01/10/2012
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MUSIC

JAMIE XX & FRIENDS//OVAL SPACE

Damp, dark and ’round midnight, the backstreets of Bethnal Green were thronged with herds of black sheep and punctuated with security shepherds in high-visibility jackets. One such luminous guard standing sentiel outside a church urged the pre-gamed revelers to keep the noise down. Perhaps partygoers took the advice around hallowed grounds too seriously. When I bought my ticket for Jamie XX & Friends (The XX‘s party to launch their new album Coexist) I was looking forward to a night of DJ’d dancing, a loud bass pulsing through bodies with hands aloft. Instead of hands, I got a sea of serious centre partings, bopping along to mid-tempo, mid-volume music.

Our party arrived at Oval Space with high hopes and in high spirits; When an event sells out in mere hours, there is a feeling of exclusivity attached to your attendance, it felt more like an invitation then a ticket purchase. Having danced around a neighbouring kitchen to our own dj’d set, we landed at our industrial/space age looking venue (complete with giant, skeletal gas holders) at the witching hour. Expecting to join a jostling crowd in the moon’s shadow of this dramatic architecture, we were instead directed inside to, essentially, a large and half empty marquee. Not being an easily deterred bunch, we got our £5 spirit-mixers from the bar and made our way to the front. We saw people standing. We saw people shuffling. We saw the line of girls with dents in their abdomen from the guard rail they had so steadfastly jammed themselves against at the front, like fans at a film premiere (was everyone else just disappointed they weren’t at a The XX gig?) And then finally we saw pockets of activity on the dance floor. There were people, just like us, that wanted to have a good time.

Before we knew it, Jamie XX’s 2 hour set had come and gone. The only real indication of his presence was the swell in numbers as he began and the exodus as he ended. Otherwise, there was nothing at all to indicate we were being graced with his work. A shame really, when you consider the widespread acclaim for his remixes of Gil Scott Heron, that the late, great one’s haunting voice was never heard.

One night events are tough to get right, and all credit where it’s due to The XX for holding a night to celebrate with their fans in the first place. We stayed and danced and were willing to go through to the advertised 6am end. Unfortunately, it seems as though Oval Space has some tight insurance regulations to deal with. The music got quieter as the night progressed with a noticeable dip in volume at 5am- the same time the bar stopped serving. Which was time for us to move on.

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10/04/2012
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MUSIC

OF MONTREAL//WEBSTER HALL

Going to Webster Hall should make you feel 17 years old again. Except for when you’re surrounded by 17 year olds- then you actually feel far older than your years. But then Of Montreal start to play (and I mean p l a y), and their infectious whimsy makes the room feel ageless.

