Pete Yorn, The Brothers Comatose
August 24th at the Fillmore, San Francisco 

Remember that summer by the Jersey Shore? You know, the one when you thought you were going to “lose it” to your blonde girlfriend in a beach bungalow? And then, out of a four- or five-foot wave came crawling some good looking gila monster of a beach bum and it slithered over for your blonde baby? And you stared aghast from the bungalow in the middle of blending some fruity margaritas, frozen at the prospect of this beefy dude with bushy hair rubbing suntan lotion all over her back? And by the time you and your melting margaritas and faded fantasies made it back down to the beach, he was serenading her with his guitar? And she told you to get lost and rode off in his Woody, leaving you with two pathetic margaritas to cry into? Well, that guy was, maybe, probably, Pete Yorn. He is the dude that steals your girlfriend with slick renderings of love songs. His music is too proficient to criticize and too slick to trust. His band is exceptional, their stage demeanor and instrument changes professional and timed to a tee. Oh, and they sure can woo a crowd. The pop and rock was bathing the multitudes and pricking them with a hint o’ twang. But for my money, the real charmers were the Brothers Comatose, who played upstairs in the lounge in-between sets and laid the twang on thick, with rhythmic mandolin and guitar, shredded banjo, and exceptional fiddle-fied violin and melodic upright bass. They were the honest gentleman’s scuffed leather, an antidote to the shoe-polish show downstairs. And I can’t imagine that band of outback brothers and one sister cruising the beach for blonde babies. The lake, maybe, but not the beach.

Watch: “Don’t Wanna Cry” [at youtube.com]

Tags: Pete Yorn, The Brothers Comatose

Read past installments of It Shows:

Pissed Jeans at Bottom of the Hill, San Francisco 

Quantic and His Combo Bárbaro at Slim’s and Dumpstaphunk at the Fillmore, SF 

Sean Lennon and Vincent Gallo at Red Devil Lounge, SF