The Perishers at Mercury Lounge 5/24 Written by Jeremy Schreiner Photographed by Evan Sung
	The Perishers

I like to think of The Perishers’ new album Let There Be Morning as great hangover music. Similar to Granddaddy, their music is calm and soothing, gentle on the brain. Their lyrics are melancholy tidbits about quotidian issues of love lost, Monday malaise, and bad breakups, everyday themes that are easy to relate to. But their music is catchy enough that you can trick yourself into thinking that it’s uplifting. The next thing you know, it’s Sunday, and your head’s pounding but you’re cheerfully singing, “Keep your problems to yourself/ I could use some help myself/ I wonder who’ll be there for you when I’m gone.”

So when I went to see them play at the Mercury Lounge, I made a point of getting good and sauced beforehand, hoping to be hung-over by the time The Perishers came on. I went to the Brooklyn Social Club, where apparently paying for your drinks is optional, and drank more than I could handle before heading over to the Mercury Lounge. When I got there, I should have held off the booze and waited for the impending headache and nausea to kick in, but after a few seconds of one of the opening acts, I needed another drink.

The Assault was the first act I caught. They’re a three-piece band riding the Sleater-Kinney-chick-punk-rock-wave. To all you young-women-out-there-trying-to-ride this-wave, “You’re not Sleater-Kinney, so stop trying and do something original. And while you’re at it, work on your style—you’re supposed to be rock stars for Christ sakes!” It’s a shame too because the members of the Assault were pretty good musicians.

The Assault was followed by Deena Goodman. I had only listened for a few minutes when I realized that there are hundreds of bands in Vermont that sound exactly like them. I promptly ambled my way over to the bar. I feel kind of bad about this because I talked to the lead singer after their set and she was an extremely cordial young lady. It could have been because she was drunk or because I told her I was from Rolling Stone. In all likelihood, she probably only talked to me because I said I was from Rolling Stone and she probably only fell for that nonsense because she was wasted. In any case, she was nice, which counts for a lot in this city and I feel guilty about not listening to her set and for lying to her afterwards.

The Perishers finally came on - past their bedtime. They’d opened for Sarah McLachlan at MSG earlier that night, a pretty busy night (especially for a bunch of kids who looked like nervous eleventh-grade geeks, except for the drummer who rocked a dirty mustache and therefore looked cool.) To be honest, I was a little disappointed. I was expecting older and wiser from the guys who’d infected my brain of late.

Their live performance was neither disappointing nor exhilarating. They played songs from their album true to form. They played everything I wanted to hear, but it didn’t sound much different from their CD. They also threw in a few new songs, but they had the same soporific, gentle sound that made them hard to get overly exited about. What bolstered this show into the above-average category was the abundance of above-average-looking females in attendance. There were two reasons for this. One, they’re Swedish, which explains the handful of hot Swedish girls enthusiastically prancing around. Two, as a cute Asian girl informed me, they recently had a song on the O.C. I don't know how I really feel about this, but at least it drew a number of hot girls to the otherwise banal Mercury Lounge.

The Perishers may have gone out with a bang; I really can’t remember. By the end of the show, my notes had devolved into indecipherable, drunken scribble. I can only make out the words “Spin Doctors,” but I have no idea what they’re in reference to. I do know this; I woke up the next day feeling guilty and hung-over and put on Let There Be Morning to assuage my aching soul.