Who would have ever guessed they left the realism of the emerald isle to call the brash simulacrum of Los Angeles home?
With only the Sing Song Sung EP officially released on Dangerbird records, La Rocca came across as a cohesive and traveled group, revealing their mastery of the pop-rock form with its neatly timed elevations and brief, lyrical promises. It was clear that their success over seas has given them a great amount of confidence, which translated to sincerity and urgency in their performance.
At times though, La Rocca seem to become a little too self-conscious about their stadium rock ambitions. During some songs it was clear that Bjorn Baillie (lead vocals, guitar) had inserted dramatic pauses to advertise the name of whatever city he might be playing in, rousing the investment bankers and junior partners in the crowd to pump their arms to the summons of petty recognition and city pride.
“Chicago, are we friends yet?” Of course we are. After four gin and tonics, anyone will be your friend.
I know it is all too easy to make the U2 comparison, but I must. I am not talking about "Beautiful Day to make some money" U2, but Joshua Tree and Unforgettable Fire U2, that saccharin infectious cocktail of social commentary and emotional confession that could have only been written from a long walk on a street with no name.
Baillie seems to come close to this balance with a line like “I wish I read more papers on how the west was won,” a reflexive statement on American progress buried amongst a love letter left early in the morning.
Although Bjorn Baillie (lead vocals, guitar) may like to become “one of the greatest songwriters of his generation,” I am afraid that he still has some ground to cover. But who doesn't in that respect?
As one would expect from a band with a song spot on a recent episode of the OC, most of the bands material deals with easily digestible stories about love leaving and the bleary eyed search for truth.
La Rocca's greatest talents lies with their ability to build simple, catchy melodies, often under the tutelage of keyboardist, Nick Haworth, who seems lost in the task of sweeping the keys clean with his bangs. The drummer and self proclaimed band promoter, Alan Redmond, also did well to keep the rhythm tight with eyes wide and feasting on the crowd.
I have no doubt that in time, riding the graces of their Dublin accents, La Rocca will win over the hearts of many young Americans, finding their place in the temporary pantheon of iPod shuffles and today's pop canon.
Coming on at around midnight, the headliner of the night, The Sam Roberts Band, milked all the mystery they could from the soaked and sedated anticipation of the crowd. Arming themselves with their instruments in the dark, they waited till the first note struck before the lights went on.
And what did we see? Five guys trying their best live up to the classic rock dream. The polls are still out if they will make it.
Before I realized it, five or six songs had piled themselves on top of each other, and if you had asked me, I would have been hard pressed to draw any distinction. Whatever publicist said that their music, “occupies a space between studious intellect and gut reaction,” was probably as drunk as everyone in Schuba's.
Playing songs from their soon to be released album, Chemical City, Roberts material swayed between general fears of sexual anonymity (said oh what's wrong with me, I know what I don't want to be, a dead end on the family tree) and vague, cheerleader shout outs to the Canadian dream (S.O.C.I.A.L.I.S.M. is here to stay, S.O.C.I.A.L.I.S.M. is the only way).
I wonder if Sam Roberts would be willing to meet with me and discuss his views on the primitive accumulation of capital?
When it comes down to it, Sam Roberts Band is just swimming in sweaty, bar room rock and roll inheritance. A pick up line at best.
As for the myth of Sam Roberts himself, well, that is a far more interesting story.
Behind the Music: Sam Roberts
Once a hockey prodigy and rising star in Canada (compared to Gretzky in his youth), Sam met a tragic end to his athletic career after his fourth victory at the Iron Man triathlon in Hawaii…..
Apparently, after celebrating his triumph in various photo-ops with sponsors and swimsuit models, the 14 year old Roberts wondered into an ally in a seedy section of Honollulu where he was accosted by two large, Hawaiian men. The last thing he heard was, “pound him Vince.”
Unconcerened about his hockey prospects, these men inflicting severe, career ending injuries to his legs and head. Roberts returned to Canada broken, bruised, and unable to train at the high level needed to realize his hockey dreams.
So, we can only assume, he found shelter in rock and roll.
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