| Print |

Written by Cindy Gao Monday, 28 August 2006 04:32

They're the underdogs in this game. You want them to win you over, even if you know that they never really will.

Creepy Crawl, St. Louis

Dave Hamelin is embarrassed. Turning from the dirty mirror in front of him, he begins to stammer something I can't quite make out. As I turn around and hurry back into the sweaty hipster crowd, he calls after me, sticking his head out of the women's restroom. Later, he will apologize to me as he walks onstage and adjusts his guitar strap, and four songs into his band's set, he will announce to the crowd that I gave him the "evil eye."

"I'm sorry," he will say, tuning his guitar, "but the men's latrine was full of shit."

Sure, it's no "Dude-I-just-did-six-lines-of-blow-off-a-Suicide-Girl's-ass-with-two-members-of-Interpol" story, but Hamelin, guitarist and vocalist for the Stills, is no Carlos D, and everyone does blow with Interpol anyways.

And if the men of Interpol can be depicted as suave and glamorous, capable of picking up any drug-addled hipster that comes their way, then the Stills come off as the awkward guys standing by the kegger, desperately trying to impress a somewhat disinterested college coed. They hit all the right notes, pull all the right moves, but there's a slight air of immaturity about them that belies the two albums they've released. Somehow, they still seem like they're trying too hard to seem like they're not trying at all.

There's really not much else to say about the band. That one song you've heard off the first album ("Changes Are No Good") meshes completely with that other song off the second album (everything else). The Stills may be atmospheric at times, but they rip off '80s post-punk in such a watered-down, radio-friendly way that watching them perform is akin to watching the Bravery, only less brash and with marginally more talent.

Everything seems calculated here. Three out of the five members wear suits, a look now that seems dated. A quick glance at the set list shows horizontal lines between certain songs that indicate when to speak to the crowd. Unsurprisingly then, crowd banter seems forced at times. When frontman Tim Fletcher, instructed by his set list, begins addressing the crowd and is instead interrupted by drummer Julien Blais, he looks completely lost. For a moment, I can see his mind working, debating whether to just start "Lola Stars and Stripes," or to continue yelling over the noisy rhythm section.

And yet, despite this self-consciousness, the Stills are still genuinely likable. Though perhaps not as good as some of their counterparts, the quintet from Montreal has fallen through the cracks a bit undeservingly. (I'd take them over the Killers any day of the week.) They're the underdogs in this game. You want them to win you over, even if you know that they never really will.

View Todd Owyoung's photo gallery