Sympathy goes to anyone who arrived at this show late and forgot to whittle their elbows down to points in order to carve through the crowd. Next time they're in town, Annuals will likely play the Bowery Ballroom, but those who caught them Wednesday night witnessed a sunshower of a show. Weird, wet, sensual, and with a closeness level just short of socially unacceptable (this last due to frontman Adam Baker's proto-emo stage persona that, more than anything else, provides that burst of cherry flavor to the band's live shows), they gave "intimate" a whole new definition, and it seems unlikely that they'll get a chance to do so again, at least around these parts.

Squeezing the most of a space that couldn't hold them (physically as well as sonically – the six members of the Raleigh, N.C.-based collective practically had to shove each other aside to do their signature instrument switch-ups), Annuals, live, more than vanquish the doubters (assuming there were any) of their skill. These kids are little virtuosos, a fact that can get lost in the big, blowsy, twenty-seven-people-contributed-to-this studio sound of their albums (which isn't surprising, considering the band's own label, Terpsikhore Records, involves the input of every would-be indie rocker in N.C.'s Research Triangle, most of whom are cousins). The guitar work of Kenny Florence (who fronts his own side project, Sunfold, with whom Annuals co-released April's EP Wet Zoo) was particularly jaw-dropping on album standouts "Complete or Completing" and "Mama," and Anna Spence proved the keyboardist's presence among them is anything but a pretty accident, particularly on the last song of the set; girl can play.

Annuals' as-yet-untitled second full-length album, due out in September, provided two songs to their set, and Be He Me contributed its share. The limitations of the live milieu, however, hampered the heavy Brian Wilson-influenced production quality of some of its tracks (although the synthesized violins on "Brother" made a not-unwelcome appearance), while casting more focus on Baker's own voice type (he, Florence and bassist Mike Robinson were pop-punkers on another side of time). It was Baker, a living cipher in a brown Nudie suit, proved Annuals' lightning rod, whether wedging himself in next to Spence's keyboard or screaming and jamming with Florence during the encore, which included the acoustic sweetness of "Sore" from Wet Zoo. Conducting the kids to a shimmering frenzy that ruffled the feathers of even that short girl who couldn't squeeze through the door, he proved Annuals are a miniature phenomenon – contain them if you can.

-Claire Shefchik

As far as hometown shows go, Bishop Allen could've done a lot worse. The band mostly pulled songs from 2007's excellent album, The Broken String as well as from a yearlong project in 2006 wherein they released an EP every month. On the record, the songs are light and poppy, generally a breeze to listen through. The live show allowed for a few more rock and roll indulgences—muscular guitar parts here and there where pianos worked on the album—and, coupled with Rice's Beatles-style head-bopping and twitchy dancing, the band came across as having more amped-up energy than you'd guess from the sweetness of its sound. Then again, during an encore performance of the quiet "Butterfly Nets," the audience stood charmed in near-silence as a female vocalist's lilting voice wafted over it, proving that there's still plenty of sweetness to go around.

Words by Marisa LaScala. Photo by Aubrey Edwards.

Lead singer Sabina Sciubba of the Brazilian girls strutted onto the Prospect Park bandshell stage this past Friday night twirling a white parasol. And, the parasol was only the beginning of the weird fun that was to come. Pictures of craters were circulating on the giant screens behind the band as Sciubba called out to the crowd “Come with us!” And the otherworldliness of keyboardist Didi Gutman’s pulsating hip-hop beats were nearly hypnotizing to the audience, who were on their feet as soon as the show began.  The craters, the parasol, and Sciubba herself had set the scene for their international otherworldly fiesta. 

After seeing Daniel Johnston perform live on two occasions within the last year, it becomes apparent – disturbingly so – that there are two very different types of Johnston fans: those who show up to witness something special, and those who show up to witness a spectacle. Without fail his fans are granted a glimpse of both.

The opening band, Spanish Prisoners, are not great, to put it mildly. Even so, the concert-goers at Highline Ballroom’s Thursday night packed house remain patient, orderly, taking the edge off with cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. That is until the final verse of Spanish Prisoners’ final song when an ice cube is hurled onstage, thus pelting the singer in the head. Moments later the band wisely exit stage left.