Words by: Ryan Torok

Girls :: 12.05.09 :: The Troubadour :: West Hollywood, CA

Girls by Sandy Kim

Beautiful, reckless-seeming, tragic-appearing and probably heartbroken, Christopher Owens probably doesn’t give a shit, but his band Girls are fucking hot right now.

They have just wrapped up the first leg of their U.S. tour. Since November, they’ve been packing clubs around the U.S. in support of their debut album, the creatively and awesomely titled, Album.

The five-piece band from San Francisco probably doesn’t even agree, but they could be seen as gay hipster rock (in a really great way, think David Bowie back in the day). Near the conclusion of Girls’ 70-minute set at The Troubadour in West Hollywood, somebody in the largely young, stylish and homosexual audience yelled out to Owens, “You blow my mind!”

“Yeah, you blow my mind,” responded Owens, smiling. “Let’s all blow each other.”

Then Owens and his four merrily deranged bandmates launched into “Lust for Life,” the catchiest and most upbeat song off their debut (check the racy video here). If any Girls song ever achieves radio-play, it will be “Lust for Life.” For now, the garage rock sing-along was a show highlight. “I wish I had a boyfriend,” sang Owens in a vocal style that is reminiscent of Elvis Costello and Robert Smith from The Cure – except, Owens rocks much harder than both of them. While Costello’s brightness is irritating and Smith is just too much of a fucking mope, Owens is simultaneously ratty, snarling and sunny.

The longhaired Owens also showed off his awesome wardrobe sense. He was wearing an oversized ’90s Bush tour t-shirt that hung off his lanky, emaciated frame, and red leggings tucked into white sneakers. His tights were shiny as stars. Owens looked like Peter Pan, like a Lost Boy. He looked like a Hanson brother. Girls’ guitarist Ryan Lynch also looked like a Hanson brother. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt the color of fruit punch.

The crowd was bobbing, thrashing around and letting inhibitions float away with the harmonies. Midway through the punchy, two-and-a-half-minute “Lust For Life,” Owens jumped in the air. Electric guitar dangling from his neck, he did a front-kick, ninja-style.

Owens’ schizo stage persona and lovesick lyrics reek of damaged goods. This is partially what made him so compelling to watch. If his back-story is true, he should be commended for not being worse off than he is.

Apparently, he was raised in a cult.

Apparently, his father was M.I.A.

Apparently, this cult forced Owens’s mother to prostitute herself.

Apparently, Owens became a homeless kid in Texas.

Apparently, a Texas millionaire took Owens in.

Girls by Kayceman

If all this is indeed how it happened, Owens deserves a shit ton of praise for his optimism. Even if it’s not all true, his lyrics still resonate. They convey a suffering soul that isn’t ready to give up on life, and isn’t that the case with most of us? During the translucent, mid-tempo “Hellhole Ratrace,” over Girls co-founder Chet JR White‘s mellow and intricate bass-work, Owen sang, “I don’t want to die… So come on, come on, come on, come on, dance with me.”

The nearly seven-minute bedroom-pop epic was the first song anybody heard by Girls. Before Album was released, “Ratrace” caught fire in the blogosphere. It demonstrates Owens’ knack for clever songwriting, which translated live.

The emotional core of the set, “Ratrace” built up to a hazy and dramatic conclusion before crash-landing into a cyclone of duel-psychedelic guitars, heavy bass, and tumbling tom drums. Without stopping, the band segued into “Morning Light.” It was their first noise-rock number of the night. Rash, angry, aggressive, bolstered by Garett Godard‘s rapid drum rolls and pounding of the snare, the tune recalled Sonic Youth and Kevin Drew of Broken Social Scene. Owens fed off his band’s and the audience’s energy. He climbed onto his PA and knocked over his microphone stand.

The remainder of the night, Owens traded off between electric and acoustic guitar. Only during the final song of the set did he play anything else. During “Solitude,” which isn’t on Album, he played harmonica. He played well enough to make for a poignant moment.

Girls

The audience demanded an encore. Not two minutes later, they got one. It didn’t seem like the band had planned for it, which of course made it more special.

“We don’t know what we’re going to play,” Owens said.

For not knowing, they did a pretty damn good job. They broke out into a concise, rollicking and spunky rendition of their surf-rocker “Big Bad Mean Motherfucker.” The Beach Boys would’ve been proud.

Afterward, the band left Owens alone. It was just Owens and the transfixed audience. It was pretty cool. It was like he was just hanging out.

“I have more songs, but I just have to figure out how to play them,” Owens said, sheepishly.

All eyes were on him – they had been all night. It was the perfect send-off.

My friend Showghy accompanied me to the show. Drunk to the point of being blacked out, he became a part of the show, frequently talking to Owens from his place in the crowd. He gave Owens a high-five. He told Owens not to worry about the one instance of rude assholes talking in the crowd.

“Yeah, I know,” said Owens, grinning at Showghy.

During a small window of time, Showghy and Owens became buddies. Maybe it was Showghy’s sleazy mustache that attracted Owens. Maybe they were just feeling each other’s vibe.

One thing is for sure: Everybody was feeling Owens’s vibe. Everybody.

Girls tour dates available here.

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