Trabadour Dali, the feature band, plays at Off Broadway on Sunday night.

The music industry is obviously suffering. The going hypothesis is that no one really buys CDs anymore.
Some have thought that vinyl will enjoy a grand return to prominence but the convenience of mp3s seems like it will continue to relegate collecting records to a habit of purists.
Regardless, it is not the best time to be producing records.
Most of all, it is a bad time for a record store to be producing records. No one mentioned that to Euclid Records, who is championing St. Louis band Troubadour Dali, who played at Off-Broadway on January 31, as the next U2 or something.
Euclid Records may have thought it could tap into the wealth of local talent, which is not that bad of an idea in theory (some record companies are thriving).
The unforgivable mistake they made is their choice of band.
Troubadour Dali’s record may sound okay (thanks to Mates of States producer Bill Racine) but they are currently incapable of effectively translating it to their live show.
At Off-Broadway, Troubadour Dali sounded like they have been trying to lose a Brian Jonestown Massacre accent for half of their existence.
Maybe they realized that their riffs were just too blatantly ripped off from BJM that they decided to water-down and mumble some Jesus and Mary Chain styling to retain some artistic credibility. The effect is an uncertain act, overly concerned with imitating their influences than channeling anything new and organic into shoe gaze.
They look good enough. Their singer has long hair and a long torso, the bassist has mutton chops and stands on amplifiers, and the drummer is trying to bring back the soul-patch.
But appearances only go so far, and after watching the guitarist kneel down and fiddle with his pedals for half of three consecutive songs during their show, it was painfully obvious that the I’m-tenderly-expressing-my-virtuosity ideal he was going for was just disguising lack of talent. Vocals were an ephemeral textural device at best but consistently hesitant and unintelligible. Even during the good moments, Troubadour felt superficial, like they were asking for a blazon of their facial features, which were uniformly covered with long locks of love.
Maybe it is not their fault. Maybe the real blame lies with Euclid Records. After all, they handed out a record deal to these guys, and instead of showing some faith and sending them out on tour to broadcast “The Best of St. Louis” or whatever, they glued them into this epic seven-week residency at home. What self-respecting person would not get disheartened when a big break in advertising their creative career results in playing more shows in front of friends and family in the same crummy bars they grew up in? Consequently, the over-arching failing with Troubadour Dali’s show is posturing because they are supposed to, not because they enjoy it.
This puts the finger on what may be a concern with St. Louis. When there is something really great going on here, St. Louis seems completely content to remain esoteric, to keep playing this inside-baseball stuff, forgetting that everywhere from Belleville to Cincinnati and Nashville would be really interested in seeing what is going on. Maybe if bands like Troubadour Dali were given a real chance rather than a half-hearted write-off, they would learn something on the road and bring St. Louis back some glory.
In the meantime, at least the shows are free. Troubadour Dali will be at the Halo Bar the next four Sunday nights, February 21, 28, and March 7. As always, bands improve as they play more shows, and they will probably be getting better every week. C –Joe Schaffner