M83 at Venue

Saturday, November 12

Doors open at 7pm. It's an early show, supposed to be over by 10, so expedience is of the utmost. It's 7:28 and everyone is still outside. It's cold enough that my extremities have slipped uncomfortably into that purgatory of numbness. Things are behind schedule, I'm cold and pissed off- it could be going better. It's times like this that I sometimes ask myself how much I really want to be going to what ever show it is I'm in line for. Not this time, M83 was playing and I wasn't going anywhere. No level of frostbite, hypothermia, or barrage of scalpers and homeless people was going to keep me away from my most anticipated show of the season. The same unfortunately can't be said for the 50 plus people lined up hoping to get a ticket at the door. Not likely as they were only selling 20; it would seem the show, part of their tour promoting the recently released double LP, Hurry Up, We're Dreaming, had more or less sold out some time ago. Those people missed out on one of the best shows I've ever been to.

Special and innovative efforts seem to have been afforded to setting the mood as the festivities initiated. One of Dreaming's most fascinating attributes is how it's such a transformative and other worldly experience. To successfully recreate this state of mind the crowd would have to be sufficiently divorced from reality. A certain level of sensory deprivation and disorientation would be required to accomplish such a feat. Well, that definitely happened. A phalanx of assaulting and vivid flood lights, blanketed the audience, as ferociously deep and absurdly heavy tones engulfed the room. You couldn't so much as hear the sounds as you could feel them- battered and burdened by them, deep in your core; and maybe even a little below it. You could't so much as see the lights as your retinas were scalded by them. It was intense and destabilizing, shaking you loose from an apparently tenuous grasp on reality. Perfect. As the sensory bombardment eased, a figure emerged from the chaos. Rather than any obvious member of the band, a just shy of impossibly tall figured took to the stage, cloaked in black ceremonial robes, and wearing something similar to the alien/anteater mask that was revealed with the debut of “Midnight City”. He raised his hands as if he was gesturing to a brainwashed cult. It wasn't until after the shock and awe of such a creature wore off that I noticed that the standard and mundane constructs that cluttered the back wall of the Venue stage had been draped with a starry light back drop. It was gorgeous and went a long way from orphaning me from the last cognitive vestiges of being at regular show in a regular building. I was out in space (I promise I wasn't on drugs).

Broken Social Scene at the Malkin Bowl

September 24, 2011

Broken Social Scene is a band- or perhaps more accurately a brand- that seems to be in a perpetual state of productivity, even when it's been a while since their last official release. As a group comprised of so many artists accomplished in their own rights, there is vast catalogue of musical projects spread across Canada that carries anything from a semblance of their aesthetic to their guiding influence. Everything from Fiest to Metric to Stars and countless others is seeded with the spirit and the biology of Broken Social Scene. No matter what the current shape of the musical sound scape, Broken Social Scene seems to maintain a sort of seasoned and historical relevance. When not the subject of current events, they still linger in the background with a sort of parental gaze. You'd think with the foundation that has coalesced around them within the Canadian music industry, I'd have gotten around to seeing them live before now. I hadn't. Sorry. Rest assured I was immediately aware of the error of my ways when I went to see them at the Malkin Bowl.

I rarely see a group where the first thing to occur is the singer walking up to the edge of the stage for a brief moment or two of light banter with the audience, but Kevin Drew was happy to take the time do so. Drew, throughout the evening would continue to do so, proving to be easily one of the most likeable performers I have ever seen on stage. He has a talent for supporting his band and their performance, with a sense of drama, heart, and meaning- but doesn't indulge in the slightest in the pretentious artistic high horse he could so easily mount. He could hammer out an achingly raw and personal rendition of an already emotionally weighted track like “Sweetest Kill”, and then just as quickly seem completely unaffected by it, effortlessly sliding back into playful back and forth with his band mates or the audience. He could be on his knees, perilously perched upon the precipice of the stage (thankfully not a rain slicked precipice as the weather was quite nice), bellowing out a tune in the most hyper dramatic style, without making it seem overwrought and hammy. I got the sense that if he so casually yet earnestly engaged with others, always brimming with optimism, his more theatrical efforts carried a similar kind of sincerity. Between his limitless congeniality and harrowing intensity, I can see why people often say Kevin Drew is one of the coolest people in the business. Or is that just me saying that? I'll be saying it more often anyways.

