Dressed like your dad in the ’70s and singing in close three-part harmony, The Devil Whale were more straight rock than any of this folk-rock stuff we’ve been messing around with lately. There was nary an acoustic guitar in sight. Instead two organs graced the stage, and the band played barn-burner after barn-burner while all the dudes in the audience enthusiastically nodded along
First up on Wednesday is The Devil Whale, a Salt Lake City group whose psych-tinged pop-rock is tightly wound, bouncy and catchier than Velcro.
Brinton Jones and his friends took the stage devil-may-care and with a strum from his guitar I realized I was about to be moved. A lot. The Devil Whale brings “shimmering psych-pop that bounces with 60s/70s nostalgia, folky grit and rock n’ roll swagger…” with heart.
One of the best ways to describe their sound is “buoyant.” Like listlessly floating fathoms above the ocean floor, there’s the melancholy, the frustration and there’s the sublime optimism of helplessness and letting go. Frontman Briton Jones’ lyrics have been called a “literature of the heart,” for the way he folds emotion into a four-minute tune with the precision of a classic author…
On The Devil Whale‘s second full-length album, Teeth, songwriter/frontman Brinton Jones and bandmates deliver a heartfelt, visceral experience akin to their classic garage and pop influences such as The Animals, The Kinks, and Harry Nilsson. Like a grand painting, songs are well-defined, yet open to interpretation.