lowercase roses, Sun God, Milk Dud, Pontiac Flare
Ortlieb’s
847 N 3rd St.
Philadelphia
Feb. 25, 2026
Is male yearning having a moment? I’m basing this entirely on an article that one of my housemates taped to the refrigerator – for some reason – about that show Heated Rivalry, which I haven’t watched yet, titled Why Women Yearn For Male Yearning. Its opening bars admit: “Male yearning isn’t new. Men are capable of romance.” Phew! I’m glad we established that early on. Now, I’ve been a Jeff Buckley fan since I was 14, and The Smiths and The Cure and scores of others not long after that, so I’m not the one who needs convincing; for better or for worse, I’ve got this yearning thing down. But it’s not always as obvious as our patron saints of yearn would make it, and sometimes, believe it or not, you have to actually pay attention and listen closely, and not just judge vulnerable books by their macho covers. There’s a song on Bill Callahan’s new album, out Friday, called “Why Do Men Sing," that I’m real curious about; he just gave an interview with Pitchfork where he puzzles openly over his own song’s question:
I was reading one of Merle Haggard’s biographies and thinking, you know, he was such a tough man—he just had a hard childhood, rough-scrabble and then got into petty crimes and ended up in juvie and escaping from juvie and into real prisons. So he is a tough motherfucker and he looks like the epitome of manhood. He’s just a beautiful man, really—manly face and body, but then such a tender singing voice, and his thoughts are just so tender and feminine. And I was thinking about Waylon Jennings, an even tougher guy, with a leather jacket. His seemed like a little bit more of a costume, kind of like, I’m going to look tough, but I’m dying inside. But just thinking about this leather jacket and his rings and stuff, expressing your emotions and talking about your heart and your heartbreak doesn’t necessarily fit into the idea of masculinity. So I was just trying to figure out that juxtaposition, like, how does it all sit together?
Aren’t we all, Bill? Anyway, this is a lot of preamble for a show review, but it’s what was on my mind heading into the show at Ortlieb’s to see local bands Pontiac Flare and lowercase roses, two of my favorite Philly bands right now, both fine slingers of lines pertaining to the longed-for and unattainable.
First, Pontiac Flare: they sounded excellent in their current four-piece lineup, with songwriter, lead singer and guitarist Nathan Tucker, Benny Polito (aka Benny P, of the equally-excellent Philly power pop band of the same name) on guitar wizardry and harmonies, Liz Parsons on bass and harmonies (Gladie and Big Nothing, among others), and omnipresent local legend Melissa Brain smacking the tubs. (Full disclosure, I’ve been in bands with half of these people. You’re next, Benny and Liz!) The harmonies were that perfectly-imperfect sound that makes power pop special, and Tucker and Polito’s lines and solos were made for each other, highlighting the unity and closeness that evades the narrators in the songs. Highlight “The Context” was a propulsive toaster of a track, its warm, gentle hooks masking the defeat of a narrator lamenting the long “list of futures I’ve foreclosed on, trying to be free.” Set closer “You Remind Me of Everything” is like something the protagonist would listen to on repeat lying on his bed alone in his room in a John Hughes movie before making some kind of ill-advised romantic overture that only works because it’s a John Hughes movie. “You remind me of everything and everyone I meet / and I was so close to relief,” Tucker sang repeatedly over the song’s coda, the bittersweetness palpable. The band’s got hooks galore, but it’s the combo of heaven-sent melodies, rock ‘n roll catharsis, and words suffused with enough pain and regret to break your heart that really sends it.
lowercase roses, meanwhile, are one of my absolute favorite Philly bands to see live nowadays. I’m going to just lead with the assessment: this group – Matt Scheuermann on acoustic guitar and voice, Eliza Becker on keys and singing, Jarrett Nathan on drums and xylophone, KC Abrams on bass – is criminally underrated and under-heard, especially live. Their shows should be packed with people who are interested in songs, period: frontman Matt Scheuermann could teach a PhD course on melody writing and singing, and to add insult to injury, the lyrics are great. “$5 on $105” might have taken the crown from Hop Along’s “Waitress” for Philly’s most relatable service-industry-worker anthem, the chorus a delicious takedown of a bad tipper: “you left me $5 on $105 / if this is cool with you / well, that’s on you / you little fucker.” If you haven’t heard the tune and you’re just reading that, you’d be shocked, perhaps thrilled if you’re a music dork, at how effervescent and gentle a hook it actually is, an uncommonly pretty song that the bad tipper in question hardly deserves. (Don’t get mad, get even, am I right?)
And if diving into the nitty-gritty of song craft and chord progressions and melodic arcs isn’t your bag, the songs have lines that belong on bumper stickers and would make Morrissey jealous: “Heaven took my heart away.” “To be loved by you / I am free inside my body / I adore what it can do.” “Love is the fabric (not magical pretense).” “I’m always dreaming of an open door.” All these open-hearted admissions were sold with the wonderful solidarity and shared humor of the band, delivering tight arrangements and real-magic three-part harmonies that highlighted Scheuermann’s – I can’t stress this enough – firm grasp on phrasing and melody, as the room, mostly filled with other musicians and songwriters at this point, hung on each turn of phrase. Nothing beats when yearning’s a two-way street.
