It’s the little things it seems. Like, being on stage with Tennis. Staff writer Jenn Bress fills us in on her Saturday night…one/love anyone?
I’ve been dreaming of escape. It’s been a rough couple of months. Money is tight, stress is a high tide and I feel like I’m going to burst if something doesn’t change. It’s the littlest things that give the most pleasure these days, like receiving a goofy card in my mailbox from a random or discovering new music that makes you giddy happy on the rainiest of Sundays. I’ve been looking forward to seeing Tennis for a while and the March 5th show at the Rock and Roll Hotel couldn’t have come at a better time.
Sweet release, the day has finally arrived and so have I, with plenty of time to catch the opening act, La Sera. The place is pretty full, as people eagerly await Vivian Girl, Katy Goodman’s side project to take the stage. Ohhh, Katy—those stereotypical indie bangs, I just want to punch that haircut back to it’s Nylon cover, not that you aren’t adorable as all hell, I am just so sick of seeing it on every Urban Outfitters clone. Anyway, her doe-eyed beauty compliments the catchy hooks of “Never Come Around” while cotton candy melodies perforate the air. Starry eyed listeners visit swoon central and sway to songs that make them want to hold the hand of the stranger next to them for a moment.
But honestly, this is kind of the Fruit Stripe Gum of dream pop, a bundle of songs each with a slightly similar fruity flavor, all wrapping up the same in the end. The flavor is lovely for a moment but doesn’t last long. It’s defiantly a step away from Vivian Girls fuzzy garage rock and I expected a dreamier ephemeral set, but was surprised at that not being the case. Perhaps that was due to the flu, which Katy said they all had.
Honestly, I think the the shitty acoustics of the venue may have distilled the dreaminess captured the set. The “Devil’s Heart Grows Gold” was one gem that glistened from the speakers regardless of the venue or Le Sera’s irregularities.
I fight my way to the front for Tennis. Waves of excitement and intoxication wash over me as Patrick Riley appears a beacon in white pants and preppy loafers. Aliana Moore’s Hammond keyboard anchors all eyes to the stage with anticipation. I am transported, defenseless to this music, I bob and weave with the curl of each delicate song. Aliana’s voice is vulnerable and refreshing, reminiscent of Harriett Wheeler of the Sundays. Crisp breezy melodies, the guitar is a sunset flickering across a frolicking sea—the song “South Carolina”—romantic and euphoric like a summer evening that you want to sail off into and never return again. I love the jangly guitars over rock candy drums and syrup of Aliana’s angelic ooohs in “Long Boat Pass.” I close my eyes and drift away.
Suddenly, two people are asked to sing back up for “Marathon” since Aliana, like Katy, has the flu. I volunteer, but the dialogues in my head repeats “don’t sound like a dying seagull, don’t kill it for everyone.” I’m no Beverly Lee, but I give it my best, and Emily who joins me on stage is a peach, and likely carried the tune for us both. It was pure magic. I was absolutely honored to have joined Tennis on stage for a brief moment and am still in a daze that it even happened. There has been a lot of hype about Tennis, and that is for a damned good reason, they do not disappoint live and frankly, you are missing out if you don’t explore them.
