Ted Leo/Fever Sleeves

California is where the formerly relevant aesthetics of the northeast come to die. As soon as I got settled in here, started going to shows, started figuring in and figuring out the boundaries of local culture, I was surprised to find myself in a time warp. I wasn’t in San Diego in 2010, I was in New York in 2005. Deja vu at it’s absolute worst.

But when in Rome, you’re sometimes forced to do the motherfucking time warp – sometimes its the best you’re going to get. And once in a blue moon, once when you least expect it, you slip into a tear and find yourself hurtled forward into the place you want to be. This is exactly what happened to me on September third when I caught Ted Leo and San Diego locals Fever Sleeves at The Casbah.

First, let’s talk about the crowd. This was an interesting departure from the usual suspects – The Casbah is San Diego’s go to spot for independent tunes, sporting a near-constant A-list of America’s Next Blog Models and digging up local openers that, as far as I can tell, are unable to function outside of a Casbah marquee (i.e. where the fuck are they playing when they aren’t playing here? I’d like to know!) which results in the very hippest individuals the city has to offer cluttering like moths. The trust fund syndrome that infects the northeast comes into full bloom in California and so I rarely ever feel totally at home with The Casbah’s crowd. That night was different. The crowd was a bit older, a bit freer and by all accounts (even their own) had a few more miles on them than the waifs and models who’d be there to see a band like Washed Out. Felt good. Felt right. Felt like home.

Then came my first big surprise in the form of San Diego’s own Fever Sleeves. I would come to learn later on that I had actually seen them open for These Arms Are Snakes at the same spot a few months earlier, but anyone who’s seen These Arms Are Snakes can relate to the fact that you generally don’t remember much of the show until the next day when you’re playing “find the bruise” in the shower and “find the piss stain” in the living room. Sufficed to say, I had the pleasure to experience Fever Sleeves for the first time all over again and found out that despite my most deeply held prejudices, San Diego bands can actually sport a pair and a heart every now and then. Fever Sleeves are captivating to watch, jittering their way between instruments and wrangling insanely technical passages like a bunch of tech school tweakers. Think of the magical era of bands like Botch and Drive Like Jehu, then think of how that sound would have developed and matured if it had been allowed to fully develop until the present day. Combine that with the youthful vigor of a band that truly enjoys what they’re doing and you’ve got two things; the band Fever Sleeves and a reminder of the kind of integrity we quieted when we entered our mid twenties and got real jobs. Oh, and their record is fucking awesome too, but that deserves a full fledged review which I’ll save for later.

By the time Fever Sleeves began breaking down, I was half in the bag. As good as they were, I couldn’t resist slamming a shot or two between beers with Pharmacists drummer Chris intermittently during the set. After a quick smoke, a quick schmooze with the locals and a quick piss in the appropriately filthy bathroom, I headed up to the bar to line up another tallboy.

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Then it hit the room – the same feeling that strikes any room in the millisecond just before Ted Leo’s pick scrapes that first string – pure fucking fire. I almost forgot to tip.

Any reasonable person would assume that decades into a career as a songwriter and a performer, most artists would lose a bit of the ferocity that they had in their earlier days. Well, as a complete and utter refutation of this idea, allow me to present Ted Leo and the Pharmacists on 9/3/10. On this tour alone they had probably played close to a hundred shows, spanned the length of the United States and never had more than a day or so’s rest, but you’d never know it from their performance. Even as they tore through one of the most well balanced setlists I’ve heard in awhile (especially when you consider the catalogue they have behind them), even in front of a packed house in one of the hippest clubs in the city, they still struck with the same intensity, precision and humility as when I first saw them years ago at an American Legion in Connecticut with Ted singing into a sock to compensate for the static shock from the cheap PA, ripping through “Ballad of the Sin Eater” under the weight of a hundred man dogpile.

Ted and the boys were, as always, spot on from start to finish. Even those who felt a little disappointed with The Brutalist Bricks need only have heard that evening’s renditions of “The Mighty Sparrow” or “Bottled In Cork” to gain a newfound appreciation for the material.

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Live, at least, songs like these prove to be sturdy enough to stand on their own beside TL/RX staples such as “Timorous Me” or “Me and Mia”. In retrospect, my position towards Brutalist has softened a bit due to this powerful reminder of the fact that Ted and his boys are performers in the truest sense of the word. These songs live to be sung out face to face, not put on shuffle – one night at a Pharmacists show is all it would take to convince anyone of this, even the most jaded among us (speaking, of course, of myself.)

And once the dust settled, there they were, just as they’ve always been, just as they should be – on hands and knees doing their own legwork (no house crew, no techs) and listening, honestly and intently, to anyone who had even the slightest bit to say to them.

Like a night spent in a hot spring, I left the venue revitalized. On top of the wonderful reminder that was Fever Sleeves, Ted Leo and the Pharmacists delivered, as always, above and beyond anything you could expect.

Now if only I could remember how I got home…