Cults at Venue

Cults is relatively new to the indie pop scene; it's something of a wonderful yet curious rarity these days that a group's dynamic can be described as simply and directly as "indie pop"- so thanks Cults. This is a group that is also fairly new to my own particular arsenal, as I suspect is the case with most burgeoning fans. Furthermore, this is their fist serious tour, which is something I perhaps did not appreciate when I saw them. Since their inception, this is the first time they have exposed real live people to their distinct brand of stylings. I use the term "distinct" with purpose and intent in this case as I do find something compelling and unique about Cults. The best descriptor or reference point I can liken them to is a synthesis of Bats for Lashes and the Brunettes. Front woman Madeline Follin and back up vocalist Brian Oblivion (cool name!) display a personal camaraderie and commitment to each other in a way that reminds of the Brunettes, and the way they use light and fleeting instruments and arrangements to dance just on the edge of darker tones seems like a tactic similar to Bats. Yet the two groups that I use here as reference points for Cults operate on very different poles, so the fact that Cults avoids any discontinuity in their album and on stage seemed so acutely comfortable with the sound they have cultivated is worth praising.

TV on the Radio at the Commodore

While I'm not so informed and hip to be able to proclaim that I was a fan of TV on the Radio before they got big, I really wish I was. Nevertheless, they've been a big part of making me look cool via showing off my bloated and pretentious music library for quite a few moons. So it comes as a slightly embarrassing that I had never etched out a date in my calender to see them live before. Rest assured, the moment I learned TVOTR was hitting Vancouver, I was instantly committed to the event.

Fleet Foxes at the Vogue

Friday, April 29

After something as monumental and landmark as the final LCD Soundsystem show, seeing Fleet Foxes at the Vogue seemed a little underwhelming. I feel hesitant opening with such a descriptor, and while it's certainly not my thesis on the matter (if I even need one), it was and is an opinion that stubbornly refuses to yield to other much more positive thoughts. Rest assured, this is merely comparative analysis and should not be used to infer that the show was in any way disappointing- it was quite good. Not every show needs to be a superlative spectacle- a grand finale as James Murphy and company just put on. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but shrug the feeling. Part of the issue is that Fleet Foxes' particular brand of pop folk is a partly subdued and mostly intimate offering; a smaller venue like the Media Club seems more appropriate for their stylings. But the Fleet Foxes brand has expanded beyond the diminutive proportions of such tiny environments resulting in something of an unsolvable paradox for the group. Their songs as constructions and intentions are not designed for larger venues, but tell that to their ever growing legion of followers and fans.

Das Racist at Fortune

Pop Pete promised us all completely naked women. It did not happen. Truth be told, I was reluctant to believe such an exuberant claim, but it's fun to dream. He proceeded to ask the audience who among us was gonna do some e and than cheat on their girlfriend; preferably with a fat chick? Pop Pete, the front man from Hot Sex and High Finance does not mince words. He is blunt, and conducts him self in a slightly vulgar and grotesque manner. Yet he also seems rhetorically ironic in a reassuring sort of away. If I for second thought he actually believed his egotistical bullshit, I'd be put off; but he puts on a hyperbolic facade to mock those in the electro/progressive/hip hop scene that take themselves too seriously. Just to make sure no one mistook him for the persona he intimidated, he made sure you know how ridiculous the names of the group's songs were. “Patrick Bateman”, “Black Gretzky”- “Death Star”? More like Super Death Star. At the end of the set Pete demands that we download his album- for free! No one callously attempting to live the gangster Gordon Gekko life would issue such a proclamation.

