Sonic Youth and the Feelies vs. A Giant Hole of Suck
Photo of the Day, November 23, 2009: Stark
Where Should You Eat? A Fast Food Flowchart
Sports Redux: One Goal, And One Goal Only
Sunday Happenings
We hope you'll forgive us the crazy analogy, but we sort of felt that Animal Collective's show at the House of Blues on Thursday night was a metaphor for evolution. From the primordial ooze of muddled bass to animalistic screeching vocals to, finally, electro-finessed melodies, AC created an evening that reflected our own development over time—good aspects and bad.
But first, there was light. And not the light onstage, emitting from the dirigible-like orb floating above the band's turntables, which were in turn placed on cloth-covered tables that flickered with various colors (not to mention Geologist's trademark headlamp). No, the light we're referring to came from the flashlights of the House of Blues' obnoxious employees, who (through no fault of their own, we suppose, other than being employed by the HoB in the first place) endlessly harassed concertgoers trying to get a better view. Sure, fire lanes are important, but did the HoB have to construct a venue that completely obstructs stage views from almost every angle?
The hall has three floors; the view from the top two floors (three-sided balconies) is entirely useless two deep from the railing. (We can't comment on the main floor because we didn't go down there.) The sides and corners of the venue are pillar-laden, crushing the development of any view at the seedling stage. The back center of the top level, however, has an absolutely ideal view that absolutely no one (except for policy-enforcing HoB employees... hmm, self-interest in action here?) is allowed to enjoy, as it is apparently a fire hazard. Were the HoB designers smoking some of a particular substance we smelled throughout Thursday night? Did they not consult with the fire marshall before making a beautiful, perfect-view platform where nobody can now stand? Whatever the case, it seems clear that the venue was not designed with music in mind.
It was, however, designed with inconvenience in mind. Beyond the obstructed views and the strobe-light employees, the HoB makes it as difficult as possible to enter the venue in the first place. A complex and unnecessary (as there was—shockingly—no line on Thursday night) system of stanchions forced concertgoers to navigate endless aisles up and down the sidewalk when we could have just entered the damn door directly. We then had to pass by a herd of employees, get wristbands to drink, and finally enter the venue, only to be immediately blinded by the aforementioned flashlights. And the off-stage strobing didn't stop during the performance: our attempted enjoyment of Animal Collective was repeatedly disrupted by flashlight fluctuations. There are just too many employees and not enough fun in that place.
House of Blues' best efforts to piss us off aside, we actually kind of dug the show. Learn why after the jump.
We theorized previously that AC is full of polished sellouts. The group's performance on Thursday modified this perspective a bit, making the band members come off as more frat boy than anything else. Yet the show as a whole retained a majestic sense of trajectory, progressing from ancient drumbeats to evolved chords.
Beginning with the orb above the stage glowing with a swirling, omniscient eye, the band started out with some semi-recent material dulled down into a near-catatonic drone. A river of noise flooded the stage, providing the necessary nourishment for future growth. Blips and bleeps whispered in the background, providing hints of the more defined future to come.
The orb moved into cloudy striations and scribbles, sometimes suggesting the look of material on a slide under a microscope, as the music took on a bit more shape. The band played "What Would I Want Sky," and the set glowed with colors reminiscent of green fluorescent protein. The disjointedly cellular—somehow both in terms of living cells and cellular phones—sounds set the stage for a further evolution of the set into something more human.
Filmstrip projections brought in human imagery, accompanied by some terrifyingly drab beats occasionally interspersed with sparks of civilization. It was the advent of mankind, complete with all the baggage that consciousness brings. The bass lines upped their complexity, sending audience members into odd autistic rocking fits or crazy hippie dances. The strange sea motion of the crowd was echoed by eerie vocals waving through the venue, breaking into inhuman yelps as the music maintained a tension between scientific precision and primitive urge. Eventually the noise evolved into structured song, a chromosomal orchestra of order from chaos.
Despite the frat-boy front, Animal Collective did a remarkable job creating a show with a distinct narrative that featured enjoyable individual songs along the way. We don't have pics from the night, but it looked a lot like this. Definitely look into seeing the band at some point: even if you think you hate Animal Collective, it'll be a memorable experience.
add to stumble upon
add to reddit
tweet this
post to facebook
Between the security, the sightlines, the prices for tickets and for beers, and the fact that they spent millions on the club but skimped on a frontlight system and you can barely see the friggin' band, no way in hell I'm going to another show there unless there's a group I really really want to see- and I mean see only in the figurative sense.
It's a helluva lot cheaper to stay at home and listen to the CD and hand myself a 20 spot for a couple of beers and I'd have the same experience minus the aggravation. Only LiveNation could completely screw something up this badly. The Lyons Brothers have to be laughing themselves sick.