SHOW REVIEW: Liars w/ Oneohtrix Point Never

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Liars take the stage at Webster Hall

If I had to make a shortlist of the best bands ever, Liars would probably be on it. Perfect ratios art, myth, experimentalism, talent, and persona have made this one of the most prolific bands of my formative years – perhaps not critically, but definitely in a personal sense. Until last Tuesday, I’d never seen them live. But when I heard they were playing Webster Hall I decided to put aside my hatred for this awful venue and buy tickets immediately. No way would I miss this.

That night was one of the hottest of the summer so far. I was certainly not looking forward to standing in a mass of seething Liars fans in a poorly air-conditioned concert hall while we all moshed around, but life’s about trade-offs. The first hurdle I had to get over were the opening bands. I caught about ten seconds of Bubbles, but opted to stand in front of a fan near the entrance to cool off a bit before venturing back upstairs to get in place for a show I hoped would be just the right amount of epic. This also required enduring a set from Oneohtrix Point Never, which was torture enough.

If you’ve ever looked at a photograph of Daniel Lopatin while listening to his glitchy, undulating experimental electronic collages, you’ve basically seen the equivalent of his live “show”. It was one of the most boring things I’ve ever witnessed on a stage. Granted, I am not much of a Oneohtrix fan. I like parts of his music well enough, but the stutters and wails of electronic fuzz get to me after awhile and I start wishing it was just the pretty parts. Not surprisingly, that notion climbs tenfold when you’re super hot and you’re standing around in a huge concert hall with the amps turned way up and there’s really nothing to see him doing. I’ve been to a lot of electronic shows. The best DJs and producers and beatsmiths are actually a joy to see at work, deftly twisting knobs and noodling on synths and maybe even singing or drumming. Most of the others realize they are boring to watch at work but for the sake of being able to play out employ backup dancers or projections, which is always appreciated. Even if the performer is a little stiff, usually you can at least dance to the music and ignore the fact that someone is on stage “playing” something. But none of these things apply to Daniel Lopatin. We amused ourselves with the concept that at parties he only refers to himself in the third person (as his band) and says things like “Oneohtrix Point Never changes facial expressions” or “Oneohtrix Point Never gonna sound like real songs” or “Oneohtrix Point Never playing Webster Hall again”.

People hail this guy as a genius, which I don’t understand, especially when there are far less hyped folks who go totally unnoticed and actually care if they appear completely uninteresting in a live setting. Maybe it’s the hype that makes his nonchalance seem downright smug, but either way, the impression given is that his live set doesn’t have to be engaging because he is just that brilliant, and we should want to pay money to bask in his glory. If I had paid money to see Oneohtrix I would have demanded it back. I might see Lopatin’s side project with Joel Ford (creatively titled Ford & Lopatin) but I haven’t really noticed them touring and I’m sure he doesn’t do much there either, besides what I’m doing now, which is sitting in front of a laptop pushing buttons. My hope would be that Ford is an engaging enough performer for the both of them. Meaning he would have pretty spastic and/or wearing an insane costume.

Luckily the intensity and showmanship exemplified by Liars redeemed all of this as the lush opening bars of “Exact Color of Doubt” swirled over the audience. The vibes were appropriately creepy, with a sinister Angus Andrews moaning “I’ll always be your friend/I’ll never let you down” into the mic. Julian Gross took his place behind the drums and waited patiently for the mood to steep, with well-timed bursts on an electronic hybrid kit, while Aaron Hemphill temporarily ignored his own, smaller drum set as well as his guitar, presiding instead over a collection of synths. Throughout the set he would play each in turn, sometimes sharing with Andrews. “Exact Color of Doubt” expanded into the cavernous space almost like a meditation, but it was the last quiet moment in a show so loud I could feel the floor shaking and my arm hairs vibrating. They blasted straight into “Octagon” rendered with far heavier strokes in its live setting than it is on WIXIW, the band’s sixth studio album.

Much of the material on their newest record was showcased here, but it blended seamlessly into older tracks from their previous albums. The trajectory of Liars has been notoriously hard to pin down, with each album set apart from the others by its own theme, either sonically or conceptually. WIXIW has already been labeled the band’s “electronic” album and it’s true that they’ve used it to introduce a very timely exploration of computer and synth generated sounds. But the innate weirdness, sinister sensibilities, and fearless experimentation that mark all of Liars’ releases is just as prominent, even if the finished product is one of the more reserved pieces they’ve put out to date.

