Too much sun, Shannon? Happily, the Waxwings owned a better assortment of lighting gels. ...though perhaps they didn't use them as often as they could have.

Low to the Ground, the Waxwings' debut album, will not strike the rest of your record collection from your memory, but you won't be upset if you suffer a little memory lapse when you listen to it either. This is sublimely pleasant pop music. It might be a little premature, but I think Low to the Ground is my "summer record". That said, I was really looking forward to catching the Waxwings when they came to Chicago to kick off their nationwide tour. Perhaps it was a case of nerves, but the band seemed a little remote at the start of the show. Luckily the possibility of a pop music show by automatons was gone by the third song as the band loosened up and began interacting both on stage and with the audience. By the end of the show, lead Dean Fertita was even striking a few guitar hero poses. The night was a live recreation of the album, including blissful three-part vocal harmonies, with highlights coming with "Ten O'Clock Your Time" and a beautiful version of "Firewood". More apparent live than on record was a talent for subtle shoegazer-style psychedelia. Little hints of this appeared through out the night, culminating in a pleasant wash of feedback for the set closer "It Comes in Waves".

After a reset of the lights and the addition of a few props, Shannon Wright took the stage, playing solo with acoustic guitar. Before the show, I knew little about wright, other than having read a few reviews of her latest album, Maps of Tacit. I'm still unsure if the Waxwings were the right opening act for her, but I sure as hell enjoyed her. She is emo, so emo in fact that if someone were to copy her act and perform without her apparent feeling, the show would be laughable (Editor's Note: the opinions expressed by Mr. Broccardo do not necessarily represent the opinions of the rest of the Splendid staff, particularly when it comes to free and gratuitous use of the word "emo" in anything other than an insulting manner.). Wright expertly treads the line between drama and sincerity; at no point during her set did she ever fall over into excess drama. It just seems like she forgets that people are watching her when she sings. Live, Wright is an amalgam of Richard Buckner, Chan Marshall and a band like Unwound or Blonde Redhead. She moves from singing her songs in a near whisper to full out explosions of sound. When joined by a drummer for several songs mid-set, I wondered whether I had ever heard two people produce such a loud sound. The music is more than just volume though. Wright's style is an interplay of tight rhythms, elliptical pauses and melodic repetitions. When she takes to the piano this becomes even clearer, as she picks out intricate patterns on the keys, cooing words and breathing into the microphone.

Both acts are touring the US extensively this summer.