Sunn O))): Grimmrobe Demo 10th Anniversary Show
Thou / Tony Conrad / Sunn O))) @ Knitting Factory; New York, NY
It was in eager, nerve-tingling anticipation that I approached SunnO)))’s first New York appearance in roughly two years. A special four date scuttlebutt (two shows on the East Coast, two on the West) would see the band without a new album to promote, instead celebrating the ten year anniversary of the now legendary Grimm Robe Demos, their first recorded output. Like that demo, the initial testament to their unending down-tuned drone worship, their performance at the Knit was filled with intestine-churning glory. Though more recent SunnO))) live shows have hosted up to seven members on stage, they began with just two robed specters, Southern Lord label-head Greg Anderson and the inimitable Steven O’Malley (KTL, Burning Witch). That’s how it would also be this night, and in the end, less was indeed more.
I entered the club and Baton Rouge natives Thou were on stage. Their website explicitly pleads “Stop Comparing Us to Eyehategod,” and I would’ve, had I not read that. Their metallic sludge-core conjured other doom and gloomers like Cavity and Buzzoven, and though their sound was in a lot of ways familiar, they had a certain knack for crossing genres, mixing in flourishes of psychedelic black-metal of the Nachtmystium sort, while never taking the edge off their particularly misanthropic metal-core. Their singer spewed forth vile with throat lacerating vocals, condemning life in all its horrid splendor. He seemed very angry, in that jaded suburbanite hardcore kind of way, and muttered something before the last song about how life was pointless. Their myspace page also displays teenage angst edicts like “Go outside and burn the world to the ground” and "Give up on life as a bad mistake." Bravo boys. Also, they were selling patches, something I don’t think I’ve experienced since 1998.
The 68 year old Tony Conrad would take the stage next and was a little more contemporary. I’d seen Tony twice in the past year or so but both times he was accompanied, once by the foxy MV Carbon of Metalux, the other trading bowed barbs with C. Spencer Yeh. Though there were similar elements in all three performances, there was something deeply satisfying about seeing Conrad up there on his own, perilously bowing his violin, looping drones and noodling atonally over them with a piece of string. His resonating drones were reminiscent of his work with Lamonte Young and John Cale in the old Theater of Eternal Music days, but it was his economic shtick that really stole the show. In an act that is still confounding me, Tony actually managed to bow -- and get some pretty good sounds -- out of a tightly clamped 50 dollar bill while offering some thoughts on the current economic crisis; “Wall Street’s not too far from here” he grunted like a pirate into the mic; “They’ve been playing with our money.” The financial fluxus piece didn’t end there, as Tony bowed a gold chain while urging people to invest in precious metals. Looping violin goodness, classic authentic minimalism and fluxus foundations all made for an all-out great performance.
I decided to make a move after Conrad’s set to purchase the lusciously beautiful 3xlp Grimm Robe picture disc reissue, which, upon further inspection, glaringly exceeds the dwindling worth of the forty federal reserve notes it took to exchange for it. By that point I had already been boxed out of my original spot, and I noticed the room really starting to fill up. Luckily, I found a gap to the right of the stage, and after waiting for what seemed like one full Paleolithic era for them to come out (I think they were waiting for their industrial fog machine to fill the room), the robed duo finally emerged from the netherworld. I had an excellent vantage point of Greg Anderson, but O'Malley was completely out of my purview. Looking back, I saw the room packed to the gills, but eventually moved more towards the middle in a painfully tight trek. Here I could both performers in all their fist-raising, wine-imbibing glory. Holding their guitars to the heavens and playing one impossibly long note after another, SunnO))) were mightier than the cosmos themselves.
I was convinced there was some divine intervention afoot when O'Malley precariously dangled his guitar on a piece of Styrofoam soundproofing dangling from the ceiling. A collective gasp came from the crowd when he let go, sure it would plummet 10-15 feet to its death, but by God’s hand, it remained there for a good couple of minutes, resonating and hanging high from the ceiling. It was a beautiful thing. The two plodded away for over an hour, each stroke of their guitars endlessly enveloping and extended into a bubbling Chernobyl. Overall, an amazing night from which my body is still vibrating.
