Bear Hands

Their first song, “Vietnam,” was their best. “The finest army/ I’m a working man /Dropping bombs all over Northern Vietnam/ And Cambodia/ I got a back up plan/ This is what I’ve learned from war in Vietnam.” The angry and somewhat – as a matter of course? – didactic lyrics, spit sung in singer Dylan Rau’s warble, elevated the intense transcendence Bear Hand’s visceral guitar rock wants to induce. Elsewhere during the set I was moved or rocked or wowed, but the booming violent glee of the opener was not to be paralleled. Not that the rest was yesterday’s leftovers, either.

Playing Boulder Coffee Shop in Rochester, NY on December 1 in support of their new EP and first release, Golden, Bear Hands can get by on how loud the four of them can get. For the small venue concert goer who isn’t into hardcore/metal shows, hearing a loud band can for stretches become an anomaly. With drummer T.J. Orscher pounding the kit with ferocity and both bassist Val Loper and lead guitarist Red Feldman picking up the sticks to beat on a floor tom every now and again, BH’s sound is a very concerned one to never appear too sparse or vulnerable – this is left to Rau’s vocals, constantly distorted and sometimes sounding as though they should be bawling over an acoustic guitar at a lame show instead of howling over a rock band at a good show.

Golden’s “Bad Blood”, third in the set, has the dense audience unsure of how to tap our heels or swing our hips. The line, “I would rather bury you than marry you at sea,” recurs throughout – the rest of the lyrics may be repeated as well but it is only in the brief instances when the rhythm section drops off or the song holds its breath that one can honestly understand Rau’s articulation. Otherwise, it’s like trying to transcribe a chat at a crowded shooting range.

“Golden” itself is a hazy guitar line over a rhythm section determined to explode. “All over the tri-state area/ It’s sick money/ It’s crime in stereo.” Rau consistently sounds pissed, depressed and generally menaced by history – his own and his community’s/nation’s – while the rest of the band sounds solely interested in moving heels and hips and heads – and hair.

Closing with “Long Lean Queen,” the band stops – literally stops playing the song – about a minute in after Loper’s bass is accidentally unplugged. “No no no,” Rau says through the distorted microphone, “I’m not going down like that. I didn’t drive seven hours to fuck up on the last song. Now plug your bass back in-” and that was that. “Long and lean/ God save the Queen.” This is guitar rock songwriting and performance through and through, Bear Hands, but complicated in the purity of the band’s intent: it all sounds perfectly executed and still dirty, disgruntled, underfed and anxious. I may not put Golden on repeat but I’ll see the band when next they come round. They are, after all, working men.

Earlier Cale Parks, crouched behind keyboards, a computer, some percussive devices and a vocal mic – and a bunch of other mixer-ish things I couldn’t put a name to – began the evening with an aggressive and dreamy set. After making his computer play some pre-recorded atmospherics Parks would record a bass line, a beat – themselves becoming a part of the loop – and then sing and play keyboard over the whole mix. It sometimes had the spiritual daydream of Panda Bear’s comfiest moments while never forgoing the idea that someone might want to dance.

Forgetting myself for moments throughout the set – which this music encourages – I’d find the song again, however much later, somewhere else; somewhere more interesting or at least more intense. Parks was, in his frazzled, smooth way, an appropriate opener for Bear Hands. They both wanted to razzle me, but Bear Hands sometimes even dazzled me.

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