![]() ![]() "No, you're in a band now, you can't not have an opinion," McKenzie said at one point, after getting no help deciding where we should pull over to re-up on Diet Coke. So we listened to BOAT on the way and sang and drummed along and cracked each other up doing the froggy parts and the falsetto parts, and three hours went by like nothing. McKenzie, picked me up for the drive to Portland to play at Musicfest NW, I couldn't remember any of my parts. Still, we only went over the list of songs once, and then a week passed, so by the time BOAT's bassist, M. Guess who knew all the words? And when to drum harder? And the sudden pauses? And the uncapitalized-on opportunity for a background "Ha ha ha!" when Crane sings, in one of their new songs, "We laughed a lot, we ate birthday cake"? As for my prowess on the glockenspiel-well, guess who took piano lessons as a kid? We went through a couple doors and down some stairs and into a soft room crammed with instruments and lights, and played a dozen songs or so, some only once, me banging drums or shaking tambourines or singing backup in BOAT-style crazy-man falsetto or (in the case of one song) plunking out a chord on a glockenspiel (that's German for "mini metal xylophone made for adorable children and encased in blue plastic"). We met in the Taco Del Mar on Fourth Avenue South-their band-practice mealtime tradition (when touring along I-5, the tradition is Burgerville)-and walked over to the practice space, in a nondescript building among nondescript buildings under the gaze of Starbucks world headquarters. After years of wanting to write about BOAT, and going to see shows, and failing to come up with anything other than I like these guys and Their shows are charming and They make me want to drop everything and be in a band, we hatched this plan where I'd drop everything and be in their band for a weekend, hit the road with them, and write about that. My home wouldn't be the same without them. Something about how simple they are, how okay they are with things-they sing songs about being in love with the way she washes her hands after putting out the trash, or changing his schedule at work to hang out with her, or staying up late to draw after she goes to bed-conducts warmth. ![]() Crane is a seventh-grade teacher, and his songs are as vivid as cartoons, neighborly, colloquial, easy to be around, ideal for bike rides, weirdly automatically familiar ("This sounds familiar-what is this?" someone who'd never heard them said in my apartment the other day). BOAT are an energetic, slightly sloppy, unpretentious happiness machine. The first time I saw BOAT-two Decembers ago, also at the Comet-they knocked me sideways with their let's-drink-Diet-Cokes-and-take-the-cushions-off-the-couch-and-build-a-fort philosophy toward the world. I hadn't realized I knew all the words to all the songs. During the set, he invited two drunk fans who knew all the words to come sing along into the mics. Crane, the singer and multi-instrumentalist who was showering the crowd in confetti the last time his band BOAT played the Comet, jumping off amps into the drum kit, crashing into other band members, and letting his froggy, slip-slide-y, made-of-Silly-Putty voice do its froggy, slip-slide-y thing-the sort of singing that's extra rewarding to sing along to. You always hear about how "fun" it is to go to shows, but when you get right down to it, most musicians aren't even trying-not jumping around on their amps enough, not throwing confetti. ![]()
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