Little Dragon at Fortune

Tuesday, January 11-

I quite like Fortune; in the murky parochial recesses of Chinatown, cluttered with it's strange little shops is this ultra modern exterior. It seems sterile and monolithic and completely out of place- it's pretty cool! Inside it's a sufficient spot, it's a bit too elongated and the stage is tad small, but it works. Things got off to a bit of a rocky start, beginning with the opener Billygoat. They were... something. I don't know what. Honestly, a few days later it's hard to recall any specifics. There were no vocals, it was very minimal. It seemed almost pretentiously subdued; I was half expecting someone to tell me I had to listen to the notes they weren't playing. I was much more compelled by the pretty cool visual aspect they had to accompany it. It wasn't terribly flashy or opulent, but visually striking; as in sparkling whales petrifying into mountains. That kind of stuff. Aside from that, I don't think I need to hear Billygoat again. If I did, I probably wouldn't know it. I was a little put off that after Billygoat it took over an hour and twenty minutes for set up. It was an excessively long time for something that isn't the Radiohead multicolour brain melting chandelier light show. But I digress... 

Flaming Lips at the Malkin Bowl

As much as I would love to draft a more formal and comprehensive analysis of the recent Flaming Lips show at the Malkin Bowl, time, and more specifically school, is not on my side. Nevertheless since I was there, I should try and at least give you some idea of what it was like. So this time I'm going to attempt whats called a “Katamari” type review of the show.

The following are things I saw at the Flaming Lips show, in no particular order: Two dozen dancers that looked like they were rejects from Devo, Two massive death star sized disco balls, an array of neon green pulsating laser rays, two scary monster claws, a couple banging about 5 feet away from my friend and I (they were in love), a whole lot of giant balloons, two heavy artillery confetti cannons, a shit load of confetti, a few kids sitting on their parents shoulders using big head phones as ear muffs, a bear (costume), Wayne Cohen's massive sweaty face in extreme close up mode, a glowing florescent blue animated women, her vagina that was burning so bright, it was just a blinding white light, a cane that fired streamers and fireworks into the air, smoke and bubble machines, something that looked a lot like this, another vagina that proceeded to envelope and swallow the women it was affixed to, strobing close ups of angry animals growling at you, the drummer smoking a lot, a man sized hamster/space ball, and a single enormous eye ball that stared right at you.

Best show ever.

Efterklang at the Media Club

You can creating an inviting atmosphere in nearly any setting by adding a dark mahogany bar, and yes the Media Club does have those enveloping and plush seats lining its perimeter; but its small cavernous space always gives me a claustrophobic sense of dread. Maybe I've seen Deer Hunter too many times, but the prospect of an impromptu bout of Russian Roulette seems menacingly plausible in such a setting- and that rarely ends well for all parties involved. Luckily, we were there to see Efterklang, not exactly the most frightening or intimidating of gangs.

But before the main festivities, openers Buke and Gass were to take the densely cluttered faux stage. A Brooklyn based twosome, comprised of Arone Dyer and Aron Sanchez, that's heavy on the guitar and little else, Buke and Gass were quite the pleasant surprise. Despite raising concern with the crowd over the notion that their neighbourhood had been utterly decimated by what may or may not have been a tornado (in New York?), they were in high spirits and had a talent for charm. As for their sound, it was a thick syrupy blend of their two electric guitars, a one piece drum kick, and a make shift combination of bells and tambourines affixed to Dyer's leg. Honestly, the miniature set up on her leg couldn't really do much more than be hopelessly over shadowed by insurgent guitar riffs that had this guerrilla warfare way of jumping out at you- but it was a nice touch nevertheless. Also of note was Sanchez's guitar. It was some sort of steam punk hammered together apparatus. As if a globular piece of shrapnel from the corpse of T-1000 had been moulded into a such an device. I want one.

Dyer had a pretty impressive voice I believe. I wouldn't cast it as shrill, she certainly created a melodic flow with it, although she often abruptly punctuated it with short truncated wails. It effectively matched the improvisational segues of the music. She at times managed to almost overshadow the speaker's projection of her own voice, and in such a small space, it created an interesting echoing effect. If one is searching for comparative analysis or a frame of reference, I would liken her voice to that of Maria Andersson from Sahara Hotnights; It had a determinist, empowered, but not quite feminist element to it. It seemed to be something of a hold over from post 90s rock that acted as a waypoint between shallow stadium rock and the not quite gestated indie explosion that was not far off. But the late 90s are probably due for an ironic retro revival pretty soon anyways, so perhaps she is intuitively on the cusp of something.