CMJ 2008: Day 5
10-25-2008;
{Bloodshot Records Showcase @ Union Pool}
- {Charlie Pickett}
The next "morning," I hauled myself out of bed and headed down Meeker Ave. to the Bloodshot Records showcase at Union Pool. My primary goal was to see Justin Townes Earle, so you can imagine the pleasant shock of walking in and seeing late-80s country/punk legend Charlie Pickett on stage. I quickly scanned the room and noted that this was easily the oldest crowd I'd seen so far at CMJ. In fact, most of the room probably had no idea what CMJ meant, which was kind of refreshing by Day 5. As I found my place in the crowd, my head shot up when Pickett declared "Jack White? Yeah, that guy stole my life." He might be right. Even on his best day, White would have had trouble keeping up with Pickett on Saturday, who is not only twice his age, but much more willing to get behind the roots of his music, which bears the cool edge of The Velvet Underground and the grit of Howlin' Wolf. Despite the older crowd, this was not your grandpaw's country show. Pickett's voice is guttural, and the steel of his guitar strings cut deeply, electrified. "Now right here is some hillbilly logic," he says, launching into a song about how each person in a marriage has got give it up a little to keep the other one happy. Yes, "it." A 60-year-old man talking about "it" in a trendy Brooklyn bar/venue. A Top Ten Moment of CMJ 2008, for sure, and not something we'll be hearing from Jack White anytime soon. Making a comeback after an unjust bout of obscurity, Charlie Pickett has just released Bar Band Americanus: The Best of Charlie Picket And... on Bloodshot.
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- {Justin Townes Earle}
Pickett's band broke down the stage and The White Stripes blared over the venue's PA. Sigh. Justin Townes Earle bears not only the name of his famous father, Steve Earle, but also the name of his father's hero: Townes Van Zandt, and he carries both with a sweet snarl. I'd seen JTE once before on a Rocks Off Concert Cruise, opening for Lucero. My recollection of his set was a bit fuzzy (note: Concert Cruise = Booze Cruise), but I bought his record, The Good Life, and it's been in constant rotation ever since. After I accidentally gossiped about the absence of his bass player/former girlfriend while standing next to his current girlfriend (oops?), Earle took the stage armed only with his acoustic guitar and Cory Younts, who heads up harmonica and mandolin duties. Like the last time I saw him, Earle ensures the mics are turned up so high he barely has to get near his in order for his voice to ricochet around the small room. Although he's got the swagger down, Earle manages to appear humble, even as his guaranteed-not-to-crack voice rips the cheatin' ladies of his past to shreds. "This goes out to what's her name, wherever she is ..." A few couples cut a rug on the sides of the stage, which seems entirely natural given the ambiance Earle gives to the dimly-lit mini-ballroom. Quite simply, Justin Townes Earle plays country music the way it deserves to be played -- without gimmicks. And between you and me, I pretty much lost my shit when he covered "Can't Hardly Wait" by The Replacements, rare in his sets these days. Since I love y'all so very much, there's a video below. The Good Life is out now on Bloodshot Records.
After a delicious dinner from the Union Pool taco truck, I put up my umbrella in the downpour that had suddenly decided to grace our fair city and sprinted towards the L train to go into Manhattan for a couple more showcases.
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{Merge Records Showcase @ The Mercury Lounge}
I returned to The Mercury Lounge (because I love it, don'tcha know) to catch some of the Merge Records showcase and promptly bumped into my buddy Christine Tadler and her boyfriend Matt LeMay (of Brooklyn-based Get Him Eat Him). I soon deducted that Christine would be playing bass in her first live show later in the evening with The Capstan Shafts for the Rainbow Quartz showcase. I announced that I'd be in attendance, much to her chagrin. Heh heh heh.
