I’d been feeling pretty good about what the prospects for the evening of Friday the 13th of July held. Basically, they held a Droids Attack show, and I remembered from the last time the Madison, Wisconsin, rockers came through Brooklyn that they were right on the proverbial money. I had to work the next morning, but Friday night after a long week, I was ready to enjoy myself and let loose at the Saint Vitus Bar at a show that I knew would be laid back and not at all trying in the way Brooklyn gigs sometimes are these days. If Droids Attack are anything, they’re unpretentious.

Unbeknownst to me, it was a four-band bill. All prior indicators were for three — The Giraffes, who I assumed would play last and who did, Droids Attack and Cinema Cinema — but a fourth was added which meant that I was early when I arrived at about 9PM. No one would be going on for some time, and the prospect of work the next day meant I probably wouldn’t be staying the whole show. I’d been looking forward to seeing The Giraffes, who may or may not have had vocalist Aaron Lazar with them, but so it goes. And so I went. To the bar. First at the Saint Vitus Bar itself, and then, in an attempt to find someplace with the Yankee game on, down the street a block or two to a punkier kind of dive/local joint. They had the Mets. I had the feeling it was as close as I was going to get.

My spirit undiminished, I drank down a quick two dirty-line Brooklyn Lagers before heading back over to the Saint Vitus Bar in time to watch the first act go on before Cinema Cinema. It seemed to be a one-man show. A guy sat in a rocking chair and sang soulfully from underneath a throw blanket — something I might support theoretically, but there comes a time where you have to stop and realize, “I just paid money to watch this,” and walk out of the room to get another drink. Back out front I went, and by the time I dared venture through the curtain that separates the bar from the back room where bands play, the duo Cinema Cinema were well into their set of bombastic post-punk.

They mentioned twice in the couple songs I saw them play that they were about to go on tour (apparently for not the first time) with Greg Ginn — which is fair; I’m pretty sure if Greg Ginn asked me to do a couple shows I’d get a face tattoo that advertised same — and they covered “School” by Nirvana. I guess after 20 years, that stuff is probably fair game nowadays. Fine. They had their shit together and were tight, and despite their not really being my thing, they got their point across. Great drums, which are almost always welcome to my ringing ears.

A goodly portion of my fourth beer was dumped down my front before Droids Attack went on by their drummer, Tony Brungraber — obviously an accident — but even that wasn’t enough to quell my excitement at seeing the band again. The trio set up quickly after Cinema Cinema finish. Brungraber and guitarist/vocalist Brad Van had introduced me to bassist Dennis Ponozzo by saying he was, “the man,” so I looked forward to hearing him as they got started, and neither he nor either of the other two disappointed. Droids Attack were precisely as I remembered them from their prior East Coast run: good times.

Something else about them: Droids Attack come by their heavy rock as honestly as any band I’ve ever heard. Watching them play and listening to their set, you could see their punk-type roots had grown up, and they made no bones about who they were, what they wanted to sound like or from where they took influence. It was as refreshing as I’d hoped it would be, and Van tore into a few choice solos as Ponozzo and Brungraber made complex rhythms seem easy. Think prog boogie.

Their set was comprised almost entirely of new material, but for the finale, which was the title-track from 2010′s Must Destroy – pretty sure that’s what it was — and Ponozzo kept mostly to the riff on his bass, picking along in time to Van and not really veering too much this way or that for fills or changes. Brungraber executed a varied range of fills in response to the often surprising turns in Van‘s rhythm lines and reinforced the idea that though you can usually have a decent idea of where the band are headed musically, the avenue they take to get there is filled with all kinds of unexpected nuances and detours. It made the newer material I’d never heard before that much more exciting to witness live for the first time.

When they were done, I looked at my watch and it read 11:59PM. For a self-imposed midnight split time, I surmised my evening was over, said a couple quick goodbyes and split out of the Saint Vitus Bar, walking through the bar which had filled up considerably since the last time I’d been out to it — The Giraffes bringing out a hometown crowd, I guessed. Not for me this time. I’ve been doing catchy-song penance ever since with their excellent Dave Catching-produced 2008 outing, Prime Motivator, but back through the Queens Midtown Tunnel, across Manhattan and out to Jersey I went, spitting fury and flavorless chewing gum onto the highway, still feeling like I’d had the quality evening I’d hoped for.

Extra pics after the jump.

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As far as people who dig The Giraffes go, I’m a pretty sucky fan. I was about two years late to the party on the Brooklyn rockers Dave Catching-produced meisterwerk, Prime Motivator, and I didn’t make it out earlier this year when singer Aaron Lazar played his last show with the band, before bowing out (gracefully, I assume) due to health reasons.

