The Thermals, Squirrel Vs. Bear & West by Swan

Usually, the best shows you can attend are the few that feature a decidedly more diverse lineup than your average local fare. In fact, Chico is heralded throughout Northern California as having perhaps the most eclectic mesh of groups provoking show-goers through rusty bar doors. This solidarity remained on the forefront of most patrons' minds who were in attendance for last Thursday's Thermals gig at Off Limits.
Chico's own spacey-rock quartet West by Swan started the evening off and immediately proved that dissidence by way of epic guitar arrangements, ambient bass lines and powerful drumming is in no way a forgotten practice. Filling the absence of vocals for most of the songs proved to be a fairly easy task for the group, considering the sonic effects explosion offered up by Chico mainstay and revered guitar sleuth Dan Greenberg along with his brother Dave. West by Swan's ability to practically lull you in with roughly four minutes of introspective strumming followed by inspired, flailing crescendos left little in attendance unsure of the talent from these musical monsters, and assured new listeners of the band that art-rock isn't just for painters.
After WBS' enthused set, the crowd, now apparently comfortable with approaching the stage, was treated to relatively new local group Squirrel Vs. Bear. Having never seen the group, and having been essentially disappointed in the other animal vs. animal band I've seen (Bear Vs. Shark. I guess the Bear won the first match), I was subsequently delighted at the sounds being emitted from this young four-piece dance-punk group. To say that their collective muse was based on one or more incarnations of various post-disco punk rock groups from the Northwest would be far too easy - and, frankly, completely unfair. The dynamic achieved between the group's dual vocals and their quirky axe work, alongside funk-laden bass and ferocious drums, relayed either a playful imagination or a psychotic hysteria…either way, it works, and they are one of the most exciting bands in the area right now.
Setting up almost as quickly as they wrote and recorded their brilliant 2004 album, Fuckin A, Portland, Oregon's The Thermals ripped into their spontaneous three-chord punk rock and super-charged the now intoxicated bar crowd into a frenzy. Bassist Kathy Foster's enthusiastic stage persona met head-on with drummer Jordan Hudson's thrashing skin-work and vocalist Hutch Harris' frivolousness. While trios usually are required to work a bit harder to fill up gaps in instrumentation, The Thermals opted to up the ante with high-speed rock deviations instead of useless solos and backup vocals. Having been vaguely familiar with their newest CD and considering the hour at hand, I bid the bar and the band adieu and headed home, only to throw on Fuckin A once again upon my arrival, assuring my lingering suspicions that I may be in some sort of loopy Thermals dementia; like some sort of wicked world where pop-excess is sharing a banana split with punk rock. Oh, well. I like it.

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