The show opens to a typical indie beach-rock crowd: a sea of head bobbers punctuated by the occasional gregarious adolescent who needs to spell his band’s name twice (the second ‘j’ is silent) before you understand it. The opening act, an Australian group called The Babe Rainbow, saunters into view amid halfhearted applause which dwindles to non-existence as the evening progresses. Their set oscillates between music and performance art; at one point the lead singer pauses mid-song to eat a banana, tossing the empty peel into the crowd. They play another song and then, following the projectile return of the banana peel to the stage by an impatient concertgoer, slink back behind the curtain.
However, the audience forgets The Babe Rainbow’s lackluster performance once The Allah-Las make their appearance. The band steps onstage without announcing themselves or attempting to excite the crowd. They play as if they’re in a vacuum, completely focused on their guitars and the little cups of vodka scattered about their feet. It isn’t the kind of music that makes you want to dance or sing along, but their songs are mellow in the best way possible. The band shifts seamlessly from “Catamaran” to “De Vida Voz,” sampling songs from all their albums and returning again and again to their instrumental number, “Sacred Sands,” which they pronounce, “their favorite.”
They close the show with another rendition of the instrumental track. This time, the audience welcomes The Babe Rainbow, beloved now that they’ve ceased playing, back onstage to silently gyrate as The Allah-Las draw the song out into an improvised riff.
At the end of the night, it wasn’t a show meant to get you amped. Instead, it took on the role of a casual evening among friends; laid-back, intimate, always worthwhile.
Photo by Amber Knecht
