Summer Cats go cat-atonic in Los Angeles

July 12, 2009, at the Echo

By Melissa Bobbitt
Published: July 14th, 2009 | 10:40pm

Mumblecore is a term usually pegged for ultra-inspective and lo-fi modern films, but it would certainly have fit the bill of Summer Cats’ recent show at the Echo in Los Angeles. Part Time Punks, a local revered and nomadic indie rock club, was hosting a "twee" night with DJs spinning precious tunes in between bands including the Tartans and Australia's Summer Cats. Not since the high holy days of Pinkerton's reign had there been so many Coke-bottle glasses and natty sweaters in one place.

But there's a reason people like Stuart Murdoch of twee-ers Belle & Sebastian sing about getting picked last for sports and getting wrapped up in books: they're shy and awkward, and their art doesn't make for good dance parties. Some patrons at the Summer Cats show certainly tried, but the scrawny ladies and gentlemen looked more like they were getting stung by bees than they were shaking a leg.

Things didn't go much smoother on stage. Local group the Tartans performed first, but breaking the ice at a show like this was akin to moving a glacier. The actual music was pretty: awash with chimes, 12-stringed guitars and saxophones. But the vocalists known only by the names Yvonne and Brian were so reserved and drab that it detracted from what could evolve into a likeable bunch.

Could the answer to the deadened evening be found in foreigners? Unfortunately, no. Hailing from Melbourne, Summer Cats barely demonstrated they had one life, let alone nine. Frontman Scott Stevens apologized for being so lethargic early on, but that was just about the extent of his comprehensible banter. Stilted by his thick accent and even thicker insecurity, he muttered hastily between each song and gulped Red Stripe to temper his nerves. Ear-shattering feedback during the normally cordial "Wild Rice" off their recently released album, Songs For Tuesdays (Slumberland), added to the dischord of the set.

Soon after, the female synth player apparently broke something on her instrument. Flummoxed, Stevens stammered, "I don't know if it's because you're all so beautiful but I'm really flushed up here." If only his flattery worked. Instead, the placid guitar intro to "In June" was botched thrice and the remainder of their show was muddled. It was only at the finale did these wayward moths emerge from their chrysalis and flex their potential but it was too little, too late.

The entire gig had been like eating a stale cake. As it crumbles before your eyes, you guiltily consume it all but are left only with the comedown of your once sweet sugar high.

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For more photos from this show visit Venus Zine’s Flickr page

Summer Cats MySpace page

Slumberland Records