If anyone was worried that the more subtle tones of the new record would inform this latest tour, that worry was shattered not only by the sheer volume radiating from the stage, but also by the energy exhibited in particular by Angus Andrews. He’s every bit the cult leader, his limbs raised fantastically above his stringy locks, never removing his black jacket despite the unrelenting heat, said jacket looking almost too small on his menacing, gangly frame. One moment he would shudder violently, the next bouncing or twirling like a mental patient gone off his meds.

While the set was definitely skewed toward the songs on WIXIW, they were offered alongside a well-curated selection from their previous records. As such, the show acted partly as revue, partly as history lesson – spanning from Liars’ emergence as dance-punk purveyors of ten years past, through art rock witchiness, percussive experimentation, forays into shoegaze, and finally the punishing, barren soundscapes of 2009’s Sisterworld. And while these selections were a treat to a longtime Liars fan like myself, the WIXIW songs were executed so well that they held their own in the cannon of favorites like “Broken Witch” “Let’s Not Wrestle Mt Heart Attack” and “Plaster Casts of Everything”. Though Andrews has said that it was unnerving to present partially formed ideas and arrangements to the band during WIXIW’s almost claustrophobic writing and recording process, none of that insecurity shows now that the album is making its live debut. It’s hard to believe a decade has passed since the release of They Threw Us In A Trench And Stuck A Monument On Top, and indeed I feel like I’ve spent most of my adulthood in the locked groove of “This Dust Makes That Mud”. But the Liars are nothing if not uncanny for their ability to evolve and to challenge, and the show at Webster Hall was a perfect affirmation of such.

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SHOW REVIEW: Vår

On Saturday I had every intention of seeing Gap Dream and Grass Widow but had absolutely no energy left for anything not resembling sleep. My family was still in town and while it was wonderful it was still totally draining. I did make sure to catch the Sacred Bones showcase on Sunday at Glasslands, but didn’t get there until Vår were almost finished with their set.
As a side project of Danish band Iceage’s Elias Rønnenfelt, Vår could be considered a slightly darker and more electronic-based iteration of the hardcore punk for which Iceage is known. This show was supposed to be their New York debut but only a few days prior they’d played a raucous secret set at Wierd in which Rønnenfelt and bandmate Loke Rahbek made out to an instrumental track for almost ten minutes. When I arrived at Glasslands, the place was swathed in thick clouds emanating from multiple fog machines, and Vår was performing perhaps their best known single, “Hold Me In Your Arms”. The pounding beat and pleading vocals were not unlike an arrow through my chest, with any other senses obscured as they were by the dense fog.
I was slightly side-tracked by trying to locate my own crush, and by the time I found him Rønnenfelt and Rahbek were already locked in an embrace that made ours look pretty hetero-normative and not so Scandinavian, either, so we debated instead about whether their move was “brave” or “gimmicky”. The fact is that no matter how much I want a show-stopper like that to be commonplace, we live in a political climate where it’s still challenging to some. So challenge away, you beautiful Danish teenagers you.

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I borrowed this image from nyctaper, since it was way too dark & foggy for me to get photo or video of my own. Thanks nyctaper!

Amen Dunes played next, with Crystal Stilts to follow. But Amen Dunes’ set was admittedly less interesting to me at that point than going somewhere for a burger and flirting, so after they played a version of “Bedroom Drum” that (inexplicably) did NOT feature the essentially titular bass drum we took off.

Sacred Bones does a pretty awesome job forwarding the interests of the bands they represent; I think I’ve seen every band on that label play somewhere in Brooklyn or beyond at least once with exception of, I don’t know, Slug Guts? And maybe Pop. 1280 because I’m just not that into it. It’s not all that strange that label stalwarts Crystal Stilts headlined the show. But with all the buzz surrounding Vår, not to mention the fact that the band needed passports to get here, makes putting Amen Dunes above them on the bill a somewhat questionable move. After all, this was Vår’s official debut, and Amen Dunes plays NYC constantly. Then again, I can also go to Dumont anytime I like, so maybe there’s also something to be said for force of habit.

 


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SHOW REVIEW: Tinariwen

In past years, I’ve mostly ignored Northside unless there was a specific touring band I wanted to see (last year these included Mount Eerie and Beirut, for example) mainly because the festival takes place over a weekend and I’m usually working during those. But this year my little sister and my niece were in town so I took the whole week off and began entertaining mad fantasies of putting the tourists to bed by nine pm and galavanting about North Brooklyn all night. Unfortunately this turned to be a bit unrealistic, considering that I was exhausted from playing tour guide all day and that many of the showcases took place a little too early.

