DC9 nightclub is unique in the world of music venues. Centrally located in the busy nightlife scene of Shaw, it looks more like a converted storefront than a concert hall. The three-floored hipster’s paradise (which includes a rooftop bar) has a charming, dive-bar feel that lets you pat yourself on the back as you enter. On a floor that barely fits 250 people, you’re obviously seeing a band before they are cool.
Oakland-based band Day Wave shuffled through the crowd and hopped on stage on May 12th, pairing with the DC natives of Color Palette. Interestingly, despite the five scruffy young men who jammed under a Darth Vader head-shaped disco ball, the band had only had one member until recently. Lead singer Jackson Phillips is the driving force behind the band, creating all of the music himself and bringing in musicians to supplement his sound at live shows.
Phillips presents a strong, clean sound in live performance, showing that his lo-fi sound works outside of studio recording. One part punk with a surf guitar influence and another part synth pop, Phillips manages to mix together different ends of the indie spectrum.
With howling shouts and haunting vocals, Day Wave quickly opened the show with “Come Home Now.” Phillips writes all the music himself, even recording the most recent album, Hard to Read, in his own home, acting as a garage band in the most literal sense of the term. You would never know that his bandmates, Phillips’ longtime friends, are absent in the composing process as they seem unified in their creative mission. Certain songs, like “Total Zombie,” ended up being almost entirely group sung like the audience was witnessing a jam session of classic songs these musicians collectively loved.
The band members dress and act very similar on stage. All are white twenty somethings, dressed in t-shirts and jeans or the occasional funky Hawaiian button down (Phillips himself sported a retro Mickey Mouse shirt). In their quirky demeanor, all members of the band seem to understand that Day Wave songs are innately morose. Fading, static-y vocals tell messages of sad, simple beauty, “All our friends, we’re just the same/ We all pretend that we’re okay,” (We Try but We Don’t Fit In), “You say I’m always getting mad/ I’m always such a drag/ But I’m not like that.” (Drag).
Phillips leads a band of misfits, misunderstood by their exes, society, and perhaps even the music industry as they bend the rules of what defines indie rock. In spite of this, much like their alternative fans in their Bohemian venue, they embrace being misunderstood, taking advantage of these relatable feelings to create strange, emotionally-charged music for those willing to stand in front of a tiny stage and listen.
