Typhoon, MAITA

Fri Jun 24 2022

6:00 PM

The Crocodile

2505 1st Ave Seattle, WA 98121

$30.00

Ages 21+

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Artist is requiring proof of Covid-19 vaccination and that patrons wear masks during the show.

The Crocodile Presents:
Typhoon, MAITA

  • Typhoon

    Typhoon

    Indie Rock

    The first time I saw Typhoon, around 2006, they looked like the kids from Lord of the Flies after

    a few weeks on the island. Unkempt, new to the big city, exploding with excitement to play for

    anyone, anywhere. In basements and back-room all-ages clubs that might as well have been

    basements, they already knew how to rattle bones, jerk tears and turn stomachs--that all came

    Naturally.

     

    I don’t know how self-aware they were then. I don’t know if they really knew the power of the

    sheer spectacle of ten kids flooding a space like an uprising of feral choir students. I know they

    didn’t seem too self-assured. During the quiet parts they would sway against each other, some

    biting their lips and some staring at their shoes while frontman Kyle Morton strummed a guitar

    half his size. Nervous jokes were often cracked amongst the horn section. And then the chorus

    would hit and they would intuitively become this single, heart-rending noise that didn’t sound like

    anything else. More metal than all but the gnarliest metal; still sweet and unflinchingly honest.

    They weren’t kids in those moments, they were pure weaponized humanity.

     

    For a long time I thought the secret ingredient was youth--that the urgency of being 19 and

    having something to say just permeated Typhoon’s songs and made them feel vital. They were,

    after all, the kids who couldn’t get enough. They were the kids you’d see cross-legged in the

    front row of the Mount Eerie show, wide-eyed. But Typhoon has grown up without letting go of

    their earnesty or their urgency. The band has gotten smarter, sharper, less reliant on spectacle.

    Typhoon has pared down a bit (eight members at last count), though old members still make

    appearances onstage and are often strewn about the green room after hometown shows, when

    shows aren’t so hard to come by.

     

    As time has gone by, Kyle Morton has slowly become one of his generation’s most profound

    and nuanced songwriters. He has also learned how to run a band that once seemed

    unmanageable. Typhoon’s secret instrument of hearts and hollers bubbling up in loose unison,

    though, that still works just the same way. Maybe it works because this band is still interrogating

    the same complicated hallways of the human heart that it started with.

     

    Typhoon songs are, overwhelmingly, about the human tendency to confuse the things that

    possess us for the things we possess. They are about the impossibility of home, even as

    physical houses feature so prominently in Morton’s songs: dying on the kitchen floor, an idyllic

    cabin where small monsters lay in wait, the long hallways of the devil’s mansion (I told you this

    band was metal). In ever more ambitious fashion, Typhoon asks why it’s so hard to find our

    place, why our lot is never large enough. Honestly, the answer keeps getting darker. Lucky for

    us, Typhoon keeps a light on.

     

    In 2018, ahead of the curve as usual, Typhoon released an apocalypse album. The ambitious

    double-LP Offerings found Morton writing about senility, the most terrifying thing he could

    imagine. It was the darkest and most difficult Typhoon record, if ultimately the most rewarding

    for longtime listeners. It was also much bigger than personal narrative: Offerings was as much

    about a world and a country forgetting their virtues as it was about our narrator losing his mind.

     

    Now in the midst of an actual apocalypse, Typhoon finds themselves ahead of the times once

    more. Sympathetic Magic, first tracked in the basement home studio Morton built while isolating

    with his wife and dog, then fleshed-out piecemeal with socially distanced bandmates, is both a

    meditation on grief and a road map to healing. It’s inspired by the dark delusion of the Trump

    years and the loneliness and uncertainty of the pandemic, yes, but also colored by the hope and

    connection Morton felt while marching in massive racial justice protests in his native Portland.

    “The songs are about people,” Morton writes. “The space between them and the ordinary,

    miraculous things that happen there, as we come into contact, imitate each other, leave our

    marks, lose touch. Being self and other somehow amounting to the same thing.”

     

    For those of us keeping count, three houses feature prominently on this record. All of them are

    approached with trepidation and all of them contain revelations: A trivial memory with

    immeasurable weight; an old friend who needs a lifeline; a piano that begs to be played. It’s not

    always clear if these spaces are real or imagined. It’s also not clear if any of the deliverance

    found in them will be permanent. It’s on a train ride through the midwest where Morton feels

    most bullish. “I’ll find the sacred buried in me,” he promises on “Empire Builder.” “And I will cut it

    out while everyone is watching.”

     

    Then, like a sneaker wave rolling quietly back out to sea, he tempers the melodrama. “It will not

    be enough.”

