Live Reviews

Live review: Glenn Branca with Neg-Fi and Paranoid Critical Revolution, NYC

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On a quiet Thursday night last week in an industrial section of south Brooklyn, it sounded like 1979 inside the Issue Project Room. Neg-Fi’s out-of-tune dual guitars clashed through two-minute experiments with distortion. Paranoid Critical Revolution, a pair of ladies playing drums and guitar, played thrashing experimental guitar progressions at ear-throbbing volume. Both acts wouldn’t have been out of place in a downtown loft party 30 years ago.

The occasion for the performances was a Glenn Branca-inspired night at the non-profit space in Gowanus. The 60-year-old Branca is no longer whipping his body about his guitar (as he was in the 1970s), but he shows few signs he’s turning the volume down. The post-minimalist—who borrowed from punk its destructive tendencies and from Phillip Glass an attention to tonal minutiae—is as fiery as ever. He began the evening by thanking his friends and telling anyone from the Village Voice they could “go fuck themselves.”

Then he turned to conduct an orchestra of four loud, distorted guitars through the rhythm and tone shifting of “Lesson No. 3 (A tribute to Steve Reich).” What began as a barrage of formless noise slowly melted into a minimalistic drone. The piece was originally commissioned by the Barbican Center London in 2006 for Steve Reich’s 70th birthday celebration. As Mr. Branca said about the song, it’s “as close as I will ever get to a classic ’70s Reichian minimalism.” Given that most of the audience was less than half Branca’s age, the same could be said for many in the crowd that night.

Live review: Bloc Party at Commodore Ballroom, Vancouver

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If you’re a musician, band member or just a z-list celebrity, you know you have to keep the fans happy and roll through their town once in a while. So, two sold-out shows for a group of guys from England should keep the Vancouver locals very happy. That group of guys are Bloc Party. Just so you know.

As the Commodore gradually reached full capacity, and the too cute/too young schoolgirls lined the front stage barrier, the guys were behind the scenes getting ready for the final installment of the weekend. The band strolled on stage, casually dressed with smiles from ear to ear, looking far too relaxed which must be a clear sign that they are used to this reaction by now. Even looking back on my London days and watching them perform in toilet venues, the crowd would be wild—which is exactly the same tonight.

Bloc Party opened up powerful as ever with “Trojan Horse,” “Luno” and “Hunting For Witches” to warm up the crowd. Guitar genius, Russell Lissak, stood behind his floppy hair, head down and fingers gliding up and down the fretboard. Drummer Matt Tong was making the dance drum beats look easy, and bassist Gordon Moakes was pitching in with backing vocals and occasionally a few spins.

Front man Kele Okereke was a bubbling pot of charisma and knew how to entertain the audience without strumming a chord or singing a note.

Front man Kele Okereke was a bubbling pot of charisma and knew how to entertain the audience without strumming a chord or singing a note. Adding in between songs little stories about how he was held at knife point on East Hastings Street, how the Commodore smells like the bottom of a bong and, above all this, he loves Vancouver.

During the set they paced things down with “So Here We Are” and “This Modern Love” but not long were we back to the more recent, electro stuff like “Flux,” “Mercury” and “Halo” for the crowd to stomp to. They disappeared briefly as the crew set up a second drum kit which Gordon sat behind a few minutes later for the encore to assist Matt with a gorgeous version of “Sunday.” As the show came to a close, Kele kindly let the crowd know that this will probably be the last time we see them for a few years as the four of them joined together and bowed to the audience while leaving us to dance alone to Dirty Dancing’s “The Time Of My Life.” Until next time….