Thursday was a total no go, and on Friday I completely missed Jens Lekman, of Montreal, and Beach Fossils playing the McCarren Park show which had originally cited as justification for the purchase of the badge. I suppose this means I am oddly doomed to only see Beach Fossils side projects live and never ever actually see Beach Fossils. While pondering how that could be, I realized that missing that show meant being able to see Tuareg-Berber jam band Tinariwen and headed to The Warsaw. The venue is a Polish dancehall that hosts more Polka than Punk Rock, but their sound was perfect and the ballroom is absolutely gorgeous.

Tinariwen had just started playing and the sight of them was stirring: five men in brightly colored traditional Berber dress beamed pure joy at the audience, seated behind traditional drums or deftly strumming electric guitars. The band was founded by Ibrahim Ag Alhabib and has included upwards of twenty members, with a rotating line-up due in large part to political turmoil in the band’s homeland

Though Tinariwen’s roots in disparate refugee camps is by now legendary, the five touring members onstage at The Warsaw played in perfect sync with one another, their voices and rhythms seeming timeless. When one man sang, another would lead the audience in polyrhythmic clapping before the two would switch roles, weaving together a variety of traditional and African pop sounds with spidering Western guitar parts reminiscent of blues rock.

Percussion also plays a huge role in Tinariwen’s sound; they utilize drumming techniques and instruments from all over West Africa which anchor clarion guitar solos. One particularly compelling drum had a cylindrical base like that of the djembe but the head looked to be more like a calebasse gourd. The top could be pounded for a deeper bass sound or the percussionist could make more rapid, sharper tones using some rings worn on his thumbs.

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I’ve never seen a band happier to inspire an audience the way Tinariwen did; when they shouted messages between songs in French, or in Tamashek (their native language) they were often met with enthusiastic replies. It’s not hard to understand why; in the many live performances I’ve had the pleasure to witness, few bands have met the talent I saw this particular evening. I was so moved that I signed up to see them again on Monday during a taping of an encore performance for MTV’s Iggy. Paul Simon was in attendance, and Kyp Malone of TV On The Radio performed a lovely version of “Tenere Taqqim Tossam”, then insisted on doing it again, but better.

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SHOW REVIEW: Kitty Pryde w/ Deniro Farrar

After having my mind blown by Tinariwen, I was probably better suited for laying around on some grass looking at stars than catching another show, especially one so hyped as hip-hop chanteuse Kitty Pryde’s NYC debut at the Knitting Factory. Opener Deniro Farrar hit the stage late, his style classic and mostly laid-back with spurts of aggressive rhyme. The true highlight of his set was his ultra-chill DJ, whose jams tempered Farrar’s more unabashed outbursts. Even if Farrar, who has been plugging away at the rap game for a while now from his home base in Charlotte, North Carolina, was a bit stung that he had to open for a teenage white girl from Daytona Beach, there was no sign of it; Kitty related a story in which Farrar gave her a backstage pep talk and he was actually far better at hyping her performance than her hype man (who was actually her brother).

Kitty appeared onstage in a pink ruffled prom dress that she claimed to have bought at Kohl’s and a pair of black patent leather combat boots adorned with diamond studded cats.  Even during her more awkward moments, Kitty has that attitude specific to nineteen year olds in which they feel they can pretty much do whatever they please without a second thought of being judged. Kitty Pryde is actually very aware of what judgements are passed on her and simply doesn’t let it affect her; even her raps are rife with jokes made at her own expense which has got to cut down on plenty of naysaying right off the bat. In fact, she’s so self-aware and so good at tongue-in-cheek references to things like online dating and Justin Beiber that it’s hard to believe she’s only nineteen. She looks and acts like it, sure, but could someone that young make such acerbic and often very funny observations about pop culture? A healthy teenage bravado and her awkward Skillex-haired brother tagging along are really the best pieces of proof that she is as young as she claims, and besides that I guess it would be a pretty silly marketing ploy to fake your age and not make yourself old enough to drink even if you’ll get served alcohol regardless.

We weren’t really sure what to make of Kitty Pryde’s flirtatious anthems. Sometimes they border on scandalous, and considering her (supposed) age and coquettish attitude that leaves us just a wee bit queasy. As a rapper she’s not nearly as talented as other ladies in the biz, relying more on her wit and cutesy personae more than anything else. It was hard for her to get through a verse without giggling, some of which is actually written into her lyrics, but most of which was probably an “adorable” way of covering her fuck ups.  She basically exists in a sweet spot created by Kreayshawn, the only heir apparent to that particular throne, though she cites a slightly wider range of influence that includes several members of Odd Future and Kid Cudi among others.

