Opening with some fan favorites like “Despite What You’ve Been Told,” it took Two Gallants no time to get the newly shoulder-to-shoulder crowd singing along. It also took no time for lead singer Adam Stephens to drop to his knees for an instrumental solo – we were about a minute and a half into the first song. What first seemed a bit cliché quickly became part of the immense charm of their show. Stephens’s obvious passion for his music first comes across in his being “moved by the spirit,” if you will, but the song writing and musicianship are quick to follow.

Sadly, there was no kiddie pool at this show. It was also January in Chicago, so more depressing all around.

On their third tune, they broke out a newer song, “Lady” and then “Right Away” two songs later. The audience, though unfazed by the material they didn’t have memorized line for line (yet), did take these inclusions as a sign that maybe the band wasn’t quite sure what songs they ought to be playing. The next few between song breaks brought prompt recommendations shouted from the audience – more than this girl has heard since high school when it was still funny to yell “Free Bird” at every show.

This was never funny.

Thankfully, Two Gallants basically ignored them.

Between the two man band, music was thoroughly covered, with Stephens on guitar and Tyson Vogel on drums. But it took until the end of the set for the harmonica to get into the action, after spending 11 songs sitting sadly next to the microphone. On its first appearance, the harmonica joined in the beautiful tune, “Broken Eyes.”

Like most of the rest of the songs, it’s a melancholy sort of beautiful. A beautiful that’s best appreciated with good friends telling long stories when no one pulls out their iPhone. Two Gallants specialize in the kind of songs that suck you in and make you say “that reminds me of this one time…” Or make you cry, like we got in the encore with “Seems Like Home to Me.” Luckily, everyone was too mesmerized by the band to notice the few tears I lost… or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Cemetery Playground! Not surprising that these guys are a bit morbid…

*By Jesy, who swears she isn’t as emotionally unstable as these reviews would have you believe.

After two songs, Waters front man Van Pierszalowski started chatting up the audience, telling us about the day he and the band spent in Chicago. The silence of the crowd made it easier for the more vocal members to chat him back, asking for details. Note to all bands coming through Chicago: it is lame to go to the Bean. But sitting at Intelligentsia Coffee all day rather than actually seeing the city is maybe slightly lamer.

Sitting with a pup all day, however, would not be at all lame.

Ill-advised travel plans aside, the band kept up the back-and-forth with the audience, taking full advantage of the sold out crowd. Still, it wasn’t until their fifth tune that this sold out crowd tried to head bop along. As engaged as they were in the story from Pierszalowski, it took a while to get them up and moving.

However, for the end of their 9-song set, Pierszalowski jumped to the main floor for an unplugged and led us into a really lovely, slow and steady end to their show. After asking the crowd to join in the chorus of “Forever, Forever,” the engaged if semi-stoic audience quickly warmed to the sing-a-long. In a room where a pin would not have gone unnoticed, I was unimpressed by the pair of girls who stormed in, practically yelling “what the sh*t” into the dreamy scene. While Waters certainly heard, they continued unfazed, putting a great final touch on their set.

The music on the album is nowhere near as lacking in color as its cover

All in, Waters puts on a live show perfectly demonstrating the talent seen in their album. Hopefully, this will lead to greater success and another swing through Chicago, with more ambitious tourist goals.

By jesy: who has just realized that most of her cooking endeavors involve booze, but isn’t all that upset about it.

A different environment than any Wolf Parade or Sunset Rubdown show has given, the intimate concert for Moonface proved just how chameleon Spencer Krug is with his music endeavors.

*By Karen, who is still in awe of this show

With four members riding the downstage line, I was jealous of the members of our overwhelmingly plaid-clad audience who got their early enough to watch the show at knee level. From our vantage point, however, we got to take in the entire band. Watching the melodies and harmonies mix and mingle as each member jumped in and out of the vocals throughout the short set. Seemingly tossing around the upper and lower harmonies, each member of the band got a chance to shine in the subdued setting.

Then sh*t got heavy.

That sort of standing-alone-in-a-field kind of heavy

As lead singer and songwriter David Hartley lamented a stint of unemployment and apparent solitude that led to Nightlands’ latest offering, the stage was set for a group hug. Once he shifted to his mild obsession with Cormac McCarthy, the band rolled their collective eyes, having probably heard this speech plenty along the tour and before. The huggable moment passed, hugless, and the band set forth to continue their impressive show.

We missed out on what could have been a really tender moment.

Each member brought a maturity to their sound and performance that is sadly lacking from many of the bands the plaid kids are following these days. Even ignoring that one guitarist had flown in that day to play the show, Nightlands’ cohesiveness was striking. Without gushing too much, I really only wish they had played longer.

*By Jesy, who was really hoping for some dead baby jokes when she found “Cormac McCarthy Dead Babies” on the Google predictive search.

On any given night you can find something to do in Chicago, so never turn down a night out because you have an early morning. On this particular Monday,

Often making up stories about what their band’s name really means, Biffy Clyro hail from Ayrshire, Scotland, outside of Glasgow. They are made up of brothers, Ben Johnston on drums and James Johnston on bass; and Neil Simon on guitar. The three share vocals fairly equally.

Biffy Clyro started out in 1995 and have five full-length albums to their name. The sound they bring to their live show is recognizable in their albums. It’s a credit to any band that can bring as full of a sound to a live show as to a recorded album. They made the most of their set, playing crowd favorites with minimal interruptions for dialogue or explanations. They finished up with an encore, which they carefully instructed us on how to proceed upon, coming back out to play two or three Biffy classics that the crowd had been calling for throughout the show.

