Welcome
to the new Ice Age. If you were fortunate enough to be
among the crowd jammed
into the Troubadour on November 18, 2002, to see three relatively
unknown
Scandinavian powerhouses of rock tear the joint apart, then you know what the
sound of an actual new wave is. If not, here’s how it went down:
First up was Sweden’s Citizen Bird, and right out of the box they set the
bar pretty high. A sextet (expanded from the five-piece recording line-up) with
dueling guitars, a fierce rhythm section, lush keyboards, and the manic energy
of schoolboy vocalist Simon Ohlsson, this space rock outfit punched up the speed
on the anthemic “Joy” and never let up. From the melodic “Magnetic
City,” where Ohlsson’s performance wavered between Elvis and Iggy
Pop, to “Star,” an ecstatic prog-punk epic, Citizen Bird were virtually
on fire. They held the barely half-capacity audience (those keen enough to show
up for the early 8:30 set) enraptured with the swirling feedback and locomotive
tempos that drive their singularly exceptional music. Good on record but stunning
in concert, the underdog Swedes of Citizen Bird knew how to fill a tiny space
with Staples Center confidence and made their Los Angeles premiere a memorable
wake-up call.
Next on stage were the hard-rocking Norwegian party foursome
known as Cato Salsa Experience. Lighter in tone and
full of smiles, Cato Salsa lacked the
talent
of Citizen Bird, but they still had fun and showcased their star member:
the insanely exciting bassist Christian Engfelt.
A better vocalist than lead singer
Cato Thomassen (who gives the band its name), Engfelt totally dominated every
song by chewing up bass lines with blinding speed that matched every riff
Thomassen could muster. His hard-picking, high-necked
style fit the double-barreled approach
of the band’s songwriting, making sure not a single ballad would threaten
the setlist.
The mach-4 pace set by the openers was just what The
Soundtrack of Our Lives needed when they stormed
the stage and completely took over. Fronted by a
humongous, burly lumberjack in a black cloak named Ebbot Lundberg (making
the other five
members look scrawny and meek), Soundtrack overcame their crappy band name
and turned the crowd -- mainly composed of the over-30, denim-jacketed
KCRW set --
into true believers. Lundberg demanded rock star status during the entire
75-minute show, begging for applause, raising his arms in Christ-like worship,
and at
one point instructing us all to sit on the beer-soaked floor while he walked
among
us with a brass-headed baton belting out the fierce rockers in his band’s
canon.
Where Citizen Bird’s lyrics were minimalist and elemental, and Cato Salsa’s
were frothy and positive, Soundtrack brought more depth and meaning to match
its gigantic sound. Lundberg’s lyrics are accusatory and philosophical,
boastful and grand, and he bellowed them out with operatic clarity. Backed by
an Eddie Van Halenish guitar player named Mattias Barjed, whose licks almost
set his guitar on flames, and combed-over drummer Fredrik Sandsten, who went
through about fifteen sticks, Soundtrack is an imposing exercise in garage psychadelia,
their sound derived from any number of retro acts ranging from Pink Floyd to
Kula Shaker and the Charlatans.
They almost wore out their welcome with an overlong performance
that included two lengthy encores and a wardrobe
change, but any hint of repetitiveness
was overshadowed by Lundberg’s sheer joy of rocking out. Often humorous, always
passionate, The Soundtrack of Our Lives led the parade of Nordic monsters poised
to overtake the first decade of 21st century rock. But as large and in charge
as they seem, they might have to keep an eye on Citizen Bird, who are hot on
their heels.
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