As noted already, their aesthetic is predominantly oriented around electric guitar- not even a bass; it worked surprisingly well. Played in tandem the two were able to create a more lush and content rich sound then I would have initially estimated. Their influences and stylings were a little all over the place, with some noticeable mid 90s ska riffs and much to my surprise even some ukulele style solos and rhythms. Few if any of the songs followed a conventional arc, narrative or otherwise- rather their approach seemed to be a more professional and functional jam session. At times some of the segues from one melody to another were a bit disjointed and I wished there was an actual percussion set to fill in the gaps. For their most part however, the duo made a strong a case for themselves; I could hear more of these two.

Efterklang followed not long after and created a starkly contrasting image to the preceding group. Where as Buke and Gass was comprised of two people sitting for the entire set so as not to upset the mechanical ecosystem that had already smothered the stage, Efterklang was comprised of 6 or 7 mostly very tall swedes that had a penchant for playground baffonary and bouncing all over anywhere they could. Beyond that, Buke and Gass had an instrumental accompaniment that could easily be grafted onto a single street performer, and Efterklang brought everything they could find with them. Guitar, bass, keyboard, synth, computerized sound effects, trumpet, violin, flute, recorder (really, recorder?) and more than enough drums were well represented here. Some came threw better than others although. Any sounded precipitated by a violin sometimes has trouble permeating a room already battered by horn and drums, but they managed to balance the sound levels nicely. The same can't really be said for the flute, it was almost entirely buried under everything else, to the point where it makes you wonder why they bothered. Interestingly enough the recorder was surprisingly audible- I don't get it.

My Experience with Efterklang was certainly limited at best leading into the show. The multitude of instruments deceives one into thinking their music is too complex to find any approachable contemporaries. They're geographical origins don't provide much in the way of clues, as much of their sound carried a more celtic vibe to it, rather than Nordic- that being said I'm entirely unaware of what (if any) qualitative parameters exist to define nordic music. Glockenspiels? No? Moving on then... It was only towards the end of their set that it became glaringly obvious how similar Efterklang is to Broken Social Scene. The interplay between piano and horn, the sporadic bursts of guitar, the whole kitchen sink approach to layering instruments together is very reminiscent of BSS work. Of course the subject matter is not nearly as morose or loathing. Efterklang certainly carries a subdued affirmation to their music; it's almost evangelical even. In this sense they also share similarities with the likes of Camera Obscura and Belle and Sebastian- it is readily apparent that the music is quite good, but it at times is a little overly sweet, to the point where you're just a little embarrassed to be bobbing your head to it.

For a group with so many diverse sounds and instruments, it became a little annoying to see so many of them constantly vying for a chance to hop on the drums. Irresponsibly almost, abandoning their current role for a chance to grab some sticks and bang on- anything really, the whole affair seemed somewhat juvenile and adolescent. One of them starting smacking the drum set with such reckless and utter abandon, that it seemed startlingly similar to the scene in 2001 where the apes discover for the first time the violent uses and applications of tools. It really seemed like he was trying to mimic such theatrics. Elsewhere, the violinist, who did just wonderful things with it, dismissed his function within the group to join in with the lead singer to add even more clashing strikes to already excessively over used snare. It didn't really add anything, and meanwhile the band member on synth at the back had to start playing digitized violin tracks. Why did they need to artificiality recreate the sound of a violin, when there was a perfectly good one on stage not being used? It was a particularly frustrating kind of redundancy. Chastising them for such practices is such a cold and sterile thing to do I realize. After all, they were having a great deal of fun and it added a level of interaction and playfulness that had the audience thoroughly engaged. I just wish it wasn't at the expense of their songs. Perhaps a more euphemistic way to describe the whole affair would be to say that their live act is not engineered for efficency. Rather it is one for pageantry and festivity. And in all fairness, it was pretty cool when members of the band started using the celling vents for an additional source of percussion; the actually got a pretty good sound out of it.

