Photo by Isaac Sachs.
This would have been written two weeks ago, but I got a (temp) job. Having only just relocated to Chicago, this is exciting news for me, but it has also sucked up all my free time. Meanwhile, Iceland has been enjoying lots of attention lately thanks to their big volcanic ash cloud. Ironically (?), the wind has kept nearly all of the destruction away from Iceland itself, leaving it virtually untouched. As news and ash have spread, I’ve been thinking about the Seabear show at Schubas, and how I really really needed to get this review posted.
Schubas is small, with a narrow bar in front, and through a soundproof door, a band room that holds about 250 bodies. The stage is fronted by natural wooden accents, wooden pillars on the sides, and barely large enough to hold Seabear’s seven members. Along one side of the lil room is a long bench, and on the wall above the bench is a row of coat hooks – which are ubiquitous in Chicago gathering places, btw.
I was most excited to see opener Sóley, who is one of Seabear’s members. She sat at a keyboard and played piano, while Seabear’s drummer, bassist, and violinist accompanied her. Her songs are pretty, delicate, and a little bit weird and amorphous in places. I loved the short set (seemed like she only played 5 songs), and one of the most enjoyable aspects of the performance was her stage banter. She has that classic elfin quality you expect from Icelandic people, childlike but somehow sophisticated at the same time. She lamented bassist Dóri’s love of McDonalds, she talked about how much she loves America (this is Seabear and Sóley’s first tour of the U.S.), and through it all they charmed the hell out of the crowd with these sweet smiles. The whole band radiated happiness. They were adorable. I want to put them in my pocket and keep them for my very own. I want to make them sandwiches and chat about the clouds above. Sóley closed her set with “Theater Island”, which is the song that primarily drew me to her, because I am a fool for crisp piano pop.
Via Tania is Australian by birth, but she’s been a Chicago resident for some time now. She’s been on tour with Seabear, and the styles of music compliment one another very well. Her music is keyboard-driven, almost dancey when you see her in person. She occasionally rocked a tenor ukulele (Lanakai, like mine, probably for the electric pickup built into the body), which got me all sorts of hot n bothered. Her set of gentle blippy pop was solid, if a little austere.
Seabear’s lead singer and songwriter, Sindri Már Sigfússon, wore a plain white t-shirt festooned with little drawings that looked like they were made with a magic marker. His arms are covered with tattoos that look almost the same: doodley scrawls that gave the effect of his arms and shirt blending together, as if his entire torso was tattooed on. With all the members of the band crowded onto the stage together, assembled before a full audience, there was a similar appearance to Schubas band room: the stage and floor blended together with bodies in one human chunk.
Seabear is visually and sonically captivating in the live setting. A very quiet breakdown occured in the midst of the first song, the sound contracting to a hushed point, contrasting with the conversations burbling in the crowd. The band’s subtle command of the energy in the room brought each of those chatters to a standstill. The room became near silent for a few beats, and the band went on. Having seen so many audiences ignore the band onstage over the years, I was impressed.
These Icelandic folk have a dry and/or wry sense of humor. “So, Chicago is warm”, Sigfússon said with a blank expression. “It’s nice.” I mean, that shit is so dry it doesn’t even appear to be a joke as I reread it. But it was. This show happened to be the last of their American tour, and also bassist Dóri Ragnarsson’s birthday. “He is twenty-nine years young, and ladies, he is single and ready to mingle.” Again, completely deadpan. I thought I was going to die. Dóri was given a tiara for his balding pate and covered with sequins and glitter. He promptly asked the audience, “Ware iz zee partee?” after the show ends. No one replied, perhaps because they assumed the party was in the band’s green room or something, as I did.
Critics compare Seabear to a combination of The Arcade Fire and Sufjan Stevens (because of all the fancy instruments, including violin and trumpet, and their intensely hushed pop tones), which is apt. Songs that seem confined and restrained on We Built a Fire burst with passion on stage. Seabear is comprised of highly trained musicians who sound best when they play with abandon. See them live.
Back in January, when I was scouting Chicago as a place to live, I managed not to get into a show at Schubas because it sold out. While that was sort of a bummer, it made this show more meaningful, because Schubas is one of Chicago’s most celebrated small venues. I keep noting that Chicago has so many rooms for bands to play in that do not have an analog in Seattle. Size-wise, Schubas is similar to the Comet, but in terms of shape and aesthetic, there’s no strong comparison to one of Seattle’s rooms. I really, really enjoy this fact about Chicago: there are so many venues that are unique to this city. I often speculate that it has to do with the evolution of the city itself, with its dense, squared-off buildings brushing up against each other on street after street. I love it.
There were lots of fancy bloggers with cameras at the show, and you can read their reviews and see their pictures here and here and here.
