Pitchfork

There aren't many frontmen in music nowadays that would strip down to a speedo and jump into a teeming mass of 20,000 fans with a Slip 'n Slide. It's that sort of kamizake bravado that makes Les Savy Fav such a fantastic live act. Seeing that sort of derring-do come from someone like Tim Harrington-- tall, bald, and paunchy-- makes the spectacle even more amazing. Harrington stalks the stage like a crazed hobo, hanging from any fixtures and pipes within reach, working the crowd like he's equal parts punk-rock provocateur and motivational messiah. And all the while, as unsuspecting audience members are smothered in his sweaty embrace, the band goes about their business in a professional, kick-ass manner. Not many live experiences available top seeing Les Savy Fav. Unfortunately, the things that make their live show so great are the same things that make releasing a Les Savy Fav live album a dodgy proposition. That said, After the Balls Drop manages to make the most of these potential shortcomings, offering listeners a charming, warts-and-all portrait of the group.

Given the time and place of the show documented, the group could be forgiven for not being on top of its game. The recording took place at a Bowery Ballroom New Year's Eve/Day show at 3 a.m., a time of morning that, when coupled with that time of the year, doesn't do many folks any favors (unless I'm the only one going to parties where 3 a.m. means half the party-goers are sleeping and the other half are throwing up). The crowd sounds up to the challenge, but the group-- Harrington in particular-- takes a long while to get into the spirit of the moment. Harrington jokes before the set starts that he just came back from running a 5K marathon for the "Who Needs a Wish Foundation." It's as plausible an excuse as any for why he sounds out-of-breath when trying to keep up with the show's first song, "The Equestrian". His being out of sorts while trying to both sing and do whatever the hell he decides to do is great when you're actually at the show seeing what's going on. When you can't see what's going on, however, you're left with some wheezing, panting guy that misses about half the words he's supposed to sing, and a fair number of notes he's supposed to hit. It's no big deal when dealing with older songs where he's required to scream more than sing-- he kills here on "The Sweat Descends" and "Yawn Yawn Yawn"-- but the more melodically robust songs from Let's Stay Friends (three of which lead off this set) suffer.

The group gets a second wind midway through the set (conveniently enough, around the time Harrington gets the crowd going by asking if they're fading or fired up-- you can guess what won out). LSF gleefully rip through "The Year Before the Year 2000" and "The Lowest Bitter" (with the latter featuring Harrington on kazoo), then stretches out the seething intro for "Who Rocks the Party" (from The Cat & The Cobra). This gives way to "Tim's Speech", a 15-minute track which is actually a seven-minute version of "Rome" (from the EP of the same name) and eight superfluous minutes of the crowd calling for an encore, along with a brief speech from Harrington-- after the band returns to the stage-- concerning the issues of trust and an audience member using his sister's ID to get into the show.

What follows the speech is the real reason to drop some cash on this set-- five enthusiastic covers of variable quality that bring the show home. The versions of Creedence Clearwater Revival ("Hey Tonight") and the Misfits ("Astro Zombies") are the best of the bunch, though the group's run through the chosen Pixies ("Debaser") and Nirvana ("Sliver") tracks are also fun. Their ramshackle campfire version of Love's "Everybody's Gotta Live" is the perfect closer for a set that ultimately sounds less like a show held at a legitimate concert venue and more like the sort of raucous hoe-down you'd find at a house party.