Boredoms/Lightning Bolt Show; Webster Hall, NYC July 2nd
Being that the Lightning Bolt show in Williamsburg May of last year was the best show I've ever been to, my hopes for a Boredoms and Lightning Bolt show this summer were fairly high. My friend and I got in without a hitch; I bought my tickets weeks in advance. The audience was pretty large, and many had already dutifully crowded around Lightning Bolt's setup slightly to the left of the stage.
Brian Gibson's slight washes of noise to test his pedals were greeted with howls of anticipation. Brian Chippendale left for a few minutes to snag something. Just above the duo's setup was a large, hill-shaped mirror. (The kind they put in K-Marts to scare you into not stealing.) People in the back could see the band play this way, since Lightning Bolt usually plays offstage, on the floor. A camera was also set up to show the band playing on a screen upstairs.
After small amounts of improvised noodling, bassist Brian Gibson watched Brian Chippendale return, and then the band went right into a song I didn't recognize. It was clear people up front were moving, but 90% of the people in Webster Hall were staying morbidly still. After that first song, Chippendale, the duo's drummer and "vocalist," asked if it sounded like shit. It didn't, though both the drums and the bass did sound a tad muddled. Loud enough, yes, but slightly smeared together too. I was ecstatic enough, getting to see them play again. The band ripped into "Megaghost." The melody was recognizable, but the ridiculously fast drum rolls were somehow lost in the maelstrom.
I confess I didn't go up front till the end. But that was enough. It feels wrong to not move at a Lightning Bolt show. Kind of like focusing on watching the Price Is Right while someone gives you what would be the best sex of your life (if you were paying attention). I wanted to erase the haunting image of Bob Barker from my skull. And that's what I did.
After another song I didn't recognize I yelled "Freebird!" just like last year. It's pathetic to try to recreate spontaneous moments from the past, but jokes are jokes. Lightning Bolt instead skipped and hopped right into "Captain Caveman," a song with a structure like many songs on Wonderful Rainbow, but that keeps the harder, muddier bent of the band's latest album, Hypermagic Mountain.
And then they played "Dead Cowboy." This song has one of my favorite moments from any song ever. With garbled lyrics about throwing George Bush in a pit of burning oil (God bless them) and a beautifully sharp melody about three minutes into the album version, this song seems somehow about overcoming something. (At least in my mind: the first half sounds slightly evil while the second half sounds extremely triumphant.) It's beautiful. Needless to say I did some arm raising and howling of my own.
As the band played I made my way forward through the crowd. One guy wore a Grateful Dead t-shirt, another some transparent butterfly wings. As I got close the band began the first strains of "Dracula Mountain," a song covered (infamously among Lightning Bolt fans) by Muse. Things make much more sense being close to the band at their shows. Everything moves, and that confusion mirrors their sound in the best possible way. Zapping through its wild structure, the band executed the song with the skill their fans love them for. The audience even clapped to the beat toward the end, which was different. The sound up front was also, of course, better than in the back. Brian Chippendale pounded his kit with the sticks backwards. Brian Gibson played his bass in a trancelike state.
After asking whether they still had time, the band played the title track off of "Wonderful Rainbow," a pretty little ditty that just floats around in delay heaven for about a minute. I wondered if they'd launch into "30000 Monkies" after it, as they do on the album, because that song is one of their most intense. Instead the audience began to shout for what they wanted to hear. Chippendale listened attentively, which was refreshing: no celebrity-like posturing there. I called for "Wee Ones Parade," but got shot down. I guess that song has too many peaks and valleys to be a good closer. If I had had my wits about me I would have asked for "Magic Mountain." That song's 90% hot buildup and 10% hot release. Instead, after someone whispered into Chippendale's ear and people began to shout for "Ride the Sky," I shouted for it too. It's a great song, but it's the same one they closed with in Williamsburg last year. Oh well. Being back in that place where things are wet and slick and it's familiar, being back where everyone's bodies are so tight against one another's that you feel almost like you're all in one body, being back where the sweat makes you feel like you're being born again; these few things are more than enough to last me at least another year, even if I was only back in that bliss a few minutes.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
People began filling the room waiting for Boredoms to start; their NYC show last year gets alot of praise from those lucky enough to have seen it. The time between bands was enough to survey the room. An upstairs, the main floor, the stage. The bar was in the middle of the floor, which was different. Amps hung curved like vertebrae on the sides of the ceiling near the stage. Also along the sides of the room, except on the floor, were elevated areas. People began to crowd these too.
The Boredoms' set opened with what sounded like sine waves. Yamatsuka Eye, as close as Boredoms have to a front man, held a device in each hand. His movements with the electronics created a sound that accompanied his voice coming out of the speakers. You could see the relationship, too: they lit up according to how he moved them. It sounded beautiful, and was certainly a spectacle. It's amazing how far we can take things, that he can have an instrument that makes sounds according to how he moves it. Hundreds of small lights, like stars, lit the stage's wall as he continued. Eye supposedly worships the Sun, and seeing those tiny fake stars gave me the same sense of vastness as staring up at a night sky. Then the band actually started playing.