- {Wye Oak}
I made it onto the floor in time for Wye Oak, whose MySpace headline proclaims, "we don't play acoustic music." They're from Baltimore and quite proud -- when an audience member yelled, "Charm City represent!" singer/guitarist Jenn Wasner smiled and responded, "Holla!" Wasner was clearly the boss, leading the two-piece with her alto voice and overpowering electric guitar (can I get a wah wah pedal?), but drummer/keyboardist Andy Stack is anything but second fiddle. For a while, it seemed like every up-and-coming band was determined to cram as many members on stage as possible, but the trend seems to be going the other way now; this was not the first group I saw at CMJ that made maximum use of merely two members. Wye Oak remind me of a time when indie rock wasn't exactly cool... of course, a young pup like me was still cutting my teeth on that "pop culture" thing, but I know enough of my shit to understand that indie rock was at one point characterized by its lack of frills. Wye Oak hearken these times, and I found myself wishing I could sit on a stool with a big mug of coffee. No finger-snap clapping, though. They're touring with Dr. Dog in Europe, which makes me jealous of everyone across the pond, and their album is called If Children, available from Merge.
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- {Portastatic}
Portastatic is essentially Mac MacCaughan, lead singer of a little band called Superchunk, backed by keys and the one and only Margaret White on violin. After gracious praise of the bands preceding him -- "I don't know how you guys do it!" -- MacCaughan flies headlong into an acoustic assault, his voice pleasantly grating, with an extra bit of finesse, like a little secret part of him would love to be a pop singer. Still, no Justin Timberlake would unleash lyrics like, "A spider you can't catch/ A cunning rusty latch." This couplet repeated itself in my brain for the remainder of the evening, and I found myself mumbling it as I speedwalked through the cold night air. Probably because it's absolutely perfect. MacCaughan asked for some volunteers to play percussion, and peer pressure dictated that a starstruck badge-wearer and Matt (remember him?) get on stage and do their duty. Check out the video below. Some Small History came out this year on Merge.
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CMJ 2008: Day 4
10-24-2008;
{La Di Da Di Rock Da Party @ Whisk and Ladle}
Friday evening didn't go off quite as planned. Long story short: I put on a different hat and played cello for Quitzow, along with fellow Young Love-r Setting Sun, at the La Di Da Di Rock Da Party in Brooklyn. Luckily, that meant I was privy to two of the most impressive and intimate live sets I saw all week. And then we all ate homemade pumpkin pie.
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- {The Loom}
The Loom reside in Brooklyn, and I'd like to take a moment to thank them for securing Friday night's performance space, a beautiful Williamsburg loft belonging to their friends who often host dinner parties, but never concerts! None of the residents seemed disturbed, though... and really, who would be upset to come home and find a pack of ex-band geeks making beautiful noise in the living room? My notebook contains written observations like "OBOE! CLARINET! LUTE! LAP STEEL" and not much else, because I spent most of the set clapping and singing along with the gang-chorus vocal lines. Lead singer John Fanning reeled out lyrics in a folky staccato, but made plenty of room for the five (!) other players to join him in elaborate harmony. It's pretty impossible to fake the French horn, and Lis Rubard set an example for all you punks out there who think it looks easy, at times leading the entire crew with its gentle tenor. The sheer volume of instruments employed by The Loom is hard to describe without listing every single one, so just peep this video and trust me. These guys don't fuck around.
The Loom's self-released EP is called At Last Light.
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- {Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson}
Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson and his crew rolled in sometime during The Loom's set, looking completely dialed-in and exhausted. I heard some people murmuring about how this would be their third show of the day, so no small wonder there! In a way, though, it made his set that much more poignant, as it was clear he and his band were running exclusively on bourbon and endorphins. His voice had a ragged tear to it (more than usual), but he and his band put every last drop of their remaining energy into this living room set. If the upstairs neighbors hadn't been awake before, Robinson's boot stomps had them listening through their floors for sure. His story is widely circulated now... about how he pulled himself out of a druggy, messed-up life in Coney Island after moving there from Oregon and started writing songs instead. The sad edge is still very much present in his lyrics, dropping F-bombs you don't expect in the folky setting.
I felt genuinely lucky to see him play in such a quiet, undisturbed space. Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson worked on his full-length album, Buriedfed, for two years, with the help of Grizzly Bear and TV On The Radio members. It's out now on Say Hey.
