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By: Dennis Cook
You see the band name and images of sailing ships and salt pork fill your head. Turn on All We Could Do Was Sing and you're initially met with slamming drums and a weirdo tribal bark that's not far removed from Akron/Family. There's still a bit of grog swilling sea saltiness ("Fisherman's Son," "Stuck on a Boat") to this Oakland, CA group but it's slashed by a bounteous energy and undiminished tenderness, soothing and eviscerating in cool ways. One picks up the everyone-in-the-room rattle of hand percussion and the cool, indefinable interactions that occur when musicians meet one another's eyes as they create. Even if you have no idea where Larsen Bay is (Alaska) or have never lived the vagabond life hinted at here, something in their philosophical rambles carries you away.
There's some fine bittersweetness on All We Could Do Was Sing, lingering in lines like "I'm doing fine in the city/ I don't miss the stars" or the directness to call someone out on "all the shit you put me through" on a simmering, string stroked ballad like "Don't Take My Advice." Each piece has it's own vibe and character, so no single mood prevails, but they sound equally convincing tearing up electric guitar strings on "Pigeonhold" as they do serving up ghostly folk on "Will You Be There?" When female lead vocals come in late in the record or they swerve into a Jonathan Richman-esque jitter on "Close The Lid," you're already well under their soft spell. There is much rough edged pleasure to Port O'Brien.
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