Shearwater at the Rock & Roll Hotel last night. Not pictured: sparse crowd. (Photo: TBD Staff)

Dear Damien Jurado and Shearwater,

We are sorry — deeply, truly sorry — for missing your show last night at the Rock & Roll Hotel. We didn't mean to. Thing is, we wanted to go, really we did, but then life got in the way. Some of us decided to float "on winged goldfish" at the Jónsi show instead. Others needed to go grocery shopping, or to walk the dog, or just wanted to go home and "veg out" on the couch. Had the show been at one of the clubs in the U Street corridor, maybe we would have gone, but H Street was too far for some of us on a Tuesday night. The X2 bus just doesn't cut it.

But we were worried, too, that we might not enjoy ourselves. Damien, we like your work, but it hasn't been easy keeping up with it. From time to time we listen to your Sub Pop records, especially Rehearsals for Departure and Ghost of David, but your more recent efforts on Secretly Canadian kind of bum us out. It's so slow, and sparse, and sad. Without a backing band, we knew it would be just you and your guitar on the stage, and that maybe we couldn't withstand such intimacy.

Shearwater, we knew you'd have a full band, and we've really enjoyed your recent alums. Palo Santo was good, and Rook was even better. This year's The Golden Archipelago was strong, too, but we're tiring a little of lead singer Jonathan Meiburg's avian obsession. We know he's an ornithologist and all, but does he have to rub it in with every song? Would it kill him to write something about amphibians or reptiles? A little lyrical biodiversity wouldn't hurt, in our collective humble opinion.

That's why not many of us made it out to the Rock & Roll Hotel last night — maybe 20 of us for you, Damien, and another 10 for Shearwater. It's too bad, because we hear we missed a good show. As expected, Damien played mostly new material, but that was alright because we got to stand wherever we wanted. We got so close to the stage that we could make out your faux-stache — so close, in fact, that it made us uncomfortable, and we took a step or two back. We felt ashamed of the sparse crowd, and we thought that by spreading out we could make it appear larger than it actually was.

And Shearwater, you gave us more than we could have hoped. Your van had been robbed in Connecticut, which, though the thieves didn't take your instruments, must have been crushing nonetheless. Meiburg, when you said, "This song is dedicated to the asshole that stole our shit," we heard the bitterness in your voice. But then you channeled that bitterness, performing with as much fury as we've seen all year. There weren't many of us there to witness it, but those of us who did won't soon forget it.

So we apologize, Damien and Shearwater, that more of us didn't come see you play. We have no excuse, and we promise to do better next time. Actually, we can only promise to try to do better. After all, this is a city that, as you probably know, isn't known for keeping its promises. But it is a city known for excellent clubs and passionate music fans. Last night, we didn't prove as much, which is why you can't possibly be as disappointed in us as we are in ourselves.

Thank you for being so understanding.

Sincerely,

Washington, D.C.