Full Capacity at the Croc

The lingering summer sun caused this night of high class, high energy, and high occupancy to start about forty-five minutes after nine on Friday night at the Crocodile. Bit by bit, many of the smokers, fans waiting in line, and everyone else enjoying the coolness of the orange twilight scattered from the corner of 2nd Ave and Blanchard to enter into the warmth of eccletic folk, orchestrated rock, and shot-glass country waiting for them inside.The widened space of the Crocodile does allow for more fans enjoy every part of the show, but most chatted near the bar. So what happens when the act is Run On Sentence from Portland, made up of Dustin Hammond donning an old prospector hat while singing and playing classical guitar, a drummer wearing flip-flops, a man in sweatpants at the stand-up bass, and cool uncles with blue-collar jobs blowing the horns, all playing songs that only a man with short hair and a woman with a shoulder bag seem to know? Just be frank. “Come on up, guys,” says Hammond with a meek lean into the microphone. “There is plenty of room up in front. We’re going to play more songs for y’all.”It wasn’t only the request that brought people slowly toward Hammond, who splits time working with music and on a farm in the Columbia River Gorge; people could move to Hammond’s flawless fusion of old-timey folk with be-bop jazz and Flamenco grooves. They were intrigued by Hammond’s gritty and controlled voice that moved easily between a drunk Dent May and a mostly sober Jeff Magnum, especially on somber tunes such as “Afterlife Part One” and “Foreign and Awkward.” Hammond’s lyrical and vocal diversity was effortless and fit every moment perfectly. He was able to change characters for the early-twentieth century parlor tune “Carrie Part Two,” shifting to a mocking scat-man in “Stonewall.”Friday night was a display in bands figuring out new ways to fit more and more people on the Croc stage. Run On Sentence included five; setting up next was the Seattle-based Hey Marseilles, which boasts seven members. Matt Bishop writes and sings tunes about travel, loss, hope, adventure and the oddly unknown in a way that few twenty-something artists take a change to attempt. Also, he has surrounded himself with talented young musicians who do not mind playing specific roles to create a complete sound that is folk-inspired, rock-driven, theatrical and lyrical clever (at times, perhaps, to a fault). Bishop and Crew worked hard to include every audience in the nearly-packed house. Much of the front rows received maracas to shake during the bridge of “Rio” and Bishop joined the crowd with a megaphone for the finale tune “Goodbye Versailles.” The band, who put out their first LP, To Travels and Trunks, last year may lack a certain degree of grit, but this Friday crowd came more for the precise playing, the reflective hum of “Cannonballs” and “Cigarettes” punctuated by sea-saw intensity in “To Travels and Trunks” and in the not-yet-released instrumental, “Bojmir.” With classic one-up-manship, the Maldives filled the stage with enough country revivalists to form a semi-pro football team. In its most boiled-down form, The Maldives play back-country rock tunes that, based on the tall man who wore bright green Oaklies and the middle-aged man dancing with his middle-aged wife, is music that everyone of any age can enjoy just for the mere fact that is loud, fast, and fun. The consistent build-up of the night came to its natural conclusion thanks to the Maldives’ two men on the drums, three men on guitars, one man on the banjo and lap steel–everything pulsed and pounded together in a twangy thundering noise that got everyone in the club bobbing and dancing and kicking and singly loudly along. The night ended with no encore, but by a crowd-pleasing rendition of “By The Wind, Sailor” where all the members joined in singing and wearing bandanas and all the audience joined in clapping in time till the final major note. It took time for the room to clear and it took even longer for the ringing to slip from our ears and meander easy in a sing-songy sway through the warm Seattle night.