Depending on quality of the vocals one of the benefits of a band the size of Efterklang is having a large pool of backup vocals to draw from. Here the band showed one of their strongest talents as multiple times throughout all of their tracks the backup singers shifted and changed. At times it was just the man on the drums doing back up, other times the female on keyboards and the fellow on bass. At times it was just a couple, during others it was damn near all of them. Doing so created an amorphous and variable sound to their music that never got old and created a lush extra layer to the rhythm. Heather Borderick, the only female in the group had a very strong encompassing voice; at times she even manged to overshadow the lead singer Casper Clausen's own efforts.

Efterklang may not be high up there on my list of must her bands, but they put on a pretty good show at the media club. All the silliness and ineptitude of the group aside, some of their music is pretty compelling (Modern Drift in particular is fantastic). I'm not sure if their theatrics would translate as well to a larger much less intimate venue, but it seemed to fit the bill here. Even they seemed at least partly aware of some of their mannerisms I have described here. As Clausen and Boderick concluded their final song of the set, a mostly instrument free, achingly slow duet, Clausen raised his arm ready to hammer on the snare once more. Instead he lightly tapped a single key on the piano, creating the faintest of blips. A nice touch.

The Walkmen and The National at the Malkin Bowl

My night started off poorly when my memory relapse resulted in myself being trapped within a Malkin Bowl sans the beer kiosk. A blurry combination of false mental images and inflated hopes and dreams had deceived me into thinking once through the threshold I would still have access to a tasty beverage. Alas, this was not meant to be. And I was all out of vitamin water.

On a decidedly more relevant note, I was not the only one who made an egregious miscalculation. For a great deal of the attendants on that mercifully warm fall day, failed to realize that they ceremony they were soon to bear wear witness to was not just The National, but The Walkmen as well. Nearly an hour and half late and we were only a couple rows behind some accommodatingly diminutive people, and just to the right of center stage- a good angle for all the tambourine to come. This was even after a longer and more indecisive than usual foray into the t shirt kiosk. If I wasn't so smitten with my current proximity to the stage, I might have been more vocal about my surprise regarding the scarcity of the populace. Didn't everyone there know who The Walkmen were? Were they not inundated with excitement? This wasn't some local group that got lucky or post modern nu-wave french art house whatever band that had a single picked up on by 130bpm or Pitchfork. This was the cussing Walkmen. Further investigating into the issue yielded similarly displeasing results. While discussing the whole affair the following day with a friend, she conveyed surprise that they were even still around. Yes, The Walkmen very much continue to exist; Lisbon cam out a month ago.

Fittingly The Walkmen have always conducted themselves a such a band. Even though their body of work is increasingly vast, garnering a gluttonous amount of accolades. They performed their set with out even a hint of pretension or grandeur, nary even a sentiment of their own worth. They made no fuss at all as strolled on stage, stealthily even. A great deal even failed to notice; I was even surprised when the background music disintegrated beyond any audible spectrum to be replaced by The Walkmen's stylings. Where did they come from? Beyond that, the group on multiple, even excessive occasions took the time between songs to graciously thank us all for letting them play. We weren't doing them a favour to have them here; we should be so lucky. It didn't take long for apathetic crowd to take notice and pay very close attention.

Starting with “Blue as Your Blood” off the new album, Lisbon, one thing became absolutely apparent; Hamilton Leithausers voice translates from studio to stage perfectly. His screeches, moans, swelling and bellowing wails were just as they sound on the albums. No inferior audio equipment to distort or obscure it, no post production trickery that they failed to replicate here. It was damn near perfect. This is not to say it was some hollow facsimile of the groups studio work- it certainly carried the weight and echo of a voice right in front of you bursting through a tower of speakers. So often at a show, a singer's voice, will seem muted, stale, in need of some mixing and balancing; specificaly such wonders that the live stage will not afford. His grating, cacophonous slurs needed no such adjusting.

