The muscle at Bowery Ballroom didn’t card us, which was weird. Neither did the bartenders. Jared knew one of the bartenders, who was very nice, which was also weird. And then Pete Yorn came onstage dressed all in white, along with the other three members of his band. Someone yelled out that he looked like Andy Samberg, but I thought he actually looked like Paul Westerberg circa 1989. The bassist looked like Luigi from Super Mario Bros. The guitarist looked like a number of people I hated from that bar Black & White on 10th Street. And the drummer looked, at first, like a young, long-haired Fabrizio Moretti, but that was just a coincidence.
There was a black-and-white cartoon show projected onto the stage, but most of the audience was wearing suits, or button-down plaid (not flannel) shirts. And when Yorn kicked into something from 2001’s musicforthemorningafter, the floor was instantly jammed for a couple songs before it would thin out again.
There were some who know every word, and there was a fist-pumper leaning against the balcony railing. The stage lights reflected back on half of her face. One guy turned to the girl he was with and said, “I haven’t, but I like this beat, though.” And so was the night. No opening act. And when Yorn closed out his encore with the Flying Burrito Brothers’ “Wheels” and I noticed I was the only one singing along, I went to join Jared at the bar downstairs, where he had been patiently working on his latest beer. It was then that I remembered that I met Pete Yorn once, a few years ago, backstage at Roseland. He said, “Hi, I’m Pete.” That was the end of it.
Reviewed by: David King