*disclaimer: please excuse the lame-ness of this title, and read on. I promise it gets better.
Ugh, I know it's so not like me to behind the times when it comes to bands. But here and now, I'll (un)willingly admit my shortcomings—I've *gulp* been slacking.
But I was disadvantaged.I first heard the jarring, wavering, yet punchy baseline of Hang Me Up to Dry in the dish pit of my unfortunate last-summer job at East Side's, and asked my fellow music devotee to explain to me why I'd never heard such a tune before. He went into his spiel, and before I knew it I had tuned the poor rambler out and headed back on the floor to respond to whining from overstuffed Canadians for "MO' BREAD! MO' SALAD! MO' DIET CO-CA CO-LA!", rather than succumbing to Nathan Willett's astoundingly unforgettable, piercing (and not in the pitchy ear-paining way) pleas. How could I associate such music with great things when I'd already associated it with crying over fresh-cut onions, mushy, half-eaten three-cheese capilletti, and lasanga al forno more resembling of lasagna a upchuck. Can you really blame me?
Well, in short, yeah. Cold War Kids are now waging the good war over my ears, and I think they're winning. Their Orange County sounds soothe my cravings for Cali. Seeing them at Sasquatch this weekend shot my respect off the thermometer for these heated hotties—they played harder than they skated, their guitars bouncing and swinging like punk-pop-rock dance partners, but kept it smooth with undeniable underlying piano riffs, and topped it off with the layering of a voice as powerful as the young Zach Condon. With bountiful layers, Cold War Kids are not layered like onions, no, they're a 5-tiered, majestically decorated cake with a smooth, delicious inside. And the icing on the cake? They're amazing live. The harmonies of Saint John will blow you away faster than you can blow out the candles.
Cold War Kids are here to stay, and now I can vow my loyalty as long as they're around.