It seems that, as of late, the indie rock scene has been jaded by the presence of charming, outgoing frontmen. Baring all in interviews and reaching hands out to sold-out crowds screaming along to their words, the indie scene seems almost dominated by rock stars. Where have the quiet, elusive frontmen dedicated to nothing but a solid performance gone?
Well if they’re all in hiding, one has come out. His name is Peter Silberman, his band is the Antlers and last Thursday at DC9, they proved that there’s more to a band than just a face and more to the music than what’s on a recording.
The Antlers, consisting of Silberman (vocals, guitar), Michael Lerner (drums, percussion) and Darby Cicci (keyboards) give their music away for free online. Potentially part of a trend made prominent by Radiohead and Illegal Art Records, the band insists that this move is because they care more about the music than the money. Besides this, it is also abundantly clear that when the Antlers want to win over fans, they’ll do it on stage.
Playing to a sold-out audience in the comfortably cramped DC9 bar, the Antlers played a beautifully crafted set, containing mostly songs from their latest release, “Hospice.” Rather than structuring the show as a venue for audience interaction, the Antlers aimed for a set that would reinterpret the meanings of their songs, giving the set the feeling of a piece with many movements rather than a disjointed group of songs.
The quiet opening track, “Bear,” was rife with eerie twinkling from Silberman’s guitar and slow cymbal crescendos from Lerner. Decorated with a fuzzy reverb that echoed through the venue, “Bear” — though it held its own in the set — felt more like an intro to their show, acclimating the audience to Silberman’s emotive, pleading vocals and the band’s tendency to move from a collective whisper to a cymbal-crash initiated explosion of sound. The result was nearly theatrical.
Despite a penchant for drawn-out endings — nearly all of the band’s songs built from soft beginnings to extended instrumental outros — the Antlers are not a jam band. This is partially because jam bands play on huge stages at summer concert festivals and are often annoying and tedious. This is also because their instrumental sessions seemed to be more than just jams. These movements seemed like moments that the Antlers seemed to be caught in, as if they were extended trains of thought expressed through music — jamming without the hassle of a jam.
Lerner’s drumming gave the set a continuous heartbeat, but rather than remaining simply steadfast and rhythmic, he seemed to collapse upon his drumset, pounding out an intense array of beats, always keeping the audience guessing. The prominence of his bass drum masked the inconspicuous absence of a bassist — something that did very little to affect the intensity of the Antlers’ set.
In keeping with the mysterious indie band vibe, the band remained mostly silent while tuning between songs. A couple of “thank yous” were overheard here and there, but the in-between time was occupied mostly by silence or quiet muttering. Rather than seeming arrogant or dismissive, though, this only built upon the buzz surrounding “Hospice” — these songs are too personal to discuss.
The opening to “Sylvia” gave a brief respite to the heaviness of the Antlers’ set. Opening with bright chords, the song seemed almost a wakeup call to those who were caught in the trance of their earlier songs. Despite the optimistic front, there’s no need to be fooled — this song is a tribute to late author Sylvia Plath, at times blatant, “Sylvia, get your head out of the oven/go back to screaming and cursing,” and at other times pleading and personal, “Sylvia, I only talk to you when you are sleeping/That’s when I tell you everything/And I imagine that somehow you’re going to hear me.”
The night’s crowd-pleaser was “Two,” the latest single off “Hospice.” With a reckless bareness, the song emanated the excitement of novelty, but not the kind of novelty that wares off or fades away. Cicci’s keyboards climbing quietly through the background characterized the song’s continuous building and refusal to reach a peak, and Silberman’s voice blended so seamlessly with the music that it seemed almost a fourth instrument.
The Antlers are the kind of band that make you really believe in live music again. For them, it’s not about their personas or their presence. It’s not even necessarily about the sound of their music. It’s about how it feels and how a perfectly-constructed live set can quietly bring an audience closer to a band.
