he Burning Brides are “burned” out. Or so the story goes.

Much to the dismay of many excited fans, the Philly rockers pulled a no show at their scheduled May 21 appearance at Liquid Joe’s.

Speculations ran rampant as to why the band chose to cancel at the last minute: Were members influenced by The Mooney Suzuki’s recent (justifiable) hissy fit at The Junction when an unappreciative crowd prompted New York City’s ultra-cool hipsters to toss down their instruments 20 minutes into their performance? Or had the Brides simply figured out that Liquid Joe’s is a joint where music takes a back seat to inebriated quests for a one-night stand?

Yet the point was moot, for no amount of aimless reasoning could make the band materialize. The inflamed newlyweds were not coming—one could stay home and brood or attend the show anyway to see what the rest of the lineup had to prove.

Judging by the turnout, most people opted for the former. A scant 15 souls sat near the stage as Chicago’s The Detachment Kit trudged through soundcheck. An air of relative indifference surrounded the members as they tuned in without vigor. Perhaps they were just as wary of the night as the audience seemed to be. However, apathetic posturing vanished as soon as the band took the stage.

Frontman Ian Menard dispelled first impressions by demonstrating a good-natured demeanor and cunning wit.

“We like playing at places like this,” he said. “We can be very intimate.”

The sparse crowd laughed appreciatively, slowly warming to, yet maintaining safe distance from, the unfamiliar band. The main floor remained unpopulated, save for a lone barstool, stark and obvious in its solidarity. Menard continued in his efforts to clear the air by suggesting, “If you don’t enjoy the show, just get another beer.” That said, he took a swig off his Fosters and launched into a most pleasing set.

Kit is another band with an art school past. But that tidbit of information alone fails to inform upon the band’s sound. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to sling artier-than-thou alumni into one limited category. Thankfully, the garage-rock genre is mutating. The band sounded less like The Strokes, more like early Gang of Four and ultimately like itself.

High intensity numbers yielded the best results. Kit established a hard rhythm comparative to its members falling down stairs, collecting themselves and tumbling once again. Menard’s sweet vocals were most compelling in aggressive form. He screamed with electrocuted shock and flew across the platform, successfully bridging the gap between spectators and performers.

The Starlight MInts' Allen Vest attempts to woo a disgruntled crowd after The Burning Brides left them stranded at Liquid Joe's.

Bassist Josh Hight took a different approach by turning his back to the crowd, directing his tremendous wail toward the drummer. While an atypical stance is potentially alienating and offensive, Hight’s positioning was actually endearing. Apparently, this was something he only recently started doing. Well, experimentation is always welcome. It was an act that fit perfectly with the night’s innovative spirit—one that headliners The Starlight Mints helped persist.

The Mints hail from Norman, Okla., the original stomping ground of The Flaming Lips. In addition to a shared Midwestern upbringing, Mints members actually infuse Lips-like orchestration into their sound.

The band typically employs a vast array of instruments, and its Salt Lake City stop was no exception. Besides the average bass, drums and guitars, there were also two keyboards (each hooked up to MAC laptops), a voice manipulator, tambourine, cello, flute and harmonica. Though the bounty of audible ammunition carried disastrous potential, members executed each instrument with timed precision. Each individual sound was incorporated at just the right moments, then discarded when its purpose was fulfilled.

Lead vocalist Allan Vest had an imperfect voice with Pavement-driven tone. It corresponded particularly well with keyboardist Marian Love Nunez’s soprano cooing. This was perhaps best exemplified on “Sugarblaster,” a sugary number with the perfect dose of sweetness. Other numbers benefitted from plenty of oohs, ahhs and lalalas—choruses that inspired sing-alongs, even for newbies who had only caught the show on a whim.

The entire set showcased the Mints’ ability to breathe fresh air into pop. Songs were crisp and provided reason to bob and weave like a kid on speed. Though there was little interaction between band and crowd, the performers were obviously intent on creating songs capable of injecting in fans a much needed buzz. Giddy bodies drew near the stage, vying for a piece of minty magic. Finally everyone was having a grand time.

The original feelings of disappointment spawned from absent Brides had vanished. Two groups in waiting stepped in and stole the hearts of Salt Lake City music lovers. Burned out, huh? Let’s get a divorce.
jamie@red-mag.com