Words and images: Lauren Keogh

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Live review: Dan Deacon at Richards on Richards, Vancouver

Darren Ressler 1 Comment

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Since the release of new album Bromst, it seems everyone wants to be Dan Deacon right now. And this was no exception for most of the crowd at Vancouver’s Richards on Richards. My head started to spin from all the crazy colored shirts and two-inch thick granddad spectacles that were surrounding me and making me see a thousand replicas of Mr. Deacon himself. Once my sight was clearer, and after an hour of meticulous stage set up, at least 15 people shuffled onto the already cramped Richards stage. Included in that group of people was the main man himself. With one arm wrapped across his chest in a sling, Dan Deacon looked around, pushed his oversized glassed up his nose and informed us tonight will be an “interesting one.” Standing behind his rainbow table of colored tape and a thousand knobs and buttons, he blasted through “Get Older,” “Of The Mountains” and “Red F” while his glowing, neon green skeleton head bounced next to him.

Everyone obliged and for the next ten minutes, arms and legs were waving and kicking all over the place as the crowd let everything loose.

The crowd was eager to join in on the party as Dan leapt off the stage and used his one-armed power to make the crowd form a circle and propositioned them to a huge dance off in the middle of the floor. Of course, everyone obliged and for the next ten minutes, arms and legs were waving and kicking all over the place as the crowd let everything loose. Instructions soon followed to find a partner, put your hands together and form a huge arm bridge for the whole crowd to conga under. They did just that and danced their way up stairs, passed the bar, behind the bar, down the fire escape and back at the foot of the stage.

As Deacon and his crew bashed drums and tapped xylophones under the burning flashes of light, they finished the night with even more craziness with “Snookered,” “The Crystal Cat” and no encore—probably because the clock was closing in on 1am for a Sunday night. As hair stuck to shiny foreheads and cheeks flushed pink, boys and girls arrived looking for a party and tonight, Dan Deacon proved this was where the party’s at.

Words and images: Lauren Keogh

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Live Review: Throbbing Gristle at Masonic Temple, Brooklyn, NY

Darren Ressler 7 Comments

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Throbbing Gristle would’ve had a hard time finding a more fitting location for their New York debut and first show in the US in nearly three decades. On a chilly night in the Fort Greene section of Brooklyn, the opulent and mysterious Masonic Temple can be absolutely terrifying. Over the course of two hour-long sets, Gristle’s industrial scuzz filled out the wood-paneled auditorium and pounded the marble floors with a sound that was harsh yet rapturous.

The band sat and sound-sculpted with laptops (yes, laptops, no more handmade synthesizers here).

TG’s opening set was a score to the film The Shadow of the Sun, a 1980 Derek Jarman art flick full of baroque statues, cadavers, and flames. The band sat and sound-sculpted with laptops (yes, laptops, no more handmade synthesizers here). Genesis P-Orridge, now with blonde, shoulder-length hair, was dressed in DayGlo orange and slumped over in a chair with a guitar on lap. The dense soundtrack approached an abrasive version of a William Basinski tape loop.

The sold-out crowd of record heads, ex-ravers, Brits, and a few industrial kids didn’t know what to make of the middle act, sound and video artist Bruce McClure. Or, perhaps more likely, they were made catatonic by the pulsating drone and visually hypnotizing video projection. His setup was three film projectors and half a dozen pedals behind the audience. It was a rare US performance for the artist—who most often performs in galleries in Europe, although he resides in Brooklyn—and alone worth the $35 ticket price.

The final TG set unfolded slowly, with the tantalizing prospect that the lights would be turned off at any moment (They weren’t, much to the chagrin of everyone). Initially, the band was reserved—Genesis P-Orridge read from a music stand and Cosey Fanni Tutti stomped with a headless guitar. During a raucous version of “Discipline,” Genesis moved to center stage and taunted the crowd with grunts and screams. Antic energy flailing her about, she banged the microphone on her head to the drumbeat, sending the crowd to a head-knocking fit.

It’s gotten a lot harder to shock the hell out of a crowd since Throbbing Gristle started doing it in the mid-’70s. But if they proved something last night, it’s that when it comes to disturbing and emotionally raw performance art, age shouldn’t be a factor.

Words and images: Patrick Burns

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