The guys in Paws like the lo-fi indie-rock of the 1990s. And why not? At their respective ages, the ’90s scene is vintage. They’ve not been around too long, having released their debut seven-inch single in 2011. But in their short time together, Paws has learned what made the ’90s important. Every night they perform, they take it off the rails in a way that few bands of that era ever did. Spin liked them at 2013’s South by Southwest music fest, and Pitchfork handed Cokefloat! a respectable 7.1 rating the year before. Morrissey, by the way, told reporters he did not try to shut them down when he and Paws were performing on different stages at the Observatory in May.
The beef went viral, especially when Paws opener We Are Scientists got ugly about it on Twitter. Everything was blown out of proportion, Moz said later. His people were only concerned about noise bleed. It happens. Everybody made up, and the shows went on at different times.
- Sunday, September 21, 2014, 8 p.m.
2501 Kettner Boulevard,
I’d guess that beer is involved in both the songwriting and the performing aspects of Paws, a Glasgow band. You’d not know where they’re from if you weren’t told; Paws has expunged Scotland from their group identity. They’re not so much exacting songcrafters as they are mimics of a distinctly American genre. The total Paws experience is like looking at old Bikini Kill or Pavement videos, right down to the adenoidal vocals, the clothes, band equipment with duct tape on guitars, and their deeply disturbing songs about the unattainable: “You were born too rich/ so glad you won’t be/ my seven-year itch.” There’s a lot of angst in Paws music that I recall but have since outgrown. Is there deeper significance in being a revivalist of ’90s indie? Nah — don’t overthink this. It was good then, and it’s good now.