A crank set from the Fiery Furnaces

The Friedbergers speed through old favorites, and Eleanor wishes she were back in Chicago

By Joel Cusumano
Published: June 27th, 2007 | 2:43pm

June 22, 2007, in Chicago — Sold out! Ticket-less fans hoping to catch some of the Fiery Furnaces’ new songs (spoiler: they sound just like their old ones) had to hover in the glow of the chintzy Old Style sign hanging outside the Empty Bottle to catch the perfectly street-audible concert like good hipster bums.

Dios (Malos) (the parenthetical badness added after a legal tango with metal buffoon Ronnie James Dio) fired up at 10 p.m. The Hawthorne, California, foursome’s tunes were sharp but suffered from a weak mix. The drums, besides being played by an attention-hogging distraction prone to wankily lifting his drums up crucifix-style like he was Tommy Lee, were thin and too hip-hop choppy for Dios’ otherwise catchy stoner pop. Pluses: definitely the twin 12-strings and singer Joel Morales’ ridiculously echoed-out vocals.

A new Fiery Furnaces T-shirt design at the merch booth featured a bizarre illustration of Shrek enthusiastically banging congas as Homer Simpson stands aside cross-armed in disapproval, an image that could aptly point up the split ‘mongst the band’s indie rock fans. You’re either Homer, grumpily insisting that there is nothing to get about the band, or you’re Shrek, gleefully banging (or, for image-conscious hipsters, wiggling your index finger) along to the band’s joyful mess.

And what a thrill the Furnaces were for ogres and otherwise live. Joining the core bro-sis duo of Matthew and Eleanor Friedberger onstage was guitarist Jason Lowenstein (Sebadoh) and two percussionists. Gone were Matthew’s plinky piano sounds, replaced by a jittery organ and Lowenstein’s webby guitar. Eleanor took over all vocal duties, sing-speaking in glorious spurts; she sounded at times like a beat poet rhapsodizing over a no-wave beat shake. The speedy onslaught of their playing — most songs performed about twice as fast as on record — left little room for the delicate, prettier moments of their records, let alone time to breathe (though the crowd exploded during the line in “Spaniolated” when Eleanor shouts, “I wish, I wish I was back in Chicago”).

For such a tense performance, I figured more people would’ve been thrashing around, but most were probably squinting to make out their favorite song. For me, that particular joy came at the end of their encore with a funked-out, noised-up version of “Police Sweater Blood Vow” from their last album, Bitter Tea.