The Notwist
Webster Hall; New York, NY
As irrelevant as the remaining Beatles members seem these days, Paul and Ringo can take consolation in the fact that the ideal rock ‘n’ roll career is still based on the mold they created: release some great disposable pop records, then move closer and closer towards more serious “mature” music with each successive record. This idea of artistic development is becoming increasingly less feasible by the day, but when a band manages to follow this path successfully, it still usually works. The Notwist are the prime German indie world example of a band that has followed this career arc, moving from throwaway quasi grunge metal beginnings, to sort of 90s indie rock, to sort of dance pop, to full-on electro acoustic pop rock maturity over the course of a decade plus.
Taking this arc as a model, and 2002’s Neon Golden as the consensus choice for their artistic peak, this year’s follow up, The Devil, You + Me, should either be the record where The Notwist test the limits of experimentation and produce an incomprehensible dud, the record where they get sentimental and show their age, or the record where they try to sound like they did on their previous record and lose their creative momentum. Happily, The Notwist avoid falling into the trap of the first category, but for good or ill, The Devil, You + Me can’t avoid sounding like a safer, gentler version of Neon Golden.
In terms of a live show, it’s much more difficult to say how a band like The Notwist “should” age. The Beatles were done with live performance by the time they got serious, so there’s no model here. Good thing. The Notwist are an uncommonly great live band -- this show proved that, even when their “mature” recordings sound slightly muted or conservative, they bring out serious fire from them in a live setting. On record, their best songs get by on subtlety, lyrical delicacy, and intricate production. Live, their least subtle songs are their best, and the band’s best efforts lose the details of a song in order to benefit the performance as a whole. Every boring indie rock band out there (and The Notwist, with The Devil, You + Me are hanging on the precipice here) should take note of this approach.
Here’s an example of how this works: as many outstanding songs as Neon Golden contains, and as wonderfully as the band performs them live, it’s always “This Room” that tears the roof off a show. The recorded version of the song thrives on its verses that build tension through electronic cacophony played over the fatalistic message, “We will never, will never leave this room,” and give way to instrumental sections that are somehow just as tense and brooding. At Webster Hall, the instrumental sections became hugely cathartic passages, with singer/guitarist Markus Acher alternating between primal strumming of a single chord and utilizing his signature maneuver of guitar violence: smashing the strings into the pickups with his hand to produce a percussive, mechanical, and disquieting punctuation. And just when you thought they’d reached their peak of intensity, the band effortlessly pushed the dynamic from kill to obliterate, only to gracefully come back down and deliver another verse. It’s a simple variation on the classic Pixies “soft-loud-soft” trick, but one that was masterfully played.
Thankfully, the band is able to pull similar tricks with much of its new material. Besides “Boneless,” which lacked any real sense of purpose, all of the Devil, You + Me tracks in the set sounded perfectly at home alongside the more time-tested Neon Golden favorites. “Where In This World” and “Gravity,” in particular, reached levels of noisy grace equaling “This Room” and “Pick Up the Phone.”
As surprisingly good as the newer tracks were, the Neon Golden tracks were still the highlights. “Neon Golden” had a beautifully meditative quality to it, even when tech wiz Martin Gretschmann and drummer Andi Haberl took the opportunity offered by a freeform middle section to turn it into something akin to a Depeche Mode song. On “Pilot,” the band delved into the dub tendencies that are only hinted at on the recorded version of the track and did so while somehow avoiding coming off as over-reaching central European dilettantes.
Age has certainly not slowed down The Notwist at all. Even though they concentrated on their more downbeat tracks as the set wore on, they should still be commended for indulging a very appreciative crowd with two encores, bringing the set time close to the two-hour mark. The appearance of quieter material was by no means a bad thing, and the softer ending to the show was arguably even more affecting than the show’s louder, more frantic episodes. “Consequence,” with which they opened their final encore, received possibly the warmest welcome from the crowd of any song in the set, underscoring the fact that, as good as The Notwist are at staging musical and lyrical tension, they are most appreciated when they can alleviate tension rather than create it. “Gone, Gone, Gone,” “The Devil, You + Me,” and “Sleep” were also as welcome in the set as anything else, and along with the Wii controllers Gretschmann used throughout the show to control the band’s signature fuzzed-out loops, they lent a sense of levity to a night which could easily have become too dour or too serious.
