On their third night at The Salt Shed, Mt. Joy filed onstage to a full house of Chicago’s hipster youth. The L.A.-based indie rock band are known for their dreamy rhythms and soothing melodies, and while the twisted and evolving images projected behind them evoked an acid-trip, Mt. Joy radiates more calm than psychedelia.
Instead of starting with an opener, the band opted for a two-part show with an intermission. With the audience still sipping on their first hazy IPAs, Mt. Joy jumped into “Sheep.” At first listen, the song’s light keys and groovy drum beat mask its call to end senseless violence and stop the “blood on the streets of Baltimore.” Mt. Joy has some beautiful love songs, but their work as a whole is notable for the variation in its topics—everything from “Bigfoot is out there” to “every holiday I feel that depression”—and the different directions from which the band explores relationships and emotion.
Mt. Joy aren’t great public speakers and instead of verbally introducing their songs, they tend toward musical transitions that keep fans on their tiptoes, trying to identify the next piece. The fog onstage was washed in blue light as Jackie Miclau, stage left, began an ethereal piano solo that slowly morphed into “Dirty Love,” one of the bands’ most famous songs. Lead vocalist Matt Quinn, who sported an adorable Mt. Joy beaded bracelet, opened the piece on the ukulele, giving the song a slow, cheerful rhythm that contrasted with lyrics that explore what it means for love to be clean in the context of a relationship that isn’t working. In the chorus, Sotiris Eliopoulos joined on the drums, accenting Quinn’s plaintive emotion. Sam Cooper, lead guitar, stood to Quinn’s right in front of bassist Michael Byrnes, adding depth and shining through during the plucky, string-forward instrumentals.
With intermission came excited chatter and an opportunity for the audience to buy more overpriced White Claws. It allowed the crowd a break without changing the show’s momentum and served to heighten the energy in the second set, which was facilitated by a fantastic set list. “Lemon Tree” had instrumentals and guitar riffs that showcased the band’s rock influence while retaining their signature bouncy undertones. Cooper, in cuffed pants, hiking boots, and an impressive man-bun, jumped from one leg to the other with his knees pointed in outwards; the crowd matched his energy, dancing, and singing along.
“Johnson Song,” as Quinn remarked, is “the weirdest song we have. It makes me want to cry.” The song is upbeat and absurd—with lines like “you play the tambourine wrong” and “dance away ’cause a Johnson’s coming.” It’s definitely weird, but it isn’t sad to the listener, which left us thinking about how a song’s meaning is different for a band and their fans. The piece is confusing but funny, and clearly an important song for the group, whose string players gathered at center stage to joke around and slowly collapse to the floor as the song ended. Mt. Joy are one of those rare bands whose chemistry and friendship is clear with every performance, and the fun they have while playing is infectious.
Mt. Joy closed with “Silver Lining,” their signature piece, which is fittingly set “up on the mountain” and explores dealing with loss and tragedy. Fans joined in belting the lyrics, dancing under rainbow confetti as it floated about their heads. Mt. Joy was an absolute pleasure, every song distinct, poetic, and moving. The set brought us on a trip through the inner workings of the band’s minds while allowing us to explore and express our own emotions.