The one thing that really irked me more than any other detail was the laziness behind her production. Granted, she’s been sitting in her bedroom making YouTube videos and basically only has access to beats not made specifically for her. If you have to borrow from someone, you could certainly do worse than the genius of Madlib, but that’s a guy who digs through crates upon crates of 45s and has an encyclopedic knowledge of soul and funk that would probably rival Wikipedia itself. So it’s kind of cheating when you just nonchalantly coo over “Accordion” or whatever (and also call that song “Accordion” on your demo). On the latest EP she’s posted to bandcamp, entitled Haha I’m Sorry, she gets some production help and samples some Carly Rae Jepsen, so maybe the lack of imagination will be less of a fault as DJs come out of the woodwork to get a piece of her pie, which hopefully doesn’t have to be a sexual innuendo.

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What Kitty has going for her (other than tons and tons of buzz) is her fearlessness and her clever charm. For someone who essentially raps about getting a crush on everything, her delivery is slightly more badass and a lot smarter than Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera were able to provide ten years ago (when Kitty Pryde was nine, for those of you not-so-quick with the math). According to the demo for “Thanks Kathryn Obvious” her trajectory went something like this: “I thought I was Sheena – you know? A punk rocker… til I grew into wanting to be Flocka” so maybe being a pop sex kitten was never totally her thing, but she’s certainly feeling out similar territory. She’s also been very quick to build friendships with influential artists, which of course won’t hurt her hype.

After Kitty’s set we moseyed over to a Lazerpop party at Glasslands where Pictureplane was DJing some not so choice cuts, but when he announced he was playing a show at a warehouse pretty damn close to Queens if not actually in it, we thought that we might as well attend. The loft was super sweaty and crowded with kids who had likely waited all night to see him perform. Once he started the floor felt like it was going to cave in so we pretty much called it a night just a few jams in. Then again it was close to 4am at that point so I guess we were actually calling it a morning.[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]

SHOW REVIEW: Quadron

Coco Maja Hastrup Karshøj is a pretty intense name, but if there’s anyone who lives up to a moniker like that to the fullest, it’s got to be the lead singer of Denmark’s Quadron. Listening to her honey-drenched vocals on the band’s 2009 self-titled debut is enough to make the hardest heart swoon; they are equal parts sensitive and intense and delivered with a dose of pure bliss. With producer Robin Hannibal, the band’s lush, loungey blend of electronica and neo-soul has garnered quite a following stateside, prompting the band to put the various side projects they both have on hold, relocate to Los Angeles, and focus on Quadron.

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the fabulous Coco

I truly had no idea how large and heartfelt following this band has until I attended a recent performance at Cameo Gallery. I was expecting the vibe to be a very chill version of 1950’s sock-hop, the room mostly empty as the gig was scheduled on a Monday. Boy, was a I wrong. The show was technically sold out, though my friend and I had no problem paying a paltry 10$ at the door and waltzing our way into the the little black box tucked behind Lovin’ Cup. The place was packed. Teletextile opened, but were playing their last song by then. We settled in behind one of the tallest guys I’ve ever seen – he must have been at least seven feet tall, and he was standing front and center. Now, I’m all for everyone enjoying the show, but this guy could have seen the show from New Jersey, and was currently blocking the onstage views for at least fifteen people standing in his vicinity. If you are a tall person who goes to shows regularly, please be aware of the fact that you aren’t see-through and there are tiny people standing on tiptoe for a glimpse of the action. This guy became aware of his wall-like obfuscation when someone behind him took matters into their own hands, got a stool from the bar, and brought it to the front of the crowd so this dude could sit down. With my view now unobscured I settled in to enjoy the show.

Coco is as adorable as her voice suggests, and she was dressed to kill in periwinkle cascades of ruffles and matching pointy bustier. The sheer joy that informs many of Quadron’s musical arrangements oozes from Coco as she sways, claps, and croons, her between-song banter far more shy than her singing-style, which can only be described as a full-on serenade. She introduced crowd favorite “Pressure” as a song she wrote about living in her sister’s shadow, and “L.F.T.” as an homage to the girlfriends she left behind in the process of relocating for her career. So while Quadron’s music is informed by the Motown smash-hits of 1950’s and 60’s girl groups, it is hardly a lovesick reiteration of the genre. Coco is young but fully possessed by her own powers as a jazz singer, and the year that Quadron spent honing their sound before releasing their debut record has helped them form a sound that is unique and well-rounded, never relying too heavily on any of the genres it so expertly blends.

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