Sebadoh at the High Noon Saloon
The costumed crowd that lurched into the High Noon Saloon Monday for Sebadoh was in for a real treat as lo-fi high priest Lou Barlow, clad in cassock robes, presided over the soulless for an evening of amplified jolts and bone-rattling beats. Though the show started with Barlow’s blessing and the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer, it certainly turned sacrilegious as the guitars began to howl.
With a few skeletons and a maniacal-looking Merlin sitting at the bar, Barlow channeled the mischief of the night as he picked up a guitar that had been balanced against a light-up zombie doll and, without a moment’s hesitation, started playing “Too Pure.” Referencing the group’s large pool of short songs, Barlow dryly stated, “One down, 52 to go.” This was followed closely by the screech of an amp and a succession of Bakesale favorites including “Skull” and “Rebound.”
The indie-rock pioneers of Sebadoh are currently touring in commemoration of the reissue of the albums Bakesale and Harmacy. Known for exceptionally abrasive yet tender songs, the group came off as endearing yet unapologetic as it reverbed in and out of songs during its nonstop set.
At some point it became obvious that the crowd had long ago drank the Kool-Aid from the Church of Barlow. Limbs started to flail, and a dance move Barlow called “the drunk Frankenstein clap” became pandemic as “Dreams,” “Not A Friend,” and “Together Or Alone” played, and the audience convened like brain-hungry monsters at the front of the stage.
After one of many crowd-hyped Jäger shots, Sebadoh commenced the first of three “fake encores,” which essentially tacked on an additional set. There were no complaints as werewolves and dads wearing visors muttered along with the lyrics that were barely audible over the simultaneous guitar riffs and epic distortion. By the end of the night, the entire discography of both re-released albums had been played along with some less recognizable yet still awesome improvisations.
The calamity ended with a cover of something that resembled the chorus of a Black Sabbath song, though with light-up zombie doll eyes flashing onstage and the crowd furiously Frankenstein clapping, it cannot be certain what it was. But clearly, by the end of the night, Sebadoh had scared the cobwebs off of the walls and all but exorcized the crowd, which repeatedly called out, “Thank you, Father!”
“Just call me daddy,” Barlow replied.
