September 26, 2007 - Live shows always offer both and opportunity and a challenge for artists: an opportunity to introduce unfamiliar listeners to their music, and a challenge to properly represent (and sometimes recreate) the sound of that music in a live setting. In the case of Kings of Leon, the real opportunity at their recent Greek Theatre appearance was for them to represent their music the way it was meant to be heard - namely, live - while the decidedly darker Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and newcomers Manchester Orchestra were challenged with introducing their music to an audience if not unfamiliar then at least generally uninterested in getting to know it.


Headliner: Kings of Leon
Opening Acts: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Manchester Orchestra When: 7:30 PM, September 7, 2007 Where: The Greek Theatre, Los Angeles, CA Ticket Price: $40.00



Contrary to what the band's name suggests, Manchester Orchestra is neither an orchestra nor from Manchester. Rather, the quintet is from Atlanta, GA, and if nothing else their performance on this particular night suggests that the angst-rock of the 1990s is at long last back in vogue. That's not necessarily a bad thing, mind you, but theirs is music for melancholy boys and the girls who desperately want to understand them; in other words, the polar opposite of the Kings' shaggy, all-inclusive tailgate party. Nevertheless, M.O. still managed to rouse the slowly-filling-in crowd - it was, after all, Friday night, mere minutes from the time when most in attendance got out of work - and establish themselves as more than simply a stopgap between parking headaches and the headliners' performance.

The whininess of '90s rock was one of its major shortcomings, and no doubt one of the reasons it essentially disappeared without a trace for a decade. Thankfully, M.O. has musical self-confidence, if no other kind, so their power chords and tempo changes were executed decisively, playing a little bit like this was going to be the performance that would either make or break them. Singer/songwriter/guitarist Andy Hull milked his tortured-artist persona for all its worth on songs like "Where Have You Been," which he went as far as describing as "a song about the end of the world," and yet never seemed self-indulgent; his thankfully is music that seems to include others with its itchy angst (rather than presage the united alienation of a thousand mascara-clad teenagers crying in unison), and he won over at least a few new listeners (this one included) with the band's clean, cohesive set.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, on the other hand, feels like a 100% product of modern rock; even their harmonica playing is contained to a pop-friendly polyrhythm. The band's sound, as I was introduced to it, came across live as some unholy combination of the Doors and Ennio Morricone, brooding with operatic, existential dread, but theirs too was a sound that seemed to complement the Kings's. That said, the multiple guitar changes from one song to the next were annoyingly pretentious, particularly given the singular drive of most of the band's melodies. But regardless of their excesses and eccentricities, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club managed to both champion their artistic pretenses and sustain crowd interest for the full duration of their set.

Their set-up was predictably minimal - save of course for the arsenal of guitars stage left - but the modest illumination generated beautifully melancholic atmosphere as night fell on the Greek. Strobe lights cast light over the attendees as they made their ways to their seats, creating silhouettes defined only by the beers in their plastic cups. Meanwhile, "666 Conducer" offered what will hopefully be the opening-credits song for some future movie about teenage delinquency; singing "she's seventeen/ she's got everything she needs to lose," lead vocalist Peter Hayes offered his own appealingly sleazy take on a familiar rock 'n roll conceit - underage romance - but it was mostly lost (save again for the propulsive backbeat) on the barely-legal crowd.

During the hiatus between Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and Kings of Leon, I took an opportunity to check my phone for messages, one in particular: I was tentatively scheduled to conduct an interview with the guys from Manchester Orchestra. Thanks to the dubious reception in and around the Greek, I received nothing, but as I looked up I realized that I wasn't the only one studiously consulting their phones, blackberries or sidekicks. The glow of view screens persisted into the first songs of the Kings' set, partially because folks couldn't wrap up their conversations and partially because their cameras were trained on the band, whose exploits would no doubt soon appear on some video hosting site. As energizing was the band's first number, the discouraging abundance of media players and recorders served as a sad reminder that nothing really seems to happen in life these days unless it's documented near to death.

Regardless, the audience partially redeemed itself as the performance got into full swing: for a change, I actually enjoyed it when I saw everyone singing the words to almost every song - a sign if nothing else that these folks at least have used the Kings' music as a soundtrack for their chats, conversations and text messages. As the headliner, the band had the most elaborate stage set-up, including - gasp! - a gigantic disco ball, but much like their music, these accoutrements were more digressive than excessive. Drum solos, guitar riffs, and vocal improvisations all added to the group's better-when-live-vibe, sending the crowd into a frenzy as they rattled through a tight but extensive collection of songs from their discography.

Unlike few other bands working in pop and pop-rock today, the Kings' music has a truly distinctive personality, even if it is at least partially standing on the shoulders of country-rock giants like the Allman Brothers. Especially live, their music sounds rusty, like the reverb of a pickup's engine block struggling to life after an afternoon in the hot sun; it's truly the sound of dirt roads, dusty female feet and cutoff jeans, not to mention the perfect soundtrack for making out on a blanket beneath a big tree after a proper country picnic. That of course isn't to say that the Kings are disciples of real redneck culture - lead singer Nathan Followill was wearing jeans tighter than your girlfriend's - but compared to the throttling art-rock of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club or the emo posturing of Manchester Orchestra, they definitely feel like a band of the people rather, than, say, for some people.

That said, none are better than the rest, only more practiced, more polished or more pretentious. But on this particular Friday night, all challenges were met and all opportunities truly taken advantage of.