Last night I got to see Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. At the very least, they're explicable hype. The singer really projects that Gano/Verlaine whine and the band adds some post-Velvets juice to the OC-rock archetype. We can debate whether the deal is big or not, but it is a deal. It would be hypocritical to complain about people cheering balding bohemians for competently rehashing the work of their elders, as I welcome such attention myself. The singer for the National revealed he was Tim Booth by the second song, so I bolted.
And now, my first bit of Philly scene bitchiness: National Eye (who sound like Pavement if Malkmus was inspired by the Moody Blues) should perform more songs as energetically as they do their closer or make sure that the audience has chairs. They should also add either "Incense & Peppermints" or "The Porpoise Song" to their set list.
Happy birthday, Mom!