STORMING THE CASTLE: Citadel in action. |
Citadel sound like every great psych-rock band from the late ’60s, and Modern Syndrome sound like every great indie-rock band from the ’90s.Moving on. . .
The influences game is one of the most irresistible tools in the rock critic’s repertoire, but it’s also one of the laziest and least helpful. While providing an immediate and concise framework through which to consider a band’s output, it often ignores something much more important: whether or not a band is good. Citadel and Modern Syndrome get a lot of attention for doing fine justice to their ancestors, but they’ve also got enough personality and vitality to trump the influences game.
For a while, it seemed like the steady rise of buzz about Modern Syndrome was purely a matter of juicy circumstance. They’re like 12! They sound like The Walkmen! Are they even in high school yet? Then, something funny happened: the hype got heavy enough to promote the boys from tiny shows at Strange Maine to big-league gigs like the final set at SPACE on January 26, or Friday’s upcoming show at Geno’s.
I first saw the band — Portlanders Chris DiRocco, 15; Zach Higgins, 15; Sam Anderson, 13 — that night at SPACE, curiously headlining, but once their set began I understood why. The crowd — distant and chatty until then — immediately enveloped the stage, anxious to see what was about to happen. Everyone had heard enough to know the band was good, and the crowd was aware of their sonic ancestry. But no one seemed to expect a band totally in control of their identity. What makes Modern Syndrome achieve such giddy fandom — more than the cachet of their age and a killer Yo La Tengo cover — is that their songs so aptly dispel the idea that there’s any gimmick behind their music.
DiRocco is a relaxed but commanding guitarist, and the band’s lyrics are some of the best you’ll find in Portland, lean and simple (a blessed rarity in local music) with the urgency of youth and a message that transcends it. Young enough to avoid cynicism or grandstanding and smart enough to know what they’re talking about, Modern Syndrome’s age becomes the wild card to their success: they’re too young to pretend to be anything they’re not, and they can remind a jaded crowd what it feels like to write and play with some conviction.
Citadel face a tougher time overcoming innate hurdles of influences and image. Barry Burst and Ben Gatchell, the band’s 25-year-old founders, are extraordinarily well versed in the late ’60s/early ’70s rock sound that is their calling card. Tall, skinny, and longhaired, they look a lot like the now-aging guitar gods who created their sound. Watching Citadel take the stage, you have a pretty good idea of what you’re in for before they pick up their instruments.
