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Photos By Clarissa Villondo, Words By Bryce Rudow

An Acknowledgment: I am a big Typhoon fan, and I will go to my grave thinking 9:30 Club is the best club in the world, but at last night’s show, something was off the with the levels. Lead singer Kyle Morton’s normally-distinct vocals got lost somewhere behind the other 9 members’ sounds, and considering he doesn’t make a lot of eye contact with the crowd to begin with, it was a bit hard to connect with him. It happens, but the show must go on…

Typhoon

I recently found out that one of my friends still goes to church pretty regularly.

He doesn’t exactly lead an overtly pious life, and I found it interesting enough to press him on the issue. He admitted that while the message doesn’t resonate with him the way it used to, he found comfort in seeing that many people in one place dedicated to one purpose.

That’s kind of what last night’s Typhoon show at 9:30 Club felt like.

The last time I had seen the group, they were setting the Rock and Roll Hotel record for fitting the most band members on their stage. But even though they were piled on top of each other, and even though RnR isn’t known for having the best acoustics in the world, the bombastic force of the group made up for it all. The guitars and bass bellied low, the strings floated on top of them, and the horns flew above everything. It was powerful.

And it made me salivate at the thought of seeing them on 9:30’s relatively expansive stage.

But as Kyle Morton and his backing band — complete with two strings players, two horn players, two drummers, and a percussionist/keyboard player — kicked into their set, something felt off. Morton, who is a bit of a natural mumbler, was only getting picked up fully by his microphone sporadically. And considering he already fluctuates the temperature and volume of his voice constantly while singing, it made everything feel a bit disconnected.

Crowd

Fortunately, or at least to find a silver lining, the band’s monitors must have been working fine, because all ten of the band members on stage threw themselves passionately into their churning, swelling style of rock. And by the time they finished with their second song, the wonderful “Young Fathers,” I was content to appreciate the spectacle of seeing this well-oiled machine, even if this wasn’t going to be the intimate, cathartic evening I was expecting.

And that well-oiled machine didn’t disappoint.

It’s hard to get anyone to do anything these days, and to see those ten musicians dedicated to their craft, technically precise but always exuding an air of pure enjoyment, was inspiring. Whether it was their long-haired bass player thrashing around near the front of the stage or the two drummers smiling at one another as they exploded in sync with one another, a contagious air of contentment — a feeling more subdued than joy but almost as important — wafted through the room.

White Lighter, their fantastic album that was released last August, latched onto the heart to and made an immediate, intimate connection. This show though, it gave the comfort that comes from seeing more people than one would ever think about in a given day all looking for the same temporary salvation.

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