Divine Fits, Yeasayer, Daughn Gibson
Divine Fits are the collaboration between two much beloved honchos in indie music, Britt Daniel (Spoon) and Dan Boeckner (Wolf Parade, Handsome Furs). As is the case with any meeting of the musical minds, numerous questions arise before listening to their debut album, A Thing Called Divine Fits. Will this merely sound like self-satisfied friends taking a victory lap around the studio? Whose musical personality will dominate the session? And, most importantly, which member gets to wear the sunglasses?
To my ears, Divine Fits are more Daniel's brainchild, as the album isn't remarkably different from a Spoon one—carefully manicured instrumentation and lyrics of vaguely affected longings meeting together to epitomize "effortlessly cool." Boeckner sounds the most different here while playing within the Spoon mold. A mostly unadorned acoustic track, "Civilian Stripes," is a kiss-off to Boeckner's former band, Handsome Furs, known for their wild '80s jumble of Depeche Mode–style electronics, Springsteen-esque protest rock, and Eastern Bloc imagery. You can read into the album being a breakup one of sorts for Boeckner (the demise of Handsome Furs has raised questions about his relationship with his former bandmate and wife Alexei Perry), and elsewhere he sings of his love being "real until it stops," a "mess," and "lost, strange, and changed." See for yourself who wears the shades in this partnership when Divine Fits play live tonight. Crocodile, 8 pm, $20.
YEASAYER, DAUGHN GIBSON
Yeasayer make dance music for weirdos who would normally spend their time at a dance party making fun of people for having fun, rather than actually having any fun themselves. The group's latest, Fragrant World, is their headiest, most possessed album yet. I made the mistake of reading about opener and recent Sub Pop signee Daughn Gibson before listening to any of his music, and I was ready to hate all over what others have called "country dubstep." But now I've totally fallen for Gibson, captivated by what sounds like if James Blake had just read a bunch of Cormac McCarthy, or stayed up one night listening to Lee Hazlewood, meaning you need to come early if you're not a closed-minded jerk. Neptune, 8 pm, $30.