Jesse Sykes & The Sweet Hereafter

Last night I went to see a band play. The artist is a nouveau 1970's country act from Seattle called Jesse Sykes. I liked the album a lot, with its spare sound, sort of a mixture of Cat Power's ethereal melodies mixed with Son Volt's catchy fake-country-by-way-of-indie-rock twang. However, the live show was another matter entirely. The show was at Brooklyn's best venue, The Hook, where the artist was put to shame by the vast superiority of everyone in her band, The Sweet Hereafter. It was only the violinist/backup vocalist's lovely, spot-on harmonies that made Jesse's weird Patti Smith caterwauling bearable. Jesse seemed to know about 4 strummable chords, and if that guitar player she snagged from Whiskytown (a band I never liked) didn't write all those songs for her, I will be a monkey's publicist. Oh, wait, I already am. I kid, I kid. Between the repeated false starts, the self-conscious languidity, the endless prattle about how "whisky helps," I was ready to head on home before the show even finished. Jesse is on Barsuk Records, home of the inexplicably huge Death Cab for Cutie. I mean, I like them too, but their next NYC gig is at The Roseland, the 3800 capacity venue where I saw Justin Timberlake and my most beloved band of them all, Oasis. So, one woman's opnion: the disc is pretty good, the show was awful, but hey, every night out can't be a champagne supernova.