cryin' over peter wolf.

The only thing that pains me more than seeing one of my favorite bands put on a poor performance is having to write a poor review on it—especially when it’s factors out of the musicians’ control. Ever since seeing Peter Wolf Crier blow me away as my personal top performance at South By Southwest 2010, I have been all about any and everything these two Mid-Western dudes have been about. Their debut album, Inter-Be, was one of my most played this year—both intimate yet powerful with their folky drum and guitar acoustic collaboration. “Crutch & Cane,” “For Now,” and “Untitled 101” are my jams, period. So when I was randomly selected as a winner on Lincoln Hall’s Facebook page for their gig last week, I was beyond stoked. I didn’t even realize these dudes were in town, since they were the opening act for Dawes and Vetiver, it wasn’t publicized very much. I quickly became giddy with excitement, even recruiting a girlfriend to whom I oohed and ahhed relentlessly to about how powerful Peter Pisano’s falsetto melodic vocals and drummer Brian Moen’s eerily animalistic mad drumming skills were.


Seriously--I was like their biggest fan. And well, to be fair, I still kinda am. When my gal pal and I secured our spot up front and center of the stage, I was sure we were in for a special treat. Up until, some bro dude to my direct right shouted at a semi-glassy eyed Pisano, “Yo Peter! Whatchya’ drinkin’ man?” To which Pisano politely forced a smile and quietly and forcibly replied, “Maker’s. It’s a whiskey; I’m feeling a bit under the weather.” “Dude, I know what Maker’s is! Right on!” Oh no, I thought. Peter’s sick. How the hell is he gonna cry for us tonight? I cursed the bro man to my right for wasting the limited and valuable vocal chords of my beloved crooner.

Around 9:00 pm on the dot, Pisano and Moen got down to it. And at first, it was promising. They opened up their 30-minute set with my personal fave, the album opener “Crutch and Cane” and then transitioned into the addicting, two minute tapper “Untitled 101.” But then Pisano’s voice began to dry up. And looking back on my videos, the sound itself was less than satisfactory. I’m not sure if it was something that was up with Lincoln Hall’s acoustics, the fact that the main room was emptier than what I’m accustomed to (since I’m not usually there early enough for the openers), or if it was the fact that I was so close to the speakers on stage – but as you can see in the video, the sound was distorted and not the clear, crispy goodness I’m so spoiled on with this venue.

Pisano’s typical honey dripping serenade was a forced, throaty series of croaks and my heart instantly sunk. I can barely drag my own butt out of bed with a sore throat to work in a mere cubicle; I can’t even begin to imagine how much it has to suck when you make your money with your voice and it’s shot. To top it off, Pisano’s parents were in the crowd. Poor guy seemed to be having a rough night.

On the upside, Moen was his usual full forced self, banging on his drums for dear life, and Pisano, although ill, still managed to tear up his guitar seemingly unaffected. But unfortunately, any fan of Peter Wolf Crier can attest that Pisano’s vocal range and prowess is what makes the group stand apart from their competitors, and even Peter Wolf Crier can’t wail with a sore throat. For anyone who has seen PWC prior to the LH show, you know what I’m saying that it would be a crime to pass up the chance to check ‘em live; but for those of you who’s first encounter was this past Thursday, I beg of you, pick up their record and give them another go. They’re one of the only bands this past year to give me goose bumps, just more so with the crying vs. the croaking.