MUSIC: Stephen Malkmus and The Jicks / Music Hall of Williamsburg

Photo: Mina K.

Shorties, take note: The Music Hall of Williamsburg is your friend. A friend and I arrived at the not-so-new but definitely improving venue on Wednesday (a little mezzanine bar goes a long way) and promptly installed ourselves along the rail of one of the mini balconies that line the main room. These things are genius. Just a couple feet off the ground allows for a clear view of the stage no matter how many tall dudes may be clustered on the floor (and with the number of dudes in attendance at this show, you can only imagine).

John Vanderslice opened the show with his usual exquisite indie rock, a feat made all the more impressive when he revealed he was fueled only by a vegan hot dog downed moments before he took the stage. As opposed to the last couple of times I've seen him, where he attacked his acoustic guitar solo (and with gusto), tonight he was ably assisted by a small band who produced some gorgeously layered textures, bringing the depth of the studio recordings to the live show. The violinist, in particular, deserves credit for playing so hard that half the hair on his bow was blowing in the breeze midway through the set. Way to take one for the team, man—he admitted it costs $50 to get it rehaired. For the last song, Vanderslice and co. brought it down to the floor for an unamplified acoustic version of "Nikki Oh Nikki" (off perhaps his best album, 2002's "Life and Death of an American Four-Tracker"). Despite the over-air-conditioned room, the song brought goosebumps. And despite the chills, the crowd was sufficiently warmed up for the headliner.

It's taken a few years, but Stephen Malkmus is finally getting some credit for his solo career—along with the inevitable questions about Pavement. Answer: Pavement is over. Done. Fin. The Jicks are here, now and pretty damn good. They seem like a solid unit, a band through and through, comfortable and confident within their seemingly loose song structures. As can be heard on "Real Emotional Trash," the Portland crew is shaking out to be more of a psychedelic guitar band than an indie-pop band, despite the hooks of a song like "Hopscotch Willie." The much-discussed long, meandering jams are a showcase for those guitar skills and most likely, more mapped out than one would think.

And though there seemed to be some improvisation (that's master beatkeeper Janet Weiss, of Sleater-Kinney and Quasi fame, behind the kit), this is not sloppy Pavement seconds. Lyrically, the tunes are just as obliquely quirky as they were back in the "Wowee Zowee" days, still struggling with restlessness but now ruminating on daddyhood, it seems. And yet the crowd went wildest for the relatively simple sentiments of tracks like "Baby C'Mon" and the Mungo Jerry cover "Alright, Alright, Alright" (a definite highlight of the set, and a version of which a little birdie told me is to be released on vinyl soon).   —Catherine Hopkinson