Portugal. The Man.
Shaggy psychedelic rock from Portugal. The Man
The loose-limbed indie rock quartet Portugal. The Man may share their hometown of Wasilla, Ala., with a certain ill-starred ex-vice presidential candidate, but it's safe to say they're not big moose hunters. Now based out of Portland, Ore., they play shaggy, psychedelic rock that manages to be simultaneously loose and tight, easygoing without being sloppy.
At Johnny Brenda's last night, singer John Gourley stood at a right angle to the sold-out crowd, his scraggly hair and bushy moustache all but obscuring his face. But while his stage presence was minimal, there was nothing hesitant about the band's set, which ran to nearly an hour and a half. Although the songs on The Satanic Satanist are relatively compact compared to the prog-pop of their previous albums, the live versions of "Work All Day" and "Everyone Is Golden" spread out to fill the space. Based on the whoops that greeted their extended instrumental workouts, it's safe to surmise that some of the band's swelling popularity comes from a crossover to the jam-band audience. But their falsetto melodies spoke to something sweeter and less sprawling.
Portugal. The Man's ungainly moniker was inspired by David Bowie's idea that art should be larger than the individual, a debt repaid by a solid cover of Bowie's "Moonage Daydream." But some of the band's songs are too big for their own good, puffed-up constructions with only vague statements at their core.
Better was the sly, reggae-tinged satire of "People Say," which breezily proclaims, "What a lovely day, yeah, we won the war. May have lost a million men, but we got a million more."
Even their former mayor could have figured out who the "president's son" who "got no soul" in that song referred to, but even their political criticisms came off as essentially good-natured. Not even a million deaths could dampen the mood.
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