Centro-Matic Live Review

Centro-matic may just be the most unassuming band in the country. You'd never guess from their attitude and demeanor they are so highly and justifiably acclaimed by critics and fellow musicians.

The four Denton, Texas, residents look like regular guys. No costumes or emaciated rock-star aesthetics (although drummer Matt Pence follows the new rock commandment that all drummers shalt have long beards). No dancing or theatrics except a few excited kicks by lanky singer Will Johnson.

They don't even follow the staging standard of showcasing the singer front-and-center. Though Johnson is the sandpaper-throated lead singer and songwriter, he stands sideways watching the rest of the band at the far edge of the stage, practically leaning on the wall.

The flashiest thing about their show was an introduction by Denver icon Magic Cyclops, who performs iPod karaoke in a faux British accent, dark glasses and a Hulk Hogan headband.

"If there are musicians in the audience, you could probably learn something tonight," said Mr. Cyclops, shouting about Centro-Matic being his favorite band. The group has earned similar gushing praise from Patterson Hood of the Drive-By Truckers - and for good reason.

Budding musicians could learn noisy, impassioned arrangements of folk-tinged garage rock songs. For about half the set, Johnson shared guitar duties with Mark Hedman, complementing and contrasting each other brilliantly.

Hedman then took over on bass from Scott Danbom, who spent the rest of the night playing a fiddle and beating up a keyboard.

They opened the show with the beautiful, slowly building "Post-It Notes from the State Hospital" and crowd favorite "The Mighty Midshipman." Also included in the "dueling guitars" portion of the set was "Argonne Limit Co.," likely the catchiest song ever written about radioactive waste.

Johnson was unusually chatty throughout the show, introducing songs with rambling stories, promoting the wide-open job market in small-town Wyoming and trying to engage the audience in sports banter (a tough sell in an indie rock crowd - most nights, the Larimer Lounge is possibly the only bar in town without a Broncos jersey in sight).

The second half of the set had some great sonic freakouts, including an explosion of keyboards, tambourine and maracas as Johnson rasped out "there was smoke coming from recording machines" over and over again.

Opener Kettle Black was not a Wilco cover band, as I had hoped. It steered closer to the other Uncle Tupelo spinoff, Son Volt. Six guys in the band play sad but pretty alt-country melodies.

The band has drawn comparisons to Neil Young, a MySpace friend of the band, but that's a pretty high bar to set for such a new band.

Though singer Corey Teruya's vocals were to soft and wispy to carry even in a club as small as the Larimer, the songs are polished and arresting. On the band's debut album, Teruya's vocals are warm and solid, so maybe he was just having an off night.

This story was originally published at www.hybridmagazine.com.