There’s always a strange lull that exists at the beginning of a new year. The touring bands that have been home since before the holidays haven’t gotten back out on the road yet. University towns like Madison are ghost towns until the students return for another semester. I’m certainly not complaining, this may be my favorite time of year. January is the best time to see the local bands I’ve been missing the rest of the year, and I always enjoy a trip to Cranky Pat’s in Neenah. Their delicious super thin crust pizza reminds me of high school and all the time spent at the Pizza Villa. Added bonus, all of their shows are now smoke-free, well in advance of the state-wide smoking ban.
The Happy New Year banners still hung over the stage, but it was just another Saturday night for Beach Patrol who rocked like the biggest party of the year hadn’t been just two days before. Impressively, the adorably energetic band from Green Bay has become the designated opening band in Wisconsin for power pop veterans the Figgs. Had it not been for that, I’m not sure I ever would have seen them. The first time I saw them at Linneman’s in Milwaukee, I enjoyed their hyperactive set more than the headliner’s. The most memorable song of their set that night was “Shitty Record Store” (as in “I’m never going back to”), and they opened with that one tonight. The rest of their set was a blur of catchy rock interspersed with a couple of well-chosen covers.
While it wasn’t a mistake in my eyes, they probably wished they hadn’t played Tom Petty’s “I Need to Know” so early in the night, because that seemed to suggest to at least one audience member that they were a cover band. Instead of appreciating their original rock, she stood in front of the band asking for songs by a variety of artists, each more unlikely than the next, implausibly asking for the Cure more than once. Still she was up front dancing, so that makes up for some of it. The Petty cover I remembered them playing at Linneman’s seemed as unlikely to me as the Cure. “The Apartment Song” wasn’t even a hit from his solo record “Full Moon Fever” yet I recognized it instantly, trouble was I couldn’t place it. Tonight I remembered.
I hadn’t heard of opener the Red Hawks, but the sound guy enthused about how terrific they were. With his stocking cap and v-neck T-shirt, the lead singer looked like a Robby Schiller wanna-be, but his voice wasn’t near as distinctive. Their set was enjoyable but unremarkable, especially compared to the basket-of-puppies charm of Beach Patrol, who I definitely need to see more often.
The Red Hawks
Beach Patrol
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