The Islands--don't see them live.

The worst performance I have ever seen by a live band was given by Commando. They were a Ramones cover band playing in a barely occupied coffee shop in Kaimuki, Hawaii.

That was in spite of the fact that their lead singer had stripped down to his underwear and was trying as hard as he could to start playful fights with audience members. Gargling lyrics about Chinese rocks and blitzkreig bops, he almost quizzically prodded the kids in the audience, who responded as if he were a Catholic priest asking them on a date--mightily confused, offended, terrified.

But what was most notable about Commando was that they were memorably out-of-tune. Few live bands, especially kids' punk bands, play with instruments perfectly in tune, but Commando seemed not only unaware that tuning their guitars was possible, but oblivious to the entire concept of harmony.

The vocalist droned whinily like a Ben Stein impression by Tom Delonge. Each of the guitar's strings seemed uniquely, unpleasantly surprised by the existence of the others, and together they argued with the bass like warring tomcats. The drummer didn't touch his toms, but even they sounded off-key.

There were probably twelve of us in the audience and we looked at one another with piteous glances--we wanted to tell them how horrible they sounded, not to be rude or get them off stage but just because we thought they deserved to know. I tried, but I couldn't even laugh. And I couldn't leave because that's how kids' punk rock venues work in Hawaii. So I just endured.

People say John McCain is an American hero for withstanding the Viet Cong's torture without breaking, but I consider my suffering on behalf of my friend's band, which was playing next, a comparable experience.

Many of the bands in Hawaii's local punk scene are like that.

I bring Commando up because you have to know about them to understand why I say that Islands' performance at yesterday's Eugene Bloc Party wasn't the worst I've ever seen by a band.

I don't really listen to Islands in my spare time, but I did know them beforehand as the performers of "Rough Gem," a tune with a synth line so sugary that dentists specifically warn against it. I dug it, mostly for the macho factor--any newborn kitten can look tough swigging corn-whiskey, but it takes a real man, or possibly a silverback gorilla, to lick an oversized lolly.

So I was looking forward to Islands, probably more than the band they were opening for, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Even I make mistakes.

I had been warned. My roommate hates Islands. He saw them live in 2006 and tried to start a mosh pit. He said they told him to leave. But what did I care? Moshing? What am I, 16?

I was wrong. I knew it the second I saw lead singer Nick Thorburn live. Behind his white-rimmed stunner shades and bedecked in form-fitting white tank top, he was immobile, save his mouth parsing syllables and his hands grudgingly tugging phrases from his black Gibson.

Behind him, the rest of the band was similarly unenthusiastic. The guitarist occasionally looked up to pointedly mouth the lines, but otherwise gave very little indication he was even there. The bassist leaned against the amplifiers and plucked out his lines as if he was flipping a hamburger.

On the other side of the stage, the Chow brothers, violin- and synth-player for Islands, went about their work as if they were burying a grandfather they had never particularly liked. Behind them, only drummer Aaron Harris showed any hint of animation.

They didn't sound bad. The violins were precise and sweet, the bass was more muscular than their records would lead you to expect, the drums prompt and exuberant. The only time they stumbled was when the guitars were relied upon to carry the tune. Then the music got sloppy, abbreviated and tentative--each solo sounded as if it was just glad to be over.

The attitude of the band very much drowned out the sound. In their defense, it was the middle of the first real summer's day Eugene has had this year, so the sun was beating down on only a few very sweaty bodies, most slow-roasted the color of live lobsters. I might not have been too pleased or mobile in that environment.

But I didn't pay $25 to feel sorry for them. I began feeling accursed buyer's remorse.

Eventually, I got thirsty, so I left the stage to get a bottle of water and took a deep breath. As I walked back, I stared into the clear blue sky and started feeling better. And then I caught a few strains of some song or another Islands was playing and it sounded good. Maybe they weren't so bad after all?

But no, as soon as I got to the stage, the blase looks on the guitarists' faces drained the energy right out of me. And so I decided to stop looking at them. I turned and faced away from the stage.

It was better. Divorced from the posturing of the band, the music sounded pretty good. I had a decent time, although not decent enough to dance--that's a bit awkward when you're facing away from the sage.

In the end, I had to call my roommate and tell him he was right about them. And now it's difficult for me to listen to "Rough Gem" without picturing the prima donnas who performed it.

But at least Nick Thorburn kept his clothes on.

Just doesn't work out live


-Eleanor