     

    That’s how Typhoon walks the fine line between giving up and starting over: Morton has never

    promised a happy ending, but on Sympathetic Magic he reminds us that when there’s even a

    slight chance of redemption, it’s a chance worth taking. That’s the central gift of a

    post-apocalypse record that finds Typhoon stacking gallows humor next to a legitimately aching

    love for humanity, and it’s what this band has always done so well: stitched the smallest

    personal tragedies, unforgotten and honored, into a universe-sized quilt. I can’t think of a more

    useful skill in this relentless moment, where we so often want to forget ourselves--or worse yet,

    give up on ourselves--because the world is just too goddamn much.

     

    “Welcome to the Endgame” finishes the record, and a silver lining it is not--more of a fight song

    for the spiritually exhausted. But it does end with a promise of solidarity that, for me, is sweeter

    than any bullshit happy ending.

     

    “Here we go into the cauldron,” Morton says. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

     

    -Casey Jarman

     
  • MAITA

    MAITA

    Music

    Hot off the heels off MAITA's 2020 debut, Best Wishes,  named one of the “50 Albums that Define Oregon” (Portland Monthly), MAITA’s sophomore LP, I Just Want To Be Wild For You, digs into the crippling oxymoron of modernity, the constant bombardment of communication paired with utter disconnection. 
     
    Released February 18th via venerable indie label Kill Rock Stars, I Just Want To Be Wild For You grasps passionately for a world that too often seems at a gauzy distance.
     
    Of the new record, Bob Boilen (NPR music) writes "She just has this sensitivity to her sound that I really really love."  
     
    Splitting time between her mom’s Japanese-speaking home and her father’s English-speaking home, songwriter Maria Maita-Keppeler, who KEXP calls “a master storyteller who can turn intimate moments into quippy, catchy indie-rock songs,”  found an expressive avenue out of her childhood shyness through music. The Portland-based songwriter tapped into that grand yet intimate reverence for MAITA’s sophomore album, from the churning twinkle of “Pastel Concrete” to the riotous give-and-take of “Honey, Have I Lost It All?”. In those moments of disconnect, of confusion, of isolation, I Just Want To Be Wild For You thunders ahead, forging unexpected connections along the way.
     
    Named the Willamette Week's 2020 "Best New Band," MAITA, has gone on to reach national acclaim, opening for the likes of Mirah, Blind Pilot, Horse Feathers, Typhoon, as well as completing a headlining national album release tour culminating in official showcases at SXSW and Treefort. 
     
    "Jaunty, lighthearted folk-rock being used as a Trojan Horse for the creeping dread of existentialism."- KEXP, Song of the Day 
     
    "One of the most impressive and shining acts to come out of Portland in quite some time"- Portland Mercury 
     
    "The rarified class of artists with the ability to enthrall the listener right from the jump"-  Spin 
     
    "Where Do You GO" video premiere on Flood Magazine
     
    MAITA's essay on Talkhouse
     
    'A clear-eyed look at growing up and holding yourself responsible for actively creating the life you want to live instead of just waiting around for it to happen." — Cyrena Touros, NPR All Songs Considered

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Terms & Conditions

This event is 21 and over. Any Ticket holder unable to present valid identification indicating that they are at least 21 years of age will not be admitted to this event, and will not be eligible for a refund.

Artist is requiring proof of Covid-19 vaccination and that patrons wear masks during the show,

Additionally, The Crocodile is requiring that all guests continue to wear masks at all times unless actively eating or drinking. These requirements are subject to change based on city and state Covid 19 safety mandates.

If the Crocodile is presenting the show at a different venue, please refer to that venue's website for updated safety protocols.

We thank you in advance for your patience and cooperation.
The Crocodile Presents:

Typhoon, MAITA

Fri Jun 24 2022 6:00 PM

The Crocodile Seattle WA
Typhoon, MAITA

$30.00 Ages 21+

Artist is requiring proof of Covid-19 vaccination and that patrons wear masks during the show.

Please correct the information below.

Select ticket quantity.

Complete the security check.

Select Tickets

Ages 21+
limit 8 per person
General Admission
$30.00

Delivery Method

ticketFast
Will Call

Terms & Conditions

This event is 21 and over. Any Ticket holder unable to present valid identification indicating that they are at least 21 years of age will not be admitted to this event, and will not be eligible for a refund. Artist is requiring proof of Covid-19 vaccination and that patrons wear masks during the show,

Additionally, The Crocodile is requiring that all guests continue to wear masks at all times unless actively eating or drinking. These requirements are subject to change based on city and state Covid 19 safety mandates.

If the Crocodile is presenting the show at a different venue, please refer to that venue's website for updated safety protocols.

We thank you in advance for your patience and cooperation.