Nonetheless, it’s with nerdy aplomb that I post the following new album news off the PR wire:

Soldiering forth in the wake of the departure of singer Aaron Lazar, The Giraffes announce the release of their latest full-length album The Giraffes Ruled, their second release on Madison, WI-based record label Crustacean Records.

Simply put, The Giraffes Ruled is the band’s epic, their most audacious disc to date.  Dating back to 2008, Ruled was conceived as a grand metaphor for something once mighty slowly dying – be it a country, a love or even a band – suffocating under the weight of lies (“The Bed”), avarice (“The Borders”), broken promises (“The Counter”) and unmet expectations (“The City”).  Fans of the band’s shout-along choruses and brutal rhythms, Lazar’s gravelly croon and razor-sharp wit, and Damien Paris‘ six-string pyrotechnics will find this to be their greatest, most coherent work. Newcomers will have the perfect (and ample) introduction to the band in all their volatile glory.

The Giraffes Ruled was produced by Joel Hamilton, and recorded and mixed at his Brooklyn studios the Bunker and the famous Studio G.

One month ago today (total coincidence), I posted a review of the new Giraffes live album, Show, on Crustacean Records. In case you’re too lazy to click that link, the gist of it was, “Hot damn, I really need to hear the last Giraffes studio album.” Well now I have, and I was right. I did need to hear this record.

Prime Motivator has more in common with Queens of the Stone Age‘s Songs for the Deaf than the color red and production from Dave Catching at Rancho de la Luna in California. The Brooklyn-based Giraffes (and I’ll say again I don’t know what the hell they’re doing in Brooklyn) affect a similar kind of playfulness in their songs. Thinking of a track like “Allergic to Magnets” or the more stoner-ized “Honest Men,” the band is notably tight, but there’s a looseness, an off-the-cuff feel to the songs that just can’t be faked. Vocalist Aaron Lazar‘s croon doesn’t hurt either, either for the comparison or in general.

The absolute highlight, though, is “Medicaid Benefit Appliqué,” track six of the total 13. At just under seven minutes, it’s the longest song on Prime Motivator, but man, if you’ve ever enjoyed the chorus of any song ever, you need to hear this track. It’s immaculate. It slows the pace of the record just when it needs it, has verses that seem to be built around Andrew Totolos crash cymbal, and adds some rock crunch at precisely the right time. If sat down and mapped out the entirety of Prime Motivator and tried to recreate the feel of the song, you wouldn’t be able to do it. This shit needs to just happen. Gorgeous.

But again, get this band out of Brooklyn. Their unabashed affection for what they do runs directly in contrast to the hipper-than-thou indie/irono cock rock that seems to seep from that borough, and their willingness to be heavy, catchy (beyond belief) and still pop-oriented and accessible makes them a better fit for an anything goes town like Chicago or even the muck of Los Angeles, which I’ve no doubt that if they were given the proper opportunity, The Giraffes would be able to rise above. Prime Motivator isn’t even necessarily stoner, it’s just a killer rock record that listening to now, I regret the nearly two full years I haven’t had with it. No time like this time to make up for lost time.

Like a lot of people, I first encountered Brooklyn rockers The Giraffes when they released their self-titled album in 2005 on Razor & Tie. To be honest, I didn’t think much of them at the time. Straightforward rock that was decent, good enough songwriting. I kept the album but never really went back to it, never kept up with the band. Out of the blue, half a decade later, the live album Show, released by Wisconsin’s Crustacean Records (celebrating their 15th year), drops on my doorstep and I’m wondering what the hell I’ve let slip my grasp all this time. Not only did Dave Catching – he wasn’t saying goodnight at the end of Queens of the Stone Age’s Songs for the Deaf, he was just saying — produce their last album, 2008’s Prime Motivator, with Joel Hamilton mixing, but more importantly, the songs on show are fucking killer, professional grade rock with attitude to spare. I feel a bit the fool.

The CD/DVD Show, with one disc adorably labeled “Earhole” and one labeled “Eyehole,” compiles 12 songs recorded at Union Pool in Brooklyn last year, playing tracks off the aforementioned Prime Motivator, the self-titled and beyond, igniting a raucous melee the likes of which few bands could. They kill, and as I listen/watch (let’s be honest, mostly listen), I can only wonder what Brooklyn does with this band. I mean, they’re actually rocking, and they’re actually good. In a borough whose music scene is populated by shitbird 20-year-old hipsters playing jagged math rock like they invented it, a band like The Giraffes must stand out like the most kickass herpes ever. On Show, the songwriting is tight, the performances are tight, the band is taking names and there’s no sense of self-conscious irony, no smugness to it. I watched the DVD and their pants aren’t even that tight! Hey guys, you might want to consider moving.

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