by John Glab (@glab.ii)
San Francisco was one stream of perfect thing after perfect thing. Seeing the city lights dazzle like stars from Twin Peaks, watching the waves shimmer like blue diamonds, sunset hipster campfires on the beach, trekking an abandoned ocean side highway, and climbing through endless hills of densely packed urbanism taking in the many views. My friend Jenny and I rolled down one of these hills in the Mission neighborhood to The Chapel, where Washer and Ovlov were playing on Sunday, March 23rd. It was the main reason that brought us to the city.
Ovlov by John Glab
Ovlov, for most of their history as a band, have never toured. It feels surprising with how loved they are on the East Coast, and how that cult following has ballooned over the last half decade. They’ve very infrequently played shows as well. It’s rare to see them play west of Pennsylvania. With their countless breakups (just to say they’ll play again), when a show of theirs comes up it’s a must go. I tried to see them in Chicago before but was turned away at the door for being under 21. This was making up for that. This was the band’s first time playing on the West Coast, and it came with the bonus of seeing Washer, another amazing Exploding In Sound band.
We briefly waited in line for the sold-out show. Inside we posted up near the front of the stage, underneath the high-arching wooden beams of the venue that looked like a modern take on one a Viking cathedral.
Washer by John Glab
The room was full by the time Washer had got on stage. During their set, people weren’t necessarily going crazy, but they were all locked-in to what was happening on stage. The band opened with the first four songs on their most recent album Improved Means to Deteriorated Ends in succession, just as it appears on the record. They wallowed through the introduction of “King Insignificant” and tore through each part that followed.
The band then moved on to playing some of the older songs from their discography, like “Dog Goes Bark” and “Porky.” While belting lyrics and keeping his head in line with the microphone, guitarist Mike Quigley would writhe around, like a snake standing up. This was all while playing perfect lockstep with drummer Kieran McShane, as if the pulses of their hearts were perfectly in sync.
It felt incredibly joyful to see Washer live. The venue was different from the dive bar like DIY spots that they typically tuck themselves into on the East Coast, but their ever chirpy and buoyant energy transuded through even in a space with a lot more air. Their hearts gleamed pinned to their sleeves. For the last song “Eyelids” Steve Hartlett came out to play guitar with the band. The song was written when Quigley played bass for Hartlett’s other band Stove. It kind of acted as a transition in the show from Washer to Ovlov.
After the break, anticipation from the crowd murmured. A couple of people on the venue’s security team stood at the stage by me. I asked the guy, and he said he was basically just there to stop stage diving. Ovlov quickly set up and ripped open their performance with “Grapes” and the pummeling yet soaring track “The Well” from the beginning of their album Am. It took basically no time from the point of the first wail of feedback for the audience to erupt. The tension snapped with the first undertone of movement. Immediately, everybody was pushing into one another.
Ovlov then played a string of songs from their most recent album Buds. After the cheers from each of these songs, Steve Hartlett was professing his appreciation for the immense support. In between sips of his drink and tugs on his Yankees cap, he tried to find the words through astonishment. Before playing “Strokes,” he noted how it was now the band’s most popular song, going on about how after all these years he was amazed by how much the band continued to grow between people. Following the sauntering opening riff, many other voices besides Steve’s sang out in the verse.
Ovlov’s Steve Hartlett by John Glab
The last song of the set was “Where’s My Dini?” a slower fan favorite that turned down the tempo of the audience's pulsing as they opted to shout out the lyrics along with Steve. The song filled the hall full of longing as it built, eventually erupting again. As Steve played the blaring solo, he climbed the stairs on the back left of the stage throwing his guitar down the staircase before it was even over.
As everyone was cheering the band reveled in celebration. Jon was bantering with some face in the crowd and Steve came along high fiving everyone along the stage. I don’t even remember people cheering for an encore, it just seemed like the band felt like it was the right thing to do in the moment. Steve asked everyone to cheer for which song they wanted them to play between “Short Morgan” and “The Great Alligator”. I cheered for the former, but “The Great Alligator” won out, giving everyone nearly ten minutes more to crash ashore.
The band and Steve soaked in appreciation. Steve stayed around to sign whatever people wanted him to sign, and to talk to whoever wanted to talk, thanking each of them for coming. It showed on his face how much this all meant to him.
Jenny and I then wandered out the front door into the street where I sat by the wall of the venue gleaming, too in shock from happiness to know what to do with myself. I just sat there, taking in the little buzzes of conversation under the streetlamps tinging everything orange. Eventually, we walked up the hills at night to get back to where we were staying. The next morning, right before I had to leave to catch my flight, we sat on a dune among a bunch of ice plants. I watched the infinite blue expanse and the breakers that came from it spreading across the beach, stretching past the hills that spilt into the water. As each wave receded, I thought about how fleeting moments of perfection can be so healing.