CMJ 2008: Day 3
10-23-2008;
{Big Shot Showcase @ The Mercury Lounge}
The Mercury Lounge is one of my favorite venues in New York: cozy, great acoustics, and conveniently located right down the block from Katz's Deli. I sat on one of the vinyl benches towards the side on Thursday night and gazed at the sequin-covered mic on stage. Uh oh.
- {The Vettes}
The Vettes are from New Orleans, where the blonde bombshell lead singer/boys with fauxhawks/overabundance of cheesy synth riffs thing must be something new, because I was assaulted with all three MTV must-haves when this band took the stage. I stared at the lead singer's onesie (jumpsuit? I don't know) and mused that I hadn't even seen my own asscheeks that much in a week. She seemed confused that the skeptical crowd of 20 wasn't going along with her Madison Square Garden-style stage theatrics, which included running her hands up and down the chest of the bassist and getting cozy with her (sequined!!!) microphone stand, remarking, "Wow, what's up, New York? Don't get all crazy now..." A peeved audience member yelled back "WELCOME TO NEW YORK!" She kept the smile pasted on and said, "This next song's called ‘Murder at the Disco.’" I realized I had entered my own personal version of hell and walked out. Sorry, Pela (who were on at 12 AM). I'll get you next time.
This is what my Hades looks and sounds like:
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{The Organic Entertainment Showcase @ Club Midway}
- {A BIG YES... and a small no}
After that, I obviously needed to go to Rehab. The Organic Entertainment showcase was in full swing by the time I showed up, and Brooklyn-based A BIG YES... and a small no were playing. Fast-talking lead singer Kevin Kendrick squeezed lyrics in between nice ‘n’ easy pop melodies, aided by a Gibson guitar and a vibraphone. Cocking his head knowingly, he sang, "I think Kool & the Gang was right." About what, I never found out. What seemed to be a charming set unfortunately segued into reggae beats and began to border on lounge, and the band's seams began to show as the drummer dropped a beat here and there; live weaknesses became apparent. It's not atrocious, but it's enough so's I noticed. Also, backup vocalist Moira Meltzer-Cohen, who left the stage mid-set, could have been well-employed to shake things up as Kendrick's voice started to grow monotonous. Still, I gave their MySpace a quick peek that night, and they hold up quite well on record... just don't expect your mind to be blown. Jesus That Looks Terrible On You is out on Thorough Left.
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{Friendly Fire Showcase @ Pianos}
- {Faunts}
I knew something better had to be going on somewhere else, so I quickly scanned my CMJ program guide and headed over to Pianos for the Friendly Fire showcase. I arrived just as Canadians Faunts were setting up. From the looks of their gear, it seems as though I've stumbled upon a more machine-friendly group of artists, with a laptop, several synthesizers, and some drum add-ons littering the stage. Faunts initially reminded me of a sleepier New Order, though the "sleepy" part began to melt away as the set went on. The more electricity they injected into their music, the more detailed its beauty became. When the drummer abandoned his kit and joined the rest in a line, each using both hands on different instruments to coax more sound out of them, a veritable wave of shoegaze washed over us and echoed in the small room for a good 30 seconds. Took me by surprise, they did. Faunt are currently mixing a new album, due to come out January 2009 on Friendly Fire and will feature guests like Shout Out Out Out, Cadence Weapon, and Mark Templeton, according to their website.
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- {Bell}
Brooklyn-based Bell (or Olga Bell) took the stage with her drummer, and I marveled at the sheer volume of equipment being lugged on stage, wondering who was going to play it all. A classically trained pianist, Bell whipped out a keytar and fired up the samples and synths, egged on by drummer Jason Nazary, who had a few interesting apparatuses tacked onto his kit as well. Sending her voice through effects pedals almost wasn't necessary, as it is magnificently full and soul-shattering all on its own. Not that I minded the sensation of sitting in a long, marble hallway as her voice bounced around the room, only to harmonize with itself and fade into the distance. It's rare to find an artist who can put one on sensory overload, but Bell succeeded admirably.
I wanted to feel like the set was lighthearted, but her voice cuts to the bone. I was reminded of the one and only Björk and had a laugh when I discovered a cover of "It's Oh So Quiet" on Bell's MySpace later in the evening. Simply gorgeous, and any other time, I would have been content to end my night there. Bell's self-released, self-titled EP is available on iTunes.