The band's current lineup includes Yamatsuka Eye (doing vocals, jumps, thrashes, and tons of pedals, keyboards, and maybe reel-to-reel) and three drummers. One of the drummers sometimes sang or screamed: this was Yoshimi P-We, namesake and guest artist on Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. The other two drummers are ATR and Yojiro. One of these two wore a hat and glasses, appearing to be the most technically proficient of the drummers since he opened one song with hyper-fast proggy drum beats.
After the fascinating intro the first song lasted at least fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. So much about Boredoms is about building up, yet they never build to a fever pitch or have huge releases after those buildups. Instead their set would dip its toes in "meditative" right before they'd jolt you with something unexpected.
Songs were usually downtempo, rhythmic; almost minimalist in their use of repetition. Again, though, Boredoms are masters of knowing exactly when they're starting to lose your attention. Each time I'd start to absentmindedly nod and zone out Eye would jump between the three drummers, who were sitting in a circle facing one another, and that would always signal cymbal crashes or drastic tempo changes.
During one song all three drummers stood with their drumsticks pointed straight upward. Whether it's just a performance thing or not, Boredoms radiated some kind of spirituality. I don't think I'm just saying that. I'm pretty sure I could feel it.
During another song's frenzied beating Yoshimi's left stick broke, the top three quarters of it arcing gracefully through the air. A few song's later, out of nowhere, the music suddenly changed into a comfortable kick-highhat-snare-highhat typically techno type of beat. Most of the lights dimmed and two vertical lines of lights on the sides of the stage alternated from red to blue to green. I jokingly asked my friend if The Killers had just taken stage. The Killers couldn't be half that good if they tried, though: beneath the "dancey" beats were subtle spaced out noise flourishes, and toward the end of the song the bass on the kick drums got pumped way up. After things settled a bit Yoshimi took vocal duties, crooning sexy, jazzy, drawn-out vowels into her mic.
The band played three encores: one song, one song, and then a final encore of two songs. Brian Chippendale, arms crossed and smiling, admired Boredoms from the crowd. The crowd participated in a lighthearted call and response during the first of the last two. The last song in the set, I think, captured the Boredoms vibe best for me. The piece was improvised: the three drummers stood around Yamatsuka Eye, each holding timpani sticks. Silence would rule for a few moments until Eye would raise his hand to signal for cymbal washes from the drummers. The higher his hand rose, the harder they would beat the cymbals, yet just as his hand would come up he'd often let it fall. Whispering cymbals quickly built to friction and then dropped right back into silence. The drummers would lightly pull the cymbals during the silences, letting them spin like plates on top of sticks. The music made me think of flowers and things expanding outward. Like a Koch snowflake in the middle of the Sun.
If you're in NYC: http://www.deitch.com/projects/sub.php?projId=193
Brian Gibson's slight washes of noise to test his pedals were greeted with howls of anticipation. Brian Chippendale left for a few minutes to snag something. Just above the duo's setup was a large, hill-shaped mirror. (The kind they put in K-Marts to scare you into not stealing.) People in the back could see the band play this way, since Lightning Bolt usually plays offstage, on the floor. A camera was also set up to show the band playing on a screen upstairs.
After small amounts of improvised noodling, bassist Brian Gibson watched Brian Chippendale return, and then the band went right into a song I didn't recognize. It was clear people up front were moving, but 90% of the people in Webster Hall were staying morbidly still. After that first song, Chippendale, the duo's drummer and "vocalist," asked if it sounded like shit. It didn't, though both the drums and the bass did sound a tad muddled. Loud enough, yes, but slightly smeared together too. I was ecstatic enough, getting to see them play again. The band ripped into "Megaghost." The melody was recognizable, but the ridiculously fast drum rolls were somehow lost in the maelstrom.
I confess I didn't go up front till the end. But that was enough. It feels wrong to not move at a Lightning Bolt show. Kind of like focusing on watching the Price Is Right while someone gives you what would be the best sex of your life (if you were paying attention). I wanted to erase the haunting image of Bob Barker from my skull. And that's what I did.
After another song I didn't recognize I yelled "Freebird!" just like last year. It's pathetic to try to recreate spontaneous moments from the past, but jokes are jokes. Lightning Bolt instead skipped and hopped right into "Captain Caveman," a song with a structure like many songs on Wonderful Rainbow, but that keeps the harder, muddier bent of the band's latest album, Hypermagic Mountain.
And then they played "Dead Cowboy." This song has one of my favorite moments from any song ever. With garbled lyrics about throwing George Bush in a pit of burning oil (God bless them) and a beautifully sharp melody about three minutes into the album version, this song seems somehow about overcoming something. (At least in my mind: the first half sounds slightly evil while the second half sounds extremely triumphant.) It's beautiful. Needless to say I did some arm raising and howling of my own.