I recently said that The Walkmen's music was becoming less and less aggressive and delving further into a mellow contemplative template. Those with a remedial knowledge of the group who attended the show would no doubt disagree with me- and rightly so. The band certainly picked the most energetic and intensive samplings of recent albums. Tracks including “Angela Surf City” and “Juveniles” which I can comfortably assess as the best tracks of the new album. Oddly they choose to omit “Stranded” their first single and probably most emblematic of the bands new direction from the night. Did they not have a horn player? Surely their reasoning was more than logistical obstacles. I won't go as far as to say I was bothered by it, just a little surprised. Nevertheless, even songs that were preformed with a modest amount of gusto and a moderate tempo on the album, were put on display with a raw fiery urgency. On “Juveniles” in the album, when Leithauser says “You're one of us or one of them” he is surely trying to convince us; on stage when he said it, he was desperately and achingly pleading to us. I'll refrain from going as far as to say he was screaming, but he definitely stepped up the vocal fidelity.

To continue, The Walkmen played a very good set, wisely picking the strongest tracks off of You & Me such as “In the New Year” and “Canadian Girl”. Sometimes there's no better way to fall in love with a song than to be forced to hear it live. I never gave “On the Water” much more than a second listen; hearing it on stage resulted in a swift and illuminating epiphany. But they failed miserably in the one area requisite to make it a great set; they didn't play “The Rat”. How the hell could they not play “The Rat”? I can only imagine the adrenaline bleeding fury of seeing that song live; that's right, I can only imagine. Actually they didn't play anything off of Bows and Arrows which was also more than a little distressing. On a more optimistic note, they did play “We'd Been Had”. I had completely forgotten about that song. I no longer retain the reference points within my own memory as to when or at what point in my life I played that song constantly like a beat on repeat, so it was hazy, albeit pleasant trip down my own nostalgic corridors. The Walkmen did themselves justice on stage, bolstering their own worth with a very wisely constructed set list- mostly.

As The National took stage, it was starkly apparent that unlike The Walkmen, this was a group that had gone to some length to cultivate a more specific and designed stage persona. Their seemed to be a little more pomp and circumstance to go with their entrance; one could theorize that it seemed this way in part because at this point the night had grown dark enough to accommodate something of a light show to accompany the bands introduction. Thankfully their attempt to craft a stage presence that seemed bolstered by some theatrics in no way hampered their efforts to put on a show- and a good one at that.

While relying heavily on their most recent album High Violet, they still delved a great deal into previous albums. A lengthy set window and broad body of work certainly accommodates such an approach (read- they played a lot of songs; not as long a set as Spoon earlier this year, but enough to gt your money's worth). Whereas The Walkmen broke my heart just a little when they didn't play “The Rat” it was quickly mended when The National played “Afraid of Everyone”. On the album it is haunting and macabre; performed live its down right bone chilling. If I had a caveat to preaching the song's merits its that it fizzles out in a limp and abrupt way- not so with this rendition for they extended the ending with an instrumental solo after Matt Beringer had finally run out of breath.

On the topic of running out of breath, while I may not characterize Leithauser's performance as one full of screaming, I can certainly affix such a description to Beringer. While he certainly yells on the album as much as the next disaffected existentialist, on stage he his piercingly loud and coarse. It was quite a feat that he could transition from subdued crooning to such outbursts and back and forth. Others at the show seemed to think I was too appeasing of Beringer vocals stating instead that he skirted to close to each side of the inaudible bandwidth, at times mumbling a little too far under his breath or assaulting an audiences' already strained ear drums. I liked it. Their live act consisted of a number of other slight deviations when compared to their albums- and for the better I think. Having a considerable affinity to horn sections I was delighted at how prevalent the single trumpet and trombone were in a great number of songs. Even in songs like “Blood Buzz Ohio” where a horn section is minimal at best in the studio version, it was quite prominent here. I suppose with all live acts, the bass section seems to take on a more commanding presence, but I noticed it especially with The National (it didn't really seem to be the case with The Walkmen). Songs like “Terrible Love” and “Runaway” Had a much heavier bass spine. One can't necessarily say that qualitatively makes them sound any better, but my preferences certainly were catered to. Having said that at times the band got a little to carried away and went from loud and passionate to “lets make their ears bleed”. Towards the end my friend's and my own right ear was becoming something of an apocalyptic lost cause. Granted we were pretty close to the right speaker monolith, but goddamn. Remember that scene in Star Trek II: Wrath of Khan where that parasite boars its way into Chekov's ear? Ya...