So- Webster Hall, Saturday night in New York City and we’re lining up in barely fading daylight. As we wound our way upstairs into the heavy darkness, my companion and I suddenly felt a little out-of-place. I was grateful for the strength of my $15 whiskey (oy) as we made our way towards the stage and quickly felt we were the oldest punters in sight. It seemed that of the eager gang arriving early for the opening act, the grown-ups had opted for the balcony for a more civilised evening over-looking the soon to be thronging crowd. I wonder how quickly they realised their mistake.
The first act on was Kishi Bashi. I was lucky enough to stumble upon Kishi Bashi playing at The Living Room a few months ago, and have ever since been biding my time to catch him live again. I am so glad I did. Really, he’s the reason I booked the ticket. As he made his way onto the stage the room didn’t even notice his gentle presence until his bow hit the strings and he began to craft his first sound scape. Using his violin, pedals and 2 microphones, Kishi Bashi drew forward the curious crowd and enveloped them in his utterly original sound. I had the happy chance to be standing behind four young guys in pajama bottoms with white boy ‘fros and emitting the smells of digestion that signaled they had most likely rolled out of their hungover beds and into Webster Hall from their nearby freshman dorms. When Kishi Bashi started to loop, record and beat box like a champion, they turned to each other and, even with the poor stage lighting we were made to suffer, I could see the wonder in their eyes. As he augmented and sped up his voice and played his violin like a slender ukulele, they laughed together and “holy shit!”-ed together and their amazement was, frankly, palpable. It was so wonderful to be present for their discovery of a talent they clearly hadn’t anticipated. Kishi Bashi has already begun to accrue a following (perhaps due to his remarkable kickstarter campaign)- by the last song some of our number were singing along or calling for favourite songs to be played. The cheers grew louder song on song- he was the kind of opener you felt lucky to have arrived for.
If only the excitement could have carried over for the second act. The audience really wanted Loney Dove to thrill us after KB’s opening energy injection, but their sit down folk was not a change of pace we were looking for. In a different forum, I’m sure they would have gone down well, but it seemed most of our number took their set to spend another fortune at the bar or have a conversation about how masterful Kishi Bashi was.
By the time Of Montreal landed in front of us (which took a while, but after the previous set, felt like an age) you could not be mistaken that you were at a sold out gig at Webster Hall. The place was packed, anticipation throbbing up through the crowd from the back of the room…and they definitely put on a show for the masses. The stage itself became many platforms for performance, as each member of the band had their own area on a different level of the stage fronted by a white screen, highlighting bites of the colourful projections throughout the show. Gladly, I can report the lighting guy at Webster Hall woke up for them. And whatever allocation of their tour budget went on performance artists was well spent indeed. At the start of the set a steady stream of mysterious black figures occasioned the stage at unspecific intervals, apparently unnoticed by the band. As the energy of the room crescendoed, so did the capers of the performers- we were treated to giant lambs, stage dives, super heroes…the list goes on. Around the third song in, three huge bags of white balloons were launched over us and embarked upon their arcing journey over a sea of hands, huge bouncing orbs, happily interrupting the flow of projections to the stage. It didn’t take a taller pair of hands long to rip a bag open and have two others follow suit, so that we were suddenly engulfed in a beautiful haze of frenetic fun…it was fantastic to be able to jump and play under this unifying blanket of delight. Even as the set ended, there were still one or two sailing over our heads, and when they met the tips of your fingers to continue their adventure, you were reminded you were part of this thronging team. The art of the performers was either right on the money or just wide of the mark depending which song it went with, but our involvement was gratefully received. And my God- what an encore. That’s where the band and their frontman, Kevin Barnes, really came to the fore. Sleeves were rolled up, jackets were shed, buttons undone…the eclectic, eccentric energy that curated the projections and performances we’d been treated to all evening were now on full display for the most crowd pleasing song of the night. Who needs to be 17 again when you can experience live music in a room like that?
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25/03/2012
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THEATRE

GATZ//THE PUBLIC THEATER

One of life’s all too rare ecstasies: you are burrowed in a book in a public place, the story twists and turns and just as an absorbing passage finishes and you come up for indulgent air, you catch sight of a perfect stranger. The stranger is utterly different to you except for two commonalities- 1.They are human. 2.They are head first in a book with the same title as the one you now cradle. I had been lucky enough to revel in this only once (at high noon on a summer R train) until I experienced the singular theatrical event that is GATZ.
GATZ is Elevator Repair Service’s recital of The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald in its entirety. From cover to cover, the audiences’ bums are in their seats for 6 hours, but you will devote 8 hours of your day to the show in all. The production has been in the works since 2004 and ERS has traversed the globe with it ever since.
As audience members gradually filtered into the theatre from their sun-drenched day, a sense of camaraderie bristled as strangers willingly smiled at strangers. Plastic pots of Chardonnay in hand, we settled into our hard edged seats and the knowledge struck that we would be spending the time usually devoted to the average 9-5 work day together. This thought was furthered by the set- a drab office (although a quick peek at inboxes and cubby holes told you there was the potential for play) and a clock, defiantly perched centre stage atop a computer monitor, staring us down despite only being a few minutes into our joint venture. The clock will be fondled, spun, slapped down and delicately replaced on it’s rightful IT throne before our rip-roaring, 3.5 hour first half is out. Time is referred to, perhaps not as frequently as it seems to us, but pointedly throughout.
The first quarter (2 hours) feels much like the opening of a novel. A one-foot-in-front-of-the-other start to our journey, a declaration of our surroundings, a proffering of our characters’ quirks. This exposition cascades from office to lawn party to office to library, gloriously endured all the while by our effortlessly affable protagonist. We are absorbed by him before the first page is turned, immediately empathising with the global, personal torture of a faulty computer that won’t switch on. Really, he’s a personification of those snap-it-and-it’s-hot heat packs…that’s how quickly we warm to him.
A brief intermission in our first half is necessary for the constitution of our bladders and perhaps also serves the performance, as the cast seems to be propelled into action…this is definitely the fun chapter. When activity occasionally ebbs GATZ can feel much like a radio play, and so it should come as no surprise that the show is sound effect heavy. Having one of the players at an office desk in the proscenium’s shadow double up as the sound technician keeps our blur of real world, office world and Gatsby’s world everpresent. His efforts are added to by the New York City subway system, jackhammers of The Public’s continuing renovations, and towards the end of our first half sojourn, grumbling bellies in surround sound. It is only with hindsight I am startled to realise that I found the audience’s stomach rumbles altogether endearing at the time.
This show really does feel like an audience experience as one unit- rarely did someone laugh or otherwise react when others didn’t. I can only imagine the audience members lucky enough to find themselves in the same packed restaurant as a GATZ comrade on our hour and fifteen minute dinner break. The taut glance across the thronging room, the understated acknowledgement of eye contact, a taste of that unique ecstasy…they’re even on the same page of the story.
I shan’t outline the second half of the show here for want of not spoiling it for those yet to read The Great Gatsby, or to not rehash for those that have, but I will say this- despite the drama and apoplexy of it’s dénouement, GATZ fell a hair’s breadth short of filling the stage and the audience. Our only emotional response seemed to be raising to our feet at the close and showing our appreciation for the feat of it- 6 hours of a story and 8 hours of a collective experience with our darling companion, the reader, to keep us warm. GATZ lacks an element of theatrical convention which ultimately made it provocative to my mind…why must we theatricalise a novel? And why is an 8 hour show an anomally in our day and age- why can’t we devote a “work day” to being entertained?
GATZ is an incredible, enjoyable theatrical experience but is not entirely theatre. The characters and plot did not travel home with me that night, but more so the feeling of sadness as our audience team proliferated into the NoHo night to read their own stories alone. GATZ is a story not-so-privately read in public, silently appreciated by strangers in an extraordinary moment of the human collective, but at full volume. It is a singular experience, and worth it just for that.
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21/03/2012
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MUSIC

