Portugal. The Man performed at Schubas Tavern Oct. 11. Photo by author.

When I went into Schubas Tavern on Oct. 11, I knew next to nothing about Drug Rug, Hockey or even the headlining act, Portugal. The Man. By the time I finally left the venue, I came away with three more bands I’ll be sure to follow religiously.

Drug Rug, out of Massachusetts, kicked off the show with a melodic grouping of bluesy songs. Hockey, out of Oregon, followed, upping the ante with a barrage of infectious new wave dance that left a pleasantly surprised audience clamoring for more. And just when I thought the concert couldn’t get any better, Portugal. The Man, hailing from infamous Wasilla, Alaska, made their entrance, guitars ablaze.

I usually don’t like it when bands take up time at a show for extended “audience interaction,” which usually consists of trivial, drawn-out small talk. Just play the damn music. And that is exactly what Portugal. The Man did over the course of an animated hour. Beginning with a discordant assault on the ears the captured the lounging audience’s attention, reducing what was once a lucid and well-spoken collection of people into a mob of illogical, thrashing heads. Helped by a brilliant, seizure-inducing lighting setup and the sick acoustics at Schubas, Portugal. The Man’s avant-garde take on classic rock instantaneously arrested my senses.

I had previously only heard one of the songs they played, “People Say,” so I couldn’t sing along much, which usually is a killer for me in terms of concert enjoyment. But in this case, it didn’t matter at all. With John Baldwin Gourley’s falsetto wailing resonating through the air, backed by some thrilling instrumentation and improvisation, I’m going to go out on a wild limb that any enthusiast of rock would’ve had a dandy time that night. I’m frankly amazed the band brought as much energy and oomph as they did. As they were coming right off a show the previous night, I was expecting somewhat of a downer, but they blew away all my expectations. When they finally left after their encore, flooded with sweat, the audience, myself included, deservingly gave them a rousing ovation, full of “fuck yeah!”s, for their exhausting performance.

By any means, go see Portugal. The Man live when you have the opportunity. If this can be taken as a measure of quality, my neck is still sore from all the headbanging I did that night.