut off 90 seconds from the back half of each track, you'd find yourself with a record of seriously diminished quality.

And mention must be made of Sunset Rubdown's musical prowess. Like I said, they're not playing "Louie Louie" and "Chopsticks." Simply watching the drummer sent shooting pains up by biceps. Their guitarist, who often lingers in the background, has many moments of manic virtuosity and frenetic fret-work. Camilla Wynne Ingr, who mans the back-up keyboards and adds a little soprano to offset Krug's vocals, is utterly uncontroversial and a total necessity; many of the band's most endearing refrains come courtesy of the intermingling of the male and female singing parts. And Krug himself, obviously, is king. "Keyboardist," which he is often described as, is understating things quite severely, like calling Michael Jordan a "basketball player" or Mick Jagger simply a "frontman." "Keyboardist" seems to evoke imagery of some guy on the side, mashing ivories on every downbeat. That is so not what Spencer Krug does. His keyboards are Sunset Rubdown. The band's entire sonic foundation is composed of synthesized notes, sometimes at the forefront of the melody, other times waiting patiently and blending in with the rest of the musical scenery. And last night, Krug and his companion "keyboards" were in top form, acting as an unabating, pulsing force throughout the entirety of the show. Song in and song out, they are the first to turn the lights on and the last to leave, and what makes them all the more special is how accessible they sound. Accessible in a way that you'd think it would be easy to find good bands to compare Sunset Rubdown to; "You'll like S.R. if you like x, y, and z."

But inevitably, x, y, and z are all other Spencer Krug ventures. Which is a testament, not only to his prolificness, but to his originality as well.