I was unable to ascertain any kind of consensus among the small pool of attendants and fans I interrogated when trying to find out which group put on the more memorable and enjoyable show. The bellicose and thundering Leithauser and The Walkman, or the volatile and draining emotional roller coaster from The National? Both acts were thoroughly satisfying, but for money, I'll give it to The Walkmen (of course, I didn't actually pay any money for my ticket).

LCD Soundsystem at the Malkin Bowl

Malkin Bowl, LCD Soundsytem, May 31

Mother nature is a cruel and venomous bitch. For those of us who saw LCD Soundsystem at the Malkin Bowl on Monday night, there is no argument on this matter. Rest assured, one day the earth will be a sterile and barren wasteland, and she won't be able to hurt us ever again; and we will be safe. To the person that insisted that it continue to rain- shut up. Miraculously, the rain stopped before the show. It appears even the elements bow to the will of James Murphy- as they should. Just to be sure, as LCD made their way to stage and began taking their positions, Murphy stepped beyond the constrictive confines of the stage and held out his hand and checked just make to sure the rain had stopped. It had; the show would go on, as if he wanted to make us worry.

As he positioned himself on stage- a mike to his a front and a tantalizingly foreshadowing cowbell to his left, the initial drum and bass beat began to take shape and blossom into something tangible and recognizable. The first song would be “Us V. Them”. It's build up is long, frustratingly so even. It bleeds anticipation, and not once but twice the song manipulates you into expecting a grand explosion of content and excitement, only to not. Of course then it does. The point here is it is an inspired way to open a show by a band that has made a career of great releases. When Murphy and associate Nancy Wang finally start wailing even those in the crowd who were casual observers of their efforts over the decade became noticeably excited. It makes one wonder if the arrangement on Sound of Silver would have benefited from opening with this not quite epic. We were all dancing, most of us in the mud; an ironic image considering the group just released a hedonistic track called “Dance Yrself Clean”.

The Malkin bowl does not afford the most advanced of set ups, insofar as a good light show is concerned. There is a modest set up of not particularly awe-inspiring lights creating a spine of sorts around the rear of the stage. It would be sufficient, as long as there was a disco ball, perched above us all. We were not expecting the chandelier of visual insanity that a Radiohead show would provide. This became almost comically apparent as the smoke machine let out its first and sadly not very impressive gasp. Even Murphy was seemingly confused by the sub par effort put forth by the ailing an aging machinery. He was no doubt faking it. The rest of us were generally surprised when we realized the murky cloud was aimed so precisely towards that disco ball that hadn't begun to rotate or oscillate yet. As the lights dimmed, and the rays danced their way to the metallic sphere and the resulting beams fractured and pierced their way through that initially unimpressive smoke cloud- well, it was pretty impressive it turns out.

Murphy and company segued next into their most recent single, “Drunk Girls. The initial build up was much longer, at least two, maybe three times as long. To those who had not scoured every last artifact of This is Happening, it might not have been immediately obvious as to what was coming next. These would be common themes throughout the show; anticipation and mystery. With so many songs, they would gently ease their way into the beat at such a leisurely pace that it was at times generally difficult to tell what the next anonymous drum beat would turn into. “Drunk Girls” of course became identifiable as soon as Murphy and Co opened their mouths. It's simple and fun and easily enjoyable, but to those who have seen the Spike Jonze directed video with its wonderful and imaginative vocal layering, the LP and even live version seem slightly lacking. As if it is somehow less than the sum of its parts.

