Middle Distance Runner

I never know the order bands appear onstage on any given night at the R&R, so it wasn’t until I saw the flyer on the door that I knew Middle Distance Runner’s performance was sandwiched in between two openers and the closing performance of Mobius Band. My friend and I still showed up when the doors opened, so I knew I had about two hours to drink and watch either anime or football (the two programs that always seem to be on the television upstairs). This particular time the TV wasn’t even on and the music was of some variety that didn’t ring many bells. After several drinks, a gigantic plate of fries, and a battle of conscience over whether to swipe a forest green bottle opener from the bar top, I made my way downstairs.

For me, “middle distance runner” usually meant a vaguely cocky dude on the team or if taken as an activity, one that involved a pint of half-digested chicken nuggets and garlic mashed potatoes over the fence on the perimeter of the track. The name is actually an apt one for an indie band, conjuring up images of 1980s runners with goofy tube socks and guitars, kind of like a John Hughes version of Devo. Although these five guys from D.C. are much more smartly dressed, their sound is definitely indie even if it is cloaked in giganto guitars of mainstream garage revival.

MDR is a band composed of dudes who look like other dudes. That was the first thing I noticed and unconsciously spent the rest of the show trying to sort out who looked like who. Lead singer Steve Kilroy was easy to place since he looks like a cross between Modest Mouse’s Isaac Brock and Arcade Fire’s Win Butler, but it took a trip to imdb to sort out that bassist Ian Glinka looks exactly like b-movie veteran Taylor Negron. While there was plenty to cringe at on stage, including a checkered sweater and Rickenbacker guitar, a band’s appearance is irrelevant so long as the rock is tight. A more pertinent question is what MDR actually sounded like.

There’s plenty of everything with this band: Pixies’ volume dynamics, scruffy Strokes’ riffs, and Shins-like excursions into dreamy layers. However, in the end, not much of it was all that exciting. After making suggestions to the soundmen to improve the volume levels after the first two tracks (the drummer nearly went deaf on one), the band stretched out and fit into a comfort zone of energy. However, the ferocity of their performance soon clashed with the ill-chosen wardrobe and the stage soon became a steamed jungle. Soon, the band’s longsleeves and preppy statements of fashion irony became drenched with sweat. Smearing the dampness from his brow, Kilroy remarked, “we were just down in Florida on a southern tour and this is the hottest stage of the whole goddamn tour.”

The performance was an odd patchwork of leaping, screaming, and plenty of chunky distortion. At one point, one of the three guitarists pulled a Jimmy Page and gave his Les Paul a shiatsu with a violin bow on “The Sun and Earth.” The drummer sprang to his feet and started wielding his stick like a lead pipe to bludgeon his crash cymbal into the nether. Kilroy dedicated one track to his brother who is serving overseas in Iraq. Overall, it was a night of average tracks with some interesting points stitched in here and there, like the jumpy “Man of the People” with its Arctic Monkeys guitars and a hell of a lot of “doot-doos” and “yeah yeahs.” It’s a dumb song that sounds like thrice-removed Strokes, but the band really threw itself into the mix with plenty of sweat-scattering energy. Occasionally, Kilroy would swap his guitar for a fiendish whirl on the tiny keyboard in front of him, an item that seems to be the new fashionable thing in indie rock.

The performance dynamism was there, but the set seemed oddly lacking. As the band wrapped up its set to the clappity-claps, I recognized a dude I went to college with who used to serve chicken wings at one of the eateries. He couldn’t have been over 5′2″ and always had a look that seemed to suggest he was about to conduct mischief on Medieval townsfolk. I didn’t approach him with our connection. Out the door and into a car instead of the metro for once, it was the end of a disappointing night for me.

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