An Almighty Thud

By all measures, yesterday was a busy day. I got up and ran 18 miles in the morning, took the girls skating in the afternoon, and made dinner for Deb and the girls in the evening. On a normal Sunday night, I'd be chilling in front of the boob tube. But after putting the girls to bed, I schlepped into Cambridge to meet up with my man OJ to catch a rock show at the Middle East. The band in question was We Were Promised Jetpacks, a Scottish post-punk quartet that until they took the stage last night I was almost completely unfamiliar with.

Jay had scored a plus-one for the show and put the word out Friday to see if anyone was interested in going. I only knew the band by their name, but the price was right and I trusted OJ's judgment. Besides, I'd been digging some of the other Scottish acts that have emerged in the last few years including Frightened Rabbit and Los Campesinos.

The Middle East downstairs was nearly sold out for the WWPJ/Bad Veins show, which took me by surprise because it was a Sunday night and Valentine's Day, and because I had barely heard of this band. Right from the start, the mostly college-age crowd went nuts for the Scotsmen, shouting every word to every song during the 55-minute set. The band only has one album, plus assorted singles and a new EP, but it would have been nice to have an encore.

Frontman Adam Thompson looked a bit like a young Black Francis as he belted out the band's anthemic songs; he and lead guitarist Michael Palmer built a wall of noise while powerhouse drummer Darren Lackie pounded away. The audience matched the band's passion during songs like "It's Thunder and It's Lightning," "Keeping Warm" and "Short Bursts," often drowning out Thompson's vocals.

Openers Bad Veins played an entertaining set, with singer Benjamin Davis' melodramatic vocal style reminiscent of the Walkmen's Hamilton Leithauser. The duo (Sebastian Schultz was outstanding on drums) was accompanied by pre-recorded tracks, while Davis played guitar and sang through a jerry-rigged old-school telephone receiver at times.

Even though I didn't know any of the songs, the WWPJ show was a testament to the power of live rock in a small venue. It was transfixing and exhilarating to be part of that packed house. It's the kind of thing that seems increasingly rare on the bigger stages these days. You need to look in the small clubs to find it. I'm glad I was able to witness that power Sunday night.