Murphy was more playful and engaging with his audience than memory of past shows recall. He would often preface songs with partial monologues or anecdotes, introducing new members of the group, sharing moments from the tour so far, checking to make sure it wasn't raining again. At times he was so spontaneously charming one wonders if he had plants in the audience to work off of. For a man who claims he is too tired and exhausted to do another tour, he seems more comfortable and engaged in such a role than ever before. The other members were a treat as well. Band member David Scott Stone was one of the coolest dorks you will ever see. When he had nothing to do he grabbed some drum sticks and started flailing his limbs with utter abandon, convulsing through the sporadic bursts of smoke. He looked ridiculous and confident; he belongs in this group.

I hoped they would play “Get Innocuous”, and they did not disappoint. It's not my favourite LCD track, nor even my favourite from Sound of Silver. It is an intentionally obscuring and sterile song on the album that comes alive when performed on stage. It explodes right before you. The seemingly cold and, well, innocuous beat on the album is replaced by an equivalent rhythm comprised of roaring guitar and imposing- not laid back- synth. Its abrasively loud; startlingly so. Its important to note the analogue nature of what the group was doing. This wasn't some pre recorded set of beats or a show run from a mac book. This wasn't YACHT two years ago. They were building this stuff on stage. It was the high point of the show for me.

A lot of the important classics were played at the show, to no ones surprise. “Movement” was awesome- its always been a truncated song, so when they kept it going, it was pretty great. Everyone wanted to hear “Daft Punk is Playing at My House” and “Loosing My Edge”, but at the expense of their most recent material? Im not so Sure. It seemed like they didn't delve into a enough of their new album. That they didn't play “Dance Yrself Clean” or “Home” seems like glaring omissions. Why aren't they touring with these? “Dance Yrself Clean” rather than being relegated to the side lines should be marketed as an anthematic icon of they're perspective on music and culture. And “Home” is easily one of the best things they've ever done. Like “All My Friends” before it, it shows how reflective, nostalgic, affected and sincere Murphy is capable of being, while still being incredibly catchy. A missed opportunity.

The initial set was concluding with “Yeah”. Some may think that ending with the same song as they did on their last tour may be slightly redundant. They likely have not seen LCD perform “Yeah” live. It is an assault on your senses. Every one of them, short of perhaps smell (sadly this was not the case for me as I was uncomfortably close to a feral pack of shirtless neon e-tards and their... aroma). Nevertheless, all restraint exercised by the band was cast away- they knew they'd get a break soon. Remember the aforementioned modest light show that was patched together? It blossoms into an incendiary display of lasers and strobes that was sure to cause an epileptic seizure or two. It was pretty neat. Good thing it was a 7 minute long track as it was an experience you wanted prolonged. Think of the part at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey; it goes on for ever, and everyone loves it. “Yeah” yielded a similar, albeit more cathartic and spastic experience. It was visceral- this is a song less about content and more about delivery anyways. Which is to say it was awesome.

The interlude between the first set and the encore was brief, thankfully. Again, as opposed to diving right into a song, they instead prolonged one pulsating not quite entirely constructed beat so as to leave the crowd guessing for a moment. Eventually it would become apparent they were playing “Someone Great”. No one will argue the genius of this song, however something appeared to be lost in translation when performed live. The point of this song is that its subject matter is so difficult to approach that Murphy does so from a detached and distanced position. When performed live, without the sterilizing, robotic nature that post production applies to Murphy's voice that detachment is gone. The song takes on too much of an organic quality which weakens its thematic punch. It seems inverse to many of the other songs they performed, but here we are.

As the show drew to a close, LCD ended it the only way they could, with “New York I Love, But You're Bringing Me Down”. How did they ever end a show before Sound of Silver? “New York I love You” was designed to be performed live. Its slow, quiet, contemplative build up creates an atmosphere allowing you to reflect on what you'd seen throughout the night. This of course does not last as they let loose one final cacophonous roar just to make sure we were still paying attention. Normally this would be it but by now we were all aware of the New York/ Empire by Jay Z mash up they had been doing on the tour. It was simple and brief, but a nice touch; anything that gives Nancy Wang another chance to sing is always welcome. It was a high point to a show with many. The band is as tight as ever, and though Murphy claims to grow tired of the scene, he and his crew are still able to create as vibrant and unique a soundscape as ever. Then it started raining again.