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Black Kids photos by Jason Bergman; St. Vincent photos by Kathryn Yu; Above: Black Kids

Black Kids [The Annex; 10 p.m.]








Black Kids arrived at Lower East Side dive the Annex with little concert experience outside of their native Jacksonville, Fla., and some lofty expectations to meet. In just a couple of weeks, the indie pop quintet's MySpace page-- where you can download their fantastic, internet-only Wizard of Ahhhs EP-- had gone from about 30,000 views to more than 160,000. Amid heady acclaim from blogs and the UK press, along with ourselves, the group recently signed to the same management company as Björk and Arcade Fire. That fickle mistress, hype, was in the house.

This summer, Black Kids opened their reputation-establishing Athens Popfest set with slapstick dialogue quoted from cult film classic The Labyrinth. At the Annex, in their first prime-time New York appearance, the band gathered near the drum set, and then singing guitarist Reggie Youngblood delivered a couple of lines from Get Lost-era Magnetic Fields: "Baby, you could be famous/ If you could just get out of this town." The words were all too apt, but if many in the uncomfortable squashed crowd at the oversold event caught the reference, maybe they were still waiting to be impressed.

Impress Black Kids did, but not before the unthinkable happened for a young band trying to convert gawkers into fans in the ADD-addled mp3 blog era. Youngblood's guitar amp died as the band kicked off their first song, a non-EP track that might have been their cover of the Clash's "The Magnificent Seven". It wasn't exactly the kind of problem that could be easily fixed. Youngblood was visibly nervous, but he's not the kind of frontman who excels at charmingly awkward self-deprecation-- the rest of the band may bring some twee, but Youngblood's confident swagger usually belies his shaking, Robert Smith-like vocals. "I wanna fight somebody," he quipped. There was some cussing all around.

An eternity and a new amp later, Black Kids returned, and played a set that lived up to all the lofty expectations (a few quibbles about sound quality and seemingly slower tempos aside). Youngblood shimmied and made guitar-solo faces. His sister, Ali, turned out to be the band's secret weapon, shouting out cheerleader chants like the Go! Team's Ninja on non-EP track "Look at Me When I Rock With You", playing the keyboard, waving her hands, or just smiling infectiously. The other keyboardist and backing vocalist, Dawn Watley, wore a short, billowing polka-dot dress, dancing and singing like one of the Pipettes. Bassist Owen Holmes and drummer Kevin Snow made themselves inconspicuous at the back of the stage, but were no less essential.

Best of all, Black Kids managed to keep their music's spirit of fun, despite the tense opening circumstances. On non-MySpace song "I Wanna Be Your Limousine", they oh-wee-oh'd fit for The Wizard of Oz. They caught me with the false ending of "I've Underestimated My Charm Again", which gave way to Motown bounce and an indelible closing line: "Every time we kiss, it's like an inside joke I always miss." And of course, the place came alive for "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You", even if there was more bouncing around than dancing. On my way out, an English gentleman nudged my elbow. "What's that band called?" he asked.

St. Vincent [Knitting Factory; 12 a.m.]

Though Black Kids' amplifier problems seemed pretty egregious at the time, St. Vincent actually spent far longer setting up, pushing the band's start time until well after 1 a.m. Even when the set had begun, waifish singer Annie Clark-- elegant in formal dress and shiny necklace-- continued signaling to the sound guy for adjustments. It didn't distract much of the crowd, though, who were here to hear songs from Clark's first solo turn, St. Vincent's Pitchfork-recommended Marry Me, following her stints with Sufjan Stevens and the Polyphonic Spree. ("She must be really talented, because she hangs out with Sufjan a lot," a young woman to my left observed before the set...) Live, the gaps between St. Vincent's artier, Kate Bush-like impulses and traditionalist, vaguely jazzy core were more evident. On her album's title track, she took to the keyboard, evoking Feist. She possibly oversold the song's blasphemous innuendos with overt heavy breathing, but it still brought the room to a hush. Elsewhere, her drifting guitar chords and fluttering vocals also brought to mind the late troubadour Jeff Buckley. Still, Clark engaged the best with the audience when her music was the most distant. Veering occasionally into drones and screeching guitar solos, Clark even broke into a smile.