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- {The Assholes of CMJ 2008}
I would like to take a moment to give out my one and only superlative award of the week: The Assholes of CMJ 2008! Said assholes would be an incumbent band that shall remain nameless, who felt it was necessary to boot audience members from their comfortable stool perches, use the stools to set up their DJ equipment, and generally cause a commotion in the FRONT of the crowd. The crowd that was WATCHING BELL, because her SET WAS GOING ON THE WHOLE TIME. Common courtesy aside, if your gear doesn't fit on the stage, you officially have too much shit. Jesus H.
Congratulations! You win a pony.
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{Big Fat Cat Showcase @ Banjo Jim's}
- {Skidmore Fountain}
I headed deep into Alphabet City to Banjo Jim's for the Big Fat Cat showcase to catch Skidmore Fountain. Based in Brooklyn, not only did they look incredibly dapper and keep their set wound tighter than a tick, their brand of pop, which runs the gamut from classical to funk-inspired, was highlighted by the absence of a bassist. Why? Well, when you've got a crack cellist like Topu Lyo, who needs one? Lyu also used his instrument for its intended melodic purpose, driving along the theme of "Asylum," the single that lead singer Randy Bergida demanded everyone take home for free in CD form.
Bergida has one of the cleanest, most earnest voices I've ever heard, one that neatly skirts generic pop vocals by harmonizing with guitarist Steven Cohen. Dylan Wissing is what happens when you harness a freight train to a drum kit, and the band never had the chance to step out of line once during the set. Their full-length album, Break, is available in iTunes, Rhapsody, and CD Baby from Triple R Records.
Cut Copy
The Masquerade; Atlanta, GA
Australia, historically, hasn’t been known for producing a lot of music about which the rest of the world really gives a shit. Of course, there have been some notable exceptions over the years: Big Country, the band responsible for the song “Big Country,” off the album Big Country; Men at Work, who along with Big Country, can be filed under adult-contemporary radio filler; Australian soap opera star Kylie Minogue launched her singing career with a cover of rollerskating rink anthem “The Locomotion” in the late 1980s, perhaps leading fellow Aussie and TMT favorite Nick Cave to say of his home country’s musical output, "Australia still needed America or England to tell them what was good."
Then of course there’s AC/DC, Australia’s most popular musical export, and deservingly so. Anyone who can parlay the same three-to-five chords into numerous chart-topping anthems across the span of three decades deserves every bit of their success. And have you seen Live at Donington, bro? They lower a fuckin’ AC/DC BELL during “Hells Bells”!!!
That’s been about it for Australia though. Artists of game-changing influence have generally come to, not from, the land down under, as Mr. Cave asserted. That is, until recently.
If the past five years are any indication, the fans who would go on to form the following bands had secretly been taking great notes on what they were hearing from the rest of the world and how to perfect it. Midnight Juggernauts, Architecture in Helsinki, The Presets, and arguably most fervently, Cut Copy have in many ways shaped the current wave of electro-tinged dance-rock. Or maybe it’s rock-tinged electro. Either way, these bands seem to have figured out what so many of the electronic artists who inspired them couldn’t: no one wants to see a guy standing onstage in front of a laptop, or often turntables, for the whole night. Even international clubland seems to finally understand this. While a great DJ can still rock a crowd, their energy will never replace the interaction between an audience and people playing instruments. And if nothing else, this is a concept that Cut Copy has mastered.
Like most of the dates on this tour, Cut Copy’s Atlanta show at the Masquerade is sold out. The fact that the band can go from its first U.S. tour a mere three years ago to selling out practically every show it plays illustrates both how huge this scene has become and how well they have translated their exceptional studio albums to the stage. It doesn’t take more than a few listens to 2008’s In Ghost Colours to know and love these songs inside out; it’s like they’ve always existed. And in some ways, they have.
Cut Copy’s nod to Joy Divison/New Order, Depeche Mode, etc. is decidedly less than subtle. The guitars on “Hearts on Fire” could be straight from a New Order B-side, and the same could be said of many a Cut Copy synth bassline. Judging by the band’s remarkable ascent however, these sounds are obviously just as relevant now as they were 20 years ago. In effect, you feel immediately comfortable with these songs, kind of like meeting a good friend of a good friend.
