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Getting out of bed for We Were Promised Jetpacks (June 16, Bunkhouse Saloon)

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We Were Promised Jetpacks

How badly will I regret it tomorrow if I skip this band tonight? We’ve all played that game, and I tend to when headliners go on close to 12 a.m. on weeknights, as We Were Promised Jetpacks did Thursday. In this case, I was already in bed when the game began.

I’ve liked the Scottish indie rockers since I heard their debut album, Four Walls, in 2009, and even more after I caught them live at Coachella 2012. As I watched them on that sunny day, I remember thinking their slow-swelling tunes would fit best in a small, dark space, but I figured they’d be more likely to make it to Vegas opening for a bigger act in a casino (see: countrymen The Twilight Sad, who supported The Cure at Cosmo in May).

When WWPJ added the Bunkhouse to its tour schedule last month, it never occurred to me I might end up missing the show. Even when I heard the band had been given an 11:30 start time, I figured I’d catch a quick nap and get there in time for the openers, locals The Astaires and Close to Modern. But after a long day of work things got busy at home, the nap never happened and I found myself lying in bed, lights off, trying to convince myself I probably don’t really like We Were Promised Jetpacks as much as I thought I did. But I do and I knew it, so at 10:45 I threw on my shoes and a baseball cap, waved goodbye to my startled wife and made the long drive Downtown from Henderson, arriving with a few minutes to spare.

Was it worth it? Absolutely. I guessed it would be from the first notes to opener “It’s Thunder and It’s Lightning,” the leadoff cut from Four Walls and still the band’s defining anthem. Guitarist Michael Palmer battled through some technical issues for the first few numbers, but singer/guitarist Adam Thompson, bassist Sean Smith and drummer Darren Lackie powered on until he got it sorted out, and then the quartet of instruments—and Thompson’s brogue—really started dancing.

The Jetpacks catalog—three albums deep and growing, with the addition of some new material on this tour—alternates between space-eating post-rock, noisy shoegaze and bouncy cuts reminiscent of late-’70s British post-punk, and all those sides were well-represented. Early single “Quiet Little Voices” generated the warmest crowd reception (and an awkward indie moshpit), but for me the most effective songs were “Sore Thumb” and “Keeping Warm,” which found the four musicians lazing in placid water for mesmerizing minutes on end before suddenly splashing up to deliver their dramatic payload.

It ended too soon, as good sets tend to, after an hour and 10 minutes, and then I was back on the road, thankful I’d fought off my tiredness and hopeful I’d remember it the next time I find myself playing the game.

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