Don’t miss Biffy on tour in November and December across the UK. If you’re without means for a quick trip across the pond, check out Biffy’s 2009 release Only Revolutions out on 14th Floor. Literature fans, note the Mark Z. Danielewski reference.

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You’d probably want one of those popsicles, too.

Despite the amount of space open to them, the crowd pushed hard to get to the stage, creating the image and feel of a packed house. As Islands geared up for “Where There’s a Will There’s a Whalebone,” the seasoned fans cheered on their old favorite, and the band didn’t disappoint.

The lighten design, however, left something to be desired. With their white ensembles, the band made the perfect canvas for the alternating red and blue lights during “Whalebone,” but the overall effect was a little unnecessarily epileptic. The blinking to the lyrics “turn your lights out” seemed a bit obvious.

Not quite the same effect…

Another glitch came when the keyboards really got going. Either a bad sound guy or just poor balance, the keyboards overwhelmed the rest of the band. The thick keys overshot your standard indie rock out and landed in a borderline preschool sing-a-long.

Things seemed to be on an upswing when the sweet sounds of a singing saw rose up to the rafters at Lincoln Hall. My inner country girl frantically scanned the stage for a redneck with a hacksaw, but was disappointed to find only one of the ubiquitous indie rock computers whirring to a southern beat. By the time “Swans (Life After Death)” was fully ramped up, the singing saw was a distant memory.

Closing with an old school marathon guitar solo, Islands wrapped up a solid, if poorly engineered, set with a simple “good night.” The eager, if unmotivated, crowd waited expectedly for the encore, without bothering to cheer or scream for it. The appreciative, if tired, band apparently wanted a little more effort for an encore. And after a few minutes, the production guys were cleaning up gear and the crowd was turning, shoulders slumped, probably wishing they had tried a bit harder.

Islands were somewhat cursed by poor lighting decisions and (potentially) warped sound, but the set was a fun burst of indie rock. I just wished the rest of the crowd had tried a little harder for that encore.

*By Jesy,  who is stoked for her much needed yoga class tonight.

But the real party is on the main floor. With no band in sight, a soft “oompah” sound could be heard as they congregated just off-stage. When the door flew open, a massive, and clearly well used, tuba was the first instrument to enter the maelstrom of shoulder to shoulder fans. A seemingly endless line of mismatched uniforms and brass instruments was soon snaking through the crowd, playing a generic football game sounding march. As the anticipation rose from the floor all the way up to us in the rafters, the audience’s energy was palpable. With everyone accounted for, fully immersed on the floor, the dance party exploded, and didn’t stop until after midnight.

No one ever looked quite this happy at my pep rallies.

High school band geeks turned rockstars, Mucca Pazza is the ultimate revenge of the nerds – rocking the capacity crowd for nearly two hours of marching band punk. After finally making it off the dance floor, the band filled every spare inch on the good sized stage. In between the raucous tunes, three cheerleaders (soon to be four if I can pull off my shameless self-promotion) entertained with sarcastic and grown up cheers far more advanced than my own “hey you cuties!” memories. (Seriously, I’ll bring my own pom-poms, Mucca.)

To all those science geeks who could never get a cheerleader in high school.

Perhaps their cumulative years spent in rigid suburban high schools inspired them to bust through their stiff marching band formation, but Mucca Pazza is definitely making up for lost time standing up straight and walking in dull lines. Soloists are easy to find as everyone else sits, lays or leans out of the way and the pelvic thrusting alone would be enough to embarrass any respectable PTA. Their truly fearless leader interrupted rarely, most memorably to shout out to “the first punk rocker: Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich.”

Dmitri probably didn’t have this in mind…

Needless to say, it’s a unique concert experience. And as their tour continues through the summer, you just might get the chance to check it out yourself.

*By Jesy, who is a bit disturbed (but not ashamed) by her interest in being a cheerleader for Mucca Pazza.

I could not have prepared for this. The frazzled employees working the door showed the wear of truly fervent fans. The exasperated list girl asked, pleaded to know if we had tickets. The sold out show left a lot of last minute planners disappointed and this poor girl had clearly taken the brunt of their frustrations.

Once in, it was wall to wall in the 500 person venue and there was a palpable anticipation for the band to make its appearance. The reasonably sized stage looked cramped with the multiple drum sets, keyboards, guitars and xylophones – enough instruments for a small high school band. The five person piece was going to get around during this set.

And get around they did. Showing very little loyalty to their instruments, Tortoise proceeded to rock the hell out of their attentive audience for nearly 2 hours. This, while keeping the banter to a bare minimum – there were maybe 10 words spoken all night (mostly “thank you”s) and no lyrics to any songs. Pulling in some old favorites like “I Set My Face to the Hillside,” as well as several tunes off their latest, Beacons of Ancestorship, Tortoise hit most of the notes the crowd was looking for.

Even so, after a 90 minute set, the crowd still yelled for more and shouted their appreciation for the band. During one of the two encores, the band finally started asking for something back, in the form of a fairly complicated clap-a-long. Fortunately, the band performed better at their tasks than the crowd. Though, in their defense, the audience was also trying to balance their beers while keeping the beat.

Far from a standard jam band set, the clearly talented musicians kept the energy up throughout the entire set and impressed even the most casual of music fans with their outrageous rhythms and cohesion. It was nearly 1am when the lights went up and the exhausted but still psyched crowd made their way out of the venue.

*By Jesy, who, in addition to seeing a great band, has finally learned how to spell “tortoise” correctly. Thanks, Tortoise.