If you haven't heard of Grizzly Bear, it's probably because it's one of those bands you have to "warm up" to, which is coincidentally 94% of all Pitchfork- and blog-endorsed music.The quartet produces some of the least melodic, ethereal and winding music I've ever heard. But for some reason I've been taking cold showers ever since I heard their second album Yellow House last year.
So when lead singer Ed Droste--clad in an '80s sweater that gave me Williamsburg flashbacks--stepped out nursing an autoharp, I was so smitten that even my internal promise to never buy overpriced venue beer dissolved.
The show was like a terribly long game of Operation: Every note sang and played was so delicate, everything seemed on the verge of breaking. Almost every song was reinterpreted, and as expected, "On a Neck, On a Spit"--my favorite song of all time--left me as awe-stricken as I'm sure hair metal left many ladies unmentionables-less in the '80s. The rest remains a happy Miller Lite haze.
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