If ever there were a time and place for a packed LP-release show, it’s probably not the tube-shaped Crocodile Café Back Bar on a Sunday night during an uncharacteristically-epic heat wave in Seattle. Still, DIY math-poppers Postmadonna made the most of the sweat-lodge they created with fellow local indie darlings Heavy Petting, Special Explosion, and New Lungs.
Postmadonna’s closing set was a straight run through their new self-titled album, released on vinyl at this show. Despite the sauna, their tightly-executed set brought plenty of punk energy with more than a little help from their band-bromance buddies Dear Mister Manager, whose vocalist James Weber stepped in on opener “Shredder” (although he called himself PM’s “roadie”). The lyrical references and shout-outs to “Cathy” on “So Socio,” made it a singalong favorite, but the sweat started to fly on on “URAMAGICIAN” and “Whose Absinthe Is This?” The former saw the first major moshing of the night, and the latter brought about the first crowd-surfing, which would later get banned during “Seamonster,” as a bouncer screamed above the crowd “Next one who crowd-surfs is gettin’ thrown OUT!”
There are lots of reasons to love Postmadonna – their rhythmic feel can be mathy, alternative or blues-rock, but it’s based in lively hooks. They’re also shedding light on some of their influences, including an entire well-loved record label that used to get ignored by Seattle’s reigning alternative press, but its artists now get name-dropped in Postmadonna write-ups. The slow-down disassembly of “Howler” reminded especially of Tera Melos’ “Party with Gina,” but PM still stand out with gang-vocal hooks that are belted even louder by their tight-knit group of friends than by themselves.
However, perhaps the biggest reason to love them came on the closing “WLRS.” After recruiting several of their buddies on stage to scream these half “fuck-the-man, but I’m still getting mine” lyrics:
Singer Pat Goodwin tossed his guitar and crowd-surfed one last (illegal) time, middle fingers brandished towards the bar. A ballsy move that was only a tad stupid (there’s no way the back-bar was insured for that), that fit the spirit of the night.