Ida Still Knows About Me, Tsunami Still Mows You Down

Last Friday, March 28, I traveled to Philadelphia, via King of Prussia (where my brother lives) to see Ida and Tsunami, who were in the midst of their Coin Toss tour. Both bands were active in the late '90s/ early '00s. Ida was probably one of my favorite bands around that time, combining indie rock sensibilities with some of the most exquisite harmonies ever heard in that vein of music or any other for that matter. I wasn't the type to go on road trips to see bands back then, but I once journeyed on a Monday night to Cleveland to see them, in a car with my wife and friend Leslie, with whom I was starting the band Up the Sandbox. (We didn't really sound like Ida at all but we probably tried to create a mood similar to their work. But maybe that's idealized revisionism.)

I always wanted to get into Tsunami because they had their own label (Simple Machines) who put out a lot of cool music, which showed greater support for the independent scene in general. Plus they were fronted by two women, and having spent nine years in a band with two women who did a lot of writing and singing, it was clear that they were cool.  But me with my limited record buying funds just never got around to them. They came to Pittsburgh once (at least) and played the upstairs room of the Oakland Beehive, but somehow I missed that show. (A current co-worker of mine recently unearthed some photos of that night.) I was probably working. 

So Friday was a night to catch up and to reminisce. 

The name of the tour comes from the fact that the order of performers is not determined until the show starts. (I had forgotten this timing detail and felt shamed when I asked the merch guy the order, thinking that it was determined during soundcheck. Oops.) Both bands came out onstage as "Also Sprach Zarathustra" played over the p.a. Everyone looked deadly serious, which is funny since they're all pretty charming. Franklin Bruno (did I mention the great songwriter of the Inland Empire was sitting in with Tsunami?) gave someone in Ida the "you're going down" look which was especially hilarious. The coin - which seemed to be designed for this tour - was flipped and Ida went on first. As they took their places, Bruno offered to take three questions. One dealt with the nickname on everyone's jacket, his being "Pudding." He offered that it might not be a term of endearment from his wife, but it would fit. Alas, I forgot my scoop pad, so I didn't scribble down any info about the other two questions, or the music that followed.

Suffice to say, Ida was everything I had hoped. The core lineup of Dan Littleton and Elizabeth Mitchell (guitars, pictured above), bassist Karla Schickele (bass, below) and Michael "Miggy" Littleton (drums) were augmented by violinist Jean Cook, who has played with them before. She also offered between-song banter while everyone returned. As I had suspected, the (relatively) younger woman playing keyboards and guitar with them was Dan and Liz's daughter Storey. 

After all this time, and numerous albums, the big question was what would make it into the setlist. All stuff from their Simple Machines releases? How much from Will You Find Me, their magnum opus? How much later material, when the group was augmented by several more players. (I wore my Malarkies t-shirt that night, in homage to that duo, who appeared on some later Ida albums and with Schickele's band k. My Ida t-shirt is one of the few band shirts that I wore out, it seems.)

"Maybelle," the slow, unfolding piece from Will You Find Me, came early in the set, with Mitchell and Schickele harmonizing together beautifully. Everyone in the room seemed to hang on every note, especially when Littleton joined them on the chorus. "Requator," one of the songs where the band really rocks out and Mitchell really breathes fire, was an exciting surprise in the set.  I was also really happy to hear two of Schickele's songs, "Poor Dumb Bird" and "This Water."

When the group played New York, Mitchell said Thalia Zedek gave them a hard time for not letting Storey have a solo spot, so she had her moment center stage with "At a Diner" an original that shows that she learned some good lessons from Mom and Pop.

Each night of the tour has had special guests and tonight was no exception. Mary Lou Lord joined Ida for a cover of Bevis Frond's "He'd Be a Diamond" and Susie Ulrey came up for the band's "Downtown."

The bands must have figured that their audience does not want to stay out too too late these days, even on a Friday. There was no official break between bands. In fact, as soon as Ida was done, Tsunami's Jenny Toomey joined Dan onstage to play a song that they two had done in their project Liquorice. Being the great storyteller he is, Dan had to preface the song with a long, convoluted tall tale about the cover of the band's album on 4AD. 

Then the rest of Tsunami took the stage. Along with Jenny Toomey (left, above) and Kristen Thomson (right), the group was rounded out by Bruno, Rob Christiansen (bass) and Luther Gray (drums). The rhythm section was new to the fold, with an impressive background. Christiansen had played in a few bands from that era, including Eggs, and Gray also maintains a double-life as a free jazz drummer with people like Joe Morris. Bruno is a personal favorite for his work with Nothing Painted Blue and his more recent band, the Human Hearts. 

The evening made me want to pick up the recently released Tsunami box set to rediscover their whole catalog. Their set was a wide range of sound - rocking out, getting a little more melodic at times and never letting the high energy slow down. Richard Baluyut of the band Versus was their guest toward the end of the set. For encores, members of Ida joined them for covers of Lungfish's "Put Your Halo On" and a rousing version of Mission of Burma's "Academy Fight Song." (A few nights earlier, Clint Conley, who wrote and sang the Burma song, joined the band onstage in Somerville, MA.)

I overheard conversations in the audience where people talked about seeing the bands years ago, or putting one of them up for the night when they came to town. Upon running into one friend who I knew in Pittsburgh, a bit removed from the indie rock scene, I quickly met a friend of hers who had been in a band with Dan Littleton, pre-Ida. "Oh, you were in the hardcore band," I asked, remembering only a fragment of Littleton's past. But I guessed right. 

There was a time when it was easy for me to roll my eyes at 50-something people who seemed so invested in the music of their youth. As time goes on, you get a little more diplomatic about it. (In fact, I wouldn't think twice if I was asked to join a band play 1960s covers.) Now that I'm at this age, going wild at hearing songs live again, I can understand why the past can stir you up. At this same time, bands like Ida and Tsunami staked out their spot by going against the grain, or at the very least, setting their own standards for what they would do. Having hits wasn't the point, doing your own thing was the point. 

When you combine that with the feeling I still have, post-pandemic, that seeing a band live feels even more life-affirming that it did six years ago, it explains the energy that I felt last week. Keep that fire lit.