Watching the boy gaze towards manhood

Awkwardly small pants and t shirts rule. Cultural aloofness reigns. And Tuesday night is just another partytime if you’re a budding adolescent.

After a six song primary gig, Tacks the boy disaster confidently left the stage aware that their own creativity had a long way to go. “Progression” into the coffee house proved their ability to carve a niche in the indie scene though it was plagued with less than adequate sound and not stage. Tacks took the stage in their third performance, proving a more delicate, reserved, comfortable has nothing to prove. Morphing to fit the mood of the evening or simply becoming more comfortable in their own growing skin, the band seems relaxed laid back and ready for a full tour.

Tackling a tough crowd after a couple of single shooting opening acts that left those in the pews longing for melody, Tacks showed up in rare form. Just their third show proved the maturing band truly has potential for a very bright future. Poised and undulating underground pop piano licks, a strongly simply bass, grinning guitar power, and pulsating rhythmic action from the kit left the audience “dying to know” more of the secrets the band’s young face.

A long way to go but getting there quickly, the band’s adolescence did shine through during “Paris.” However, the quirky surrealistic lyrics keep listeners guessing which fish may be mentioned next or if Friday night (or Tuesday for that matter) will ever be the same after this band's poise. So much so that the audience didn’t seem to mind too much at all when the “cursed machinery” broke a string only to come back to roaring applause during the climax of the song.

A fully integrated show of friendly proportions, leaving fans both old and new waiting for the boy to return to the stage again.

Suits. Soda. Dogs. Where will Tacks grow from here?