Jets to Brazil:
My Self-Inflicted Ass-Whupping

By Les Thomas

Five years is a long time to wait for not a second, but a third chance to see a great band. Five years of waiting in vain for a reprieve from the sadness that clings to every realist in this world. Five years kicking onesself in the ass almost daily. Five years of listening to those who were there rhapsodize on the joys of being one of the lucky few in attendance. Five years of wondering if it would be my luck to be the worlds biggest Jawbreaker/Jets to Brazil fan to never see them in concert.

In 1995, sickness and lack of a vehicle kept me from seeing Jawbreaker at Jay's upstairs in Missoula Montana. It was to be the last Jawbreaker show in Missoula, and my only chance to see them. Not long after, Jawbreaker broke up, with singer/guitarist Blake Shwartzenbach retreating to New York and prefessing to be sick of making music and claiming retirement. My self inflicted ass-whupping intensified, and all hope was lost. But not for long!

Blake returned with a new band several years ago named Jets to Brazil, and released one of the best albums of the nineties, entitled Orange Rhyming Dictionary. Venturing into sonic soundscapes alien to Jawbreaker, Jets to Brazil kept the hard-hitting punk edges of Blakes former band, while adding strange, almost new-age sounds and a more polished guitar attack. They even threw in two achingly beautiful slower songs, ending the album with the joyous "Sweet Avenue".

A tour ensued, and the boys from Jets' played Seattle on a Tuesday--two days before my arrival from Spokane, the trap of all evil quicksand-cites. I was heartbroken. Again, self-inflicted butt-kicking ensued, this time causing bruising!

Last Saturday, five long years of waiting came to an end at Seattle's new favorite kiddie-show venue, Graceland. Jammed into the club were more people than usually found in the city of Enumclaw. Before I could lose myself in Jets to Brazils wonderful music I was forced to endure a painfully boring and intensely pensive set from local band Pedro the Lion. Sounding as if their favorite band was the Red House Painters, Pedro would have been more suited to opening for Death Cab For Cutie than Jets to Brazil. However, most people in attendance seemed to like them. I guess its cool to croon chorus-less lyrics in a thin voice over three-chord, slow-paced musical stumblings--and all without ever showing an emotion besides painful pensiveness or moving so much as a hair. It took all I had to keep from shouting "Lighten up! You aren't dead YET!" Maybe Pedro the Lion would find their target audience better if they changed their name to the more apropos "The Pensives".

Finally, after Pedro's seemingly endless set, Jets to Brazil took the stage and made up for all those years of waiting. And, wonder of wonders, the sound at Graceland was crystal-clear! Starting off with songs from their new album Four Cornered Night, Jets to Brazil played with intensity, an obvious love for their music--and a welcome respect for thier fans. New guitarist Brian Maryansky helped round out the sound, adding his hybrid of punk and classic-rock riffage to an allready excellent band.

Rockers like "You're Having The Time Of My Life", "You're X-rays Have Just Come Back From The Lab And We Think We Know What You're Problem Is", "Chinatown", "I Typed For Miles" and "Lemon Yellow Black" were intermixed with slower songs like "Little Light" and the heart-searing relationship aftermath ballad "Sea Anemone". A moment of great irony occured during "I Typed for Miles" with Blake screaming out "Note to self: no-one cares/Your voice is average!" and the ending chorus "You keep fucking up my life!" while the packed house of adoring fans sang along, apparently oblivious. One of the many highlights of the show, "Sea Anemone" had every person at the show who has ever been dumped (read:everyone) singing along as though our collective heart would never mend. A bar full of broken hearts singing in unison--what could possibly be better?!

Singer/Guitarist/Songwriter Blake Shwartzenbach also played electric piano/synth on many songs, offering a nice change from the ususal two-guitar attack of most rock bands. My personal highlight was Jets to Brazil's tremendous, raw-nerved rendition of "King Medicine", a song for a friend suffering from clinical depression. "There is no cure/Only reprieve/Some fleeting joy/Posing as balance/Nothing is sure/So every four hours/King Medicine/this subject loves you."

Ending the too-short show with the wistful, hopeful "All Things Good and Nice", Jets to Brazil's singer thanked his family ("I love my sister/for always making things/she even made a brother out of me, sweet kid"), his band (I love my drummer/And all the things he plays/I wrote it in half-time/Just to say "Thanks"), and, with the last line, his fans, saying "I love you stranger/Though it might not always show/There's a lot of good in you...I know."

There may not be a cure for all the depressed people in this world, but Jets to Brazil offer a damn good reprieve. And untill their next visit to our fair city, their fans will have to make do with repeated listening to the Jets' newest album for respite. Come back soon, guys--the shrinks are gonna get rich in the meantime!

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