David Bazan - Live @ Crocodile Cafe, Seattle WA

On a misty northwest Saturday night, I stood in line outside the Crocodile Cafe in downtown Seattle with a hundred other hipsters waiting to be let in. We waited for the warmth provided by drinking beer, nestled shoulder to shoulder with other twenty-somethings, listening to timeless rock and roll by a local singer-songwriter hero, David Bazan—formerly of Pedro the Lion.

I got in and found myself only a few feet from the nearly empty stage. The set-up was simple. One solid black electric guitar and one mic’d up amp not much bigger than my foot. This stripped-down stage arrangement gave off an undeniable vibe of intimacy. Any possible barriers between the performer and the audience were set aside. There was nothing for Dave to hide behind once he took the stage in dark jeans and a blue corduroy jacket.

This show was a chance for Bazan to unleash some new material to his hungry fans, all curious what the post-Pedro Bazan sound would be. Would he try to separate himself from his former musical identity? Would he come out with dancers or a banjo and a man playing the spoons? What would be different, if anything at all?

Honestly, Bazan’s style and sound did not seem very different. The new music reminded me most of the simple, catchy yet melancholy guitar rock of Pedro the Lion before the controversial and grunge-ful album Control. The rhythms swam and the melodies ebbed and flowed with a near-surfer-rock swagger, accompanied by Bazan’s unmistakable blue-collar voice. He began the night with the heavier “Wheat in the Weeds.” In the song he pleads: “God bless the man who stumbles/God bless the man who falls/God bless the lamp hid under a bushel.” From the first stony note out of Bazan’s mouth, I was captivated by his genuine and sincere aura and Everyman vocals. He seems to be an artist that I could believe. One that I could trust.

My favorite song of the night was a new tune called “Please Baby Please.” It was was an upbeat, snap-and-clap worthy tune, but the lyrics were not so uplifting. They were sad and pessimistic. And this was the theme of night, it seemed. The new songs, such as “Curse Your Branches,” “Heavy Breathe,” and “American Flags” conveyed a feeling of being stuck and lost. They told stories (whether autobiographical or not, it was hard to tell) of death, loss, betrayal and alcoholism within an opposing musical framework. I think the juxtaposition of the sad lyrics and upbeat music was a way for Bazan to show a desire to find the beauty behind the un-beautiful parts of life, glory in a struggle, and a genuine joy in the middle of pain.

If Pedro the Lion was an individualistic church-goer, solo David Bazan is a skeptical wanderer. I would not say that Bazan has denounced his faith, he just didn’t seem certain about it. The lyrics that dealt with more personal internal struggles addressed the problem of evil: how could a loving, all-powerful, morally perfect God exist alongside evil and the shit of life? Why wouldn’t God just get rid of pain, and sorrow, and evil? Bazan’s songs questioned the holiness of church culture and black-and-white morality. His lyrics searched for the more romantic and mysterious incarnations of God. These are issues that every Christian needs to tackle and Bazan did so with brilliant style and sincerity. I could spend hours debating some of Bazan’s statements. I did not agree with everything he had to say, but I could not fault his fearless honesty.

He finished the set with a skeptic’s version of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”— a beautiful rendition featuring added verses questioning the modern practice of celebrating Christmas and the possible desensitization of its true significance—and a moving, bellowing rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”

On my way back out into cold Seattle night, I saw Ben Gibbard come to support his fellow homegrown songwriter, as well as unknowingly bid farewell to the Crocodile Cafe which was spontaneously closed down the following day. Although the Crocodile’s part in the success in local rock and roll will certainly be missed, it was sent off in the best way possible: with an unforgettable performance by one of Seattle’s most creative and genuine songwriters.