A hedging of stacked tables and chairs created a suggestive vacant space at the Toff on Thursday night – a gentle ramming from behind to get us dancing. By evening’s end, however, the idle furniture had been plucked from these positions in a bid to minimise wasted space. Which isn’t at all to say that WOW and The Emergency aren’t dance-worthy, although I’m betting the meagre audience simply weren’t prepared for the onslaught of sound they were to be confronted with. I for one found myself staggering backwards into a sympathetic chair, initially struggling to absorb the apoplectic electro pop.
‘Electro punk’ might best describe the clamour that is WOW. A dramatic entrance from the Sydney duo was basically a television sci-fi climax circa 1980 (sans tin-foil). The Toff’s red curtain slowly surrendered to a heavy fog of smoke, while alien-blue lighting reveals two silhouettes standing at their respective synths: Matt Cribb and Bree Carter. An iconic apple stands glowing between them promising samples, mixes, mash-ups… something! While on paper the similarities make it tempting, don’t compare them to The Presets. I was disappointed to hear that, aside from an occasional sampling of old whodunit crime voiceovers ala Humphrey Bogart, WOW pretty much left their music to the devices of a screeching guitar (Cribb), a barely audible bass (Carter) and a whole lot of shouting. This, I guess, is their appeal. In a commotion of sirens, wailing synth and a mammoth dose of cowbell, WOW seems to evade any lazy categorization of their sound. A hint of a riff in Werewolf gives greater scope for dancing than the fit-inducing loops of No Aspirations, which left me dizzied at best. Icy Cold was clearly a stand out, harnessing an unhinged childishness from Cribb (similar to Victoria’s one-man act Muscles)which created some fantastic energy. Props for breaking footloose with that cowbell. Annoyingly, more often than not Carter crossed the ‘carefree’ zone and took a casual stroll through ‘who cares’ territory. Void of the energy needed to pull this kind of noise-music off, it wasn’t until she and her bass turned their backs to us and ambled to the back wall of the stage that she lost me entirely. This was the kind of