I’ve come to the conclusion that Café Montmartre just may be the worst place in Madison to see a show. Usually I can put up with the chatty crowd and the decaying sound system to see the bands I want to see, but tonight it was just too much. Both of those factors were out in full force tonight, in addition the come-and-go crowd kept the door open far too long for the sub-zero temperatures outside. I was cold, crabby and sober- nothing was going to make me happy tonight.
“Why do you play here?” I asked Todd Vandenberg (Heller Mason) after his barely audible five song opening set, “no one ever listens to you.” “Yeah, I kinda forgot,” he responded. He hadn’t been to Madison since his last gig at Montmartre, an even louder night opening for Dear August as they celebrated the wedding of their bass player. I’m still not sure how he ended up on that bill. Tonight I had to concentrate to separate the crowd noise from the songs he and Abby Zdrale (of sorely missed New Kentucky Quarter) were singing. The songs from his new record, The Mess I’ve Made, pick up where his first release Minimalist and Anchored left off, which means more pretty songs that deserve to be heard. It’s just not ever going to happen here.
When Nick Whetro and Karl Christenson were actually playing their set as Icarus Himself they sounded good, but they spent too much time between songs tuning, setting up the drum machine and discussing what to play next. Normally it wouldn’t bother me so much, but tonight everything was aggravating.
The Wars of 1812 were the first band of the night to be able to play over the crowd noise. Or maybe they actually shut up for their set… nah, I didn’t think so. Jeremiah was never too far from the stage and spent their set adjusting the sound which for some reason was being run from the stage and what looked like the head to his PA instead of from the sound booth. Andy, the usual sound guy, was nowhere to be seen, though I am not sure even he could have done much better. Former Madison residents who live in Minneapolis now, 1812 played catchy quirky pop. I probably should have bought a CD, but well, you know why I didn’t.
I guess the key to surviving a show at Momo is to be just as drunk as all the people who are annoying you. At least that seemed to be Jeremiah’s technique. The Mysterious Bruises hadn’t been on stage more than ten minutes when he declared, “It’s customary before we play our second song that someone buys us a round of whiskey.” While I’m not sure how many shots of Jameson they actually received, he repeated the claim of tradition throughout the night. While the band probably did sound good, it was hard to really tell through the recurring feedback. Frustrated, Jeremiah finally sighed, “can we get a little help up here?”
I know how he felt. I’m sure I’ll still go to shows there, but I’m not going to make the mistake of being sober next time.
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