This fact only becomes more evident as, only a few songs into the band’s set at the Masq, much of the seemingly shy, fringe-clinging populace has now pushed their way to the front, arms extended in obeisance. When Cut Copy launch into a particularly energetic rendition of “Far Away,” I swear I catch even the metal-head bouncer attempting to mouth along to the irresistible chorus.
With any popular trend comes an audience who wouldn’t normally be interested if it weren’t for the fact that everyone else is. Most people find this contingent rather annoying, but I can’t help my fascination with them. To say that they’re in full effect at this show would be an understatement: the look-at-me scene brats, their cream cable-knit sweaters tied around their shoulders as they skip in their Gucci loafers over puddles of piss water pooled around the men’s room; the clueless, mouth-breathing fratboys standing sentient around the dancefloor, a beer in each hand as they ogle the dancing girls. This place is crawling with them, which can less-cynically be attributed to Cut Copy’s wide-ranging appeal.
In fact, there are quite a variety of people in attendance. From the aging hipsters who experienced the Madchester sound the first time around to the kids who probably weren’t even born yet, everyone appears genuinely excited by the band’s ability to “jam-out” on their songs, changing them just enough from the album versions without sacrificing the best parts. The thick flanged-out section of “Strangers in the Wind” builds and finally comes swirling out of the normally subtle chorus, effectively taking the song well beyond the record. The place goes nuts.
A few words about the Masquerade: this club is straight grimy... but in the best possible sense of the word. Upon entering the multi-roomed venue, the appropriately titled clubs Hell and Purgatory flank either side of the ornery, wooden stairs that lead you to the main room (yep, “Heaven”), screaming FIRE HAZARD all the way up. Entering the main room, the disappointed throng of ticketless-persons outside is explained by the absolutely enormous throng of people inside, all shuffling about as the stage crew transitions from openers The Presets to Cut Copy (missed The Presets. Bad directions to the club. Sorry guys). Though I later notice during the “everybody jump” portion of Cut Copy’s perfect opener “Nobody Lost, Nobody Found” that the entire floor of the room is in fact moving more than any floor holding several hundred people should be, The Masquerade has got a vibe to it that is becoming increasingly rare in music venues these days (the shaking floor probably adds to it).
Maybe it’s the fact that you can still smoke inside; maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have to stretch your imagination too far to picture all the crazy shit that’s gone down here over the years. Whatever it is -- pardon me if this sounds completely ridiculous -- the Masq definitely has that rock ‘n’ roll Never-Neverland vibe that is largely responsible for making me, and I’m sure many others in attendance, forgo all rational options in lieu of dedicating my life to music and spectacles like this. And Cut Copy soak it up. The already-raucous “So Haunted” turns into an ear-splitting wall of dissonant punk guitars, while lead singer Dan Whitford’s voice sounds noticeably pained as he questions all “these satellites orbiting you and me.” The crowd loves it too, mimicking Whitford’s ever gesture: the pointing, the hands-in-the-air and even a few spin moves.
Despite the constant energy they bring to each song, the band does a good job of pacing themselves and the audience by throwing in more subdued tunes, like the hip-sway of “That Was Just a Dream” off their 2004 album Bright Like Neon Love. While not as intense as other numbers in their repertoire, the song illustrates how good Cut Copy are at pulling off a variety of textures in a live context. Thankfully, the laptop used for triggering loops and effects is kept off to the side, barely noticeable compared to the band themselves and the ever-changing light matrix, which also helps pace the show. By the time they get to “Lights and Music,” there isn’t a still foot in the place, with the super-hyped synths launching everyone, including the band, into near hysterics. The jumping returns, much to the floor’s dismay.
At this point, several songs from the end of the set, you might think the crowd would start to thin. It was, in fact, quite the contrary. The audience, still a throng, remained engaged and attentive until the very end, showering the band with applause and appreciative cheers long after they’d left the stage. As we headed back down the front stairs, a quick peek in Purgatory and Hell found the soon-to-be packed after parties quickly filling up, as electro-house of varying intensities blared from both rooms. Someone is doing this thing right, and Cut Copy are definitely at the helm.