As the band played I made my way forward through the crowd. One guy wore a Grateful Dead t-shirt, another some transparent butterfly wings. As I got close the band began the first strains of "Dracula Mountain," a song covered (infamously among Lightning Bolt fans) by Muse. Things make much more sense being close to the band at their shows. Everything moves, and that confusion mirrors their sound in the best possible way. Zapping through its wild structure, the band executed the song with the skill their fans love them for. The audience even clapped to the beat toward the end, which was different. The sound up front was also, of course, better than in the back. Brian Chippendale pounded his kit with the sticks backwards. Brian Gibson played his bass in a trancelike state.
After asking whether they still had time, the band played the title track off of "Wonderful Rainbow," a pretty little ditty that just floats around in delay heaven for about a minute. I wondered if they'd launch into "30000 Monkies" after it, as they do on the album, because that song is one of their most intense. Instead the audience began to shout for what they wanted to hear. Chippendale listened attentively, which was refreshing: no celebrity-like posturing there. I called for "Wee Ones Parade," but got shot down. I guess that song has too many peaks and valleys to be a good closer. If I had had my wits about me I would have asked for "Magic Mountain." That song's 90% hot buildup and 10% hot release. Instead, after someone whispered into Chippendale's ear and people began to shout for "Ride the Sky," I shouted for it too. It's a great song, but it's the same one they closed with in Williamsburg last year. Oh well. Being back in that place where things are wet and slick and it's familiar, being back where everyone's bodies are so tight against one another's that you feel almost like you're all in one body, being back where the sweat makes you feel like you're being born again; these few things are more than enough to last me at least another year, even if I was only back in that bliss a few minutes.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
People began filling the room waiting for Boredoms to start; their NYC show last year gets alot of praise from those lucky enough to have seen it. The time between bands was enough to survey the room. An upstairs, the main floor, the stage. The bar was in the middle of the floor, which was different. Amps hung curved like vertebrae on the sides of the ceiling near the stage. Also along the sides of the room, except on the floor, were elevated areas. People began to crowd these too.
The Boredoms' set opened with what sounded like sine waves. Yamatsuka Eye, as close as Boredoms have to a front man, held a device in each hand. His movements with the electronics created a sound that accompanied his voice coming out of the speakers. You could see the relationship, too: they lit up according to how he moved them. It sounded beautiful, and was certainly a spectacle. It's amazing how far we can take things, that he can have an instrument that makes sounds according to how he moves it. Hundreds of small lights, like stars, lit the stage's wall as he continued. Eye supposedly worships the Sun, and seeing those tiny fake stars gave me the same sense of vastness as staring up at a night sky. Then the band actually started playing.
The band's current lineup includes Yamatsuka Eye (doing vocals, jumps, thrashes, and tons of pedals, keyboards, and maybe reel-to-reel) and three drummers. One of the drummers sometimes sang or screamed: this was Yoshimi P-We, namesake and guest artist on Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. The other two drummers are ATR and Yojiro. One of these two wore a hat and glasses, appearing to be the most technically proficient of the drummers since he opened one song with hyper-fast proggy drum beats.
After the fascinating intro the first song lasted at least fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. So much about Boredoms is about building up, yet they never build to a fever pitch or have huge releases after those buildups. Instead their set would dip its toes in "meditative" right before they'd jolt you with something unexpected.
Songs were usually downtempo, rhythmic; almost minimalist in their use of repetition. Again, though, Boredoms are masters of knowing exactly when they're starting to lose your attention. Each time I'd start to absentmindedly nod and zone out Eye would jump between the three drummers, who were sitting in a circle facing one another, and that would always signal cymbal crashes or drastic tempo changes.
During one song all three drummers stood with their drumsticks pointed straight upward. Whether it's just a performance thing or not, Boredoms radiated some kind of spirituality. I don't think I'm just saying that. I'm pretty sure I could feel it.
During another song's frenzied beating Yoshimi's left stick broke, the top three quarters of it arcing gracefully through the air. A few song's later, out of nowhere, the music suddenly changed into a comfortable kick-highhat-snare-highhat typically techno type of beat. Most of the lights dimmed and two vertical lines of lights on the sides of the stage alternated from red to blue to green. I jokingly asked my friend if The Killers had just taken stage. The Killers couldn't be half that good if they tried, though: beneath the "dancey" beats were subtle spaced out noise flourishes, and toward the end of the song the bass on the kick drums got pumped way up. After things settled a bit Yoshimi took vocal duties, crooning sexy, jazzy, drawn-out vowels into her mic.
The band played three encores: one song, one song, and then a final encore of two songs. Brian Chippendale, arms crossed and smiling, admired Boredoms from the crowd. The crowd participated in a lighthearted call and response during the first of the last two. The last song in the set, I think, captured the Boredoms vibe best for me. The piece was improvised: the three drummers stood around Yamatsuka Eye, each holding timpani sticks. Silence would rule for a few moments until Eye would raise his hand to signal for cymbal washes from the drummers. The higher his hand rose, the harder they would beat the cymbals, yet just as his hand would come up he'd often let it fall. Whispering cymbals quickly built to friction and then dropped right back into silence. The drummers would lightly pull the cymbals during the silences, letting them spin like plates on top of sticks. The music made me think of flowers and things expanding outward. Like a Koch snowflake in the middle of the Sun.
If you're in NYC: http://www.deitch.com/projects/sub.php?projId=193