Considering that The Sea and Cake's self-titled debut first appeared in 1994, it's impressive that these guys are still even active in the indie scene, which generally thrives on transient personalities and young, undeveloped talent. Ever since its startup, the band has separated itself from its contemporaries with its seemingly boundless variety of influences — from the surf rock-laced tracks on its debut to the Steely Dan-esque guitars on "Oui" (2000), to the gloriously uncharacteristic snippets of electronica on this year's "The Moonlight Butterfly."
With all that experience behind The Sea and Cake, it should come as no surprise that the musicians know how to delicately mix a new genre or two into each album while simultaneously avoiding alienating their old fans.
The band members are no strangers to the art of performing, either, and on Monday night they played to a modest but die-hard crowd at Brighton Music Hall. The beauty — or weakness, depending on how one looks at it — of The Sea and Cake's music derives from the fact that, despite the band's myriad musical influences, it borrows only enough from all its favorite genres so that the end-product is still easily digestible and undoubtedly rock. I hesitate to use the term "vanilla indie" because of its negative connotations, but I intend it as more of a tribute to the fact that these men have been around long enough that their classic sound is more their invention than an imitation. Few bands can claim the same longevity, and The Sea and Cake deserves to be right up there with still-active vanguards of indie music, like Yo La Tengo and Superchunk.
That said, it wasn't really shocking that I was the youngest person there by about eight years. Everyone appeared to be those who grew up with the first generation of indie rock and were especially well-versed with this band. I've never seen an audience so educated in the band's discography before — between each song break there were at least 10 different song requests directed at the performers on stage.
The Sea and Cake knows who its fans are and how to pace a show expertly. Though there was little to no stage banter between anyone during the night, there was a feeling of intimacy between band and audience that could only come from years of mutual familiarity. Before the stage was ready, vocalist Sam Prekop brought up a child's drawing that seemed to hold some sentimental value. An inquisitive fan asked to take a picture of it, and he and Prekop engaged in an easy conversation that lasted a few minutes.
That same looseness also came across in the musical performance. Every song was executed with the utmost precision; the band sounded good enough to lay these cuts down in the studio. Still, they were entertaining enough on stage that they weren't boring. Although Prekop's voice is at the fore of the band's sound, the highlight of the show was the effortless virtuosity — and the facial expressions — of drummer John McEntire. Though Prekop's vocals are often delicate in nature, McEntire consistently finds ways to create an incredibly complex rhythm that doesn't overpower the band's vocals. I was frankly surprised by how well it worked out live — McEntire went wild on the set, but he didn't dominate the sound as much as one would expect.
The band had a tremendous ability to keep the crowd interested and lively on the chiller tunes like "Afternoon Speaker," though I couldn't help but feel that the show benefited from the more up-tempo tracks, like those off "Nassau" (1995). It was then that someone could check out the high leg kicks of guitarist Archer Prewitt.
For some reason, whenever I listen to The Sea and Cake, I get Yuck's song "Suicide Policeman" stuck in my head. It's completely odd — and probably unintentionally insulting — but it's a testament to the profound influence that The Sea and Cake has had on bands that are forming even today. This band has, and always will be, a foothold in the indie rock scene. At Brighton Music Hall on Monday, the band members conveyed that fact and asserted that, as long as they can play, they're here to stay.
