The Wild Yaks

Looking for this club in Brooklyn I came across a couple of guys who had just left the Yankees game, drunk, yelling up to a girl hanging out of her second floor window. They were asking directions to the same bar I was, somewhere on East 2nd St. It turned out we were on West 2nd St. I wandered down along the sticky asphalt of a newly paved street with these middle aged Yankees fans as they yelled at each other and stumbled around. "We're a little high," they explained.

We found the club, unmarked, and I looked for my friend as they tried to convince the bouncer to let them in despite the tar all over their shoes. We waited around for an hour for Suckers, the band we had come to hear. Suckers is a great band with big, jangly, sing-along choruses, but I got tired and left before they played. Fortunately, I did stick around long enough to hear The Wild Yaks.

I love bands that sound like they're just on the edge of losing it: all cracked voices and worn guitar stings. Some of these bands write quiet, acoustic songs, like Bon Iver, but still sound like they might break down at any moment under the weight of all that emotion. Then there are bands like The Wild Yaks, who half yell, half sing and strum their guitars as if they're barely in control of their limbs. I especially love River May Come. A drunken chorus of voices fills the the melancholy lyrics about mortality with that bar-closing sadness you feel after a fantastic night out with your buddies.

You can download it here.