Django Django//Glasslands Gallery

Seeing Django Django at Glasslands Gallery on March 10th was an absolute live music event.

For four lads that met at art school in Edinburgh, relocating to London to record and gig must feel like a clusterfuck of noise pollution after the delicate piecemeal of their eponymous debut album in the Scottish highlands. They were visibly elated by the reception from the crowd at their first US date in another cacophonous city- NYC. And who can blame them. The audience was an out-and-out bouncing, cheering, enraptured festival of fun-loving, music-loving giddy gremlins. I have never seen Glasslands like it- a packed house, sweating from the rafters…and delightedly so.
My presence at this happy event was due to a trawl through Glasslands’ website many weeks beforehand. When my browser zoomed over Django Django, a palimpsest of music memory flickered in my mind. I knew that somewhere, years ago, I had seen them in London (at the 100 Club? Playing White Heat?) and that I would need to be there. I booked tickets for myself and three friends that had never heard of them and a few days before the event, realised I should probably give a listen to their latest material rather than rest on the hazy reputation of my mind. It’s a blast of an album- do give it a go. Default quickly became a stand out tune- a strong bop-along song in the midst of a record that runs the gamut of so many musical inclinations it would be anathema to it’s originality to list them here.
It was on the late side for a gig- I think Django Django went on around 1.30am. When we arrived, we weren’t sure if the dj was the opening act or just filling in between sets. As he left and a couple of unassuming men came on to set up, I recognised one of them and knew our boys were on next. However, the usual pre-show buzz in a sold out venue before the headliners come on was missing. Perhaps partly because the dj was rubbish, or maybe because America didn’t know what it was in for. Barely a moment into the first tune, someone had taken the energy dial and turned it all the way to the right without a second thought. The mournfully scintillating Love’s Dart, and Waveforms with it’s inhales of Kraftwerk and exhales of almost Eski, were both phenomenal to hear live, but in truth every single song was a crowd pleaser. The mutual appreciation was palpable, it felt as though they were dancing down here with us and we were playing up there with them. An audience member even hopped on stage to play impromptu tambourine on a track. The lovely/silly t-shirts had barely escaped our view when they were back behind their instruments for an encore that every body in that room was grateful for. There seemed no need for it to end- why stop the fun?
It was the kind of gig that typifies why we participate in live music. While excitedly yearning for a favourite tune to cue in to expertly flick your body with every beat, new gems appear from the grateful glut of manufactured fog. Your body moves and you don’t (and do) know why. You loose the people you travelled there with, because being as close as possible to the act becomes the most important objective. You bump and jump, making eye contact with strangers in a communion of specific appreciation. You happy few, you front liners, you are the ones that are really there. Layers peel off, eyes close, arms sway above a thrown back head of sheer rhapsody. It’s you and music, musician and you, an equal equation. A great gig.
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