Spoon, and (Smog)

Sure, it might be possible to put together a better adult indie-rock double-bill in this day and age — but you’d have to really strain. Here, then, is a night of songs about being grown up, with potential, vision and a certain kind of warped love in your heart, but without a world to practice these in. Because this world is not our home; we’re just passing through.

In a way, it is also a night to celebrate indie careerism as being more useful than Stephen “Korea Korea” Malkmus once let on, and as a pathway to serving the sound in your head without being bogged down by the biz. In their earliest recordings, Spoon songwriter Britt Daniel and (Smog)-man Bill Callahan already outlined their marquee themes and how they’d be covered: (Smog) was a master of paranoid, lo-fi confessionals. Spoon made throbbing, short-burst rock about the life and tumble of outsiders. Is it any wonder that Callahan’s singer-songwriter records now consistently feature some of the finest psychological profiles of friends and lovers this side of classic country yarns? Or that Spoon’s 2002 gem Kill the Moonlight is a magnificent collection of march and fight songs for the left-behinds — with a happy ending to boot? It’s music to remind you that you are not alone in your furrowed-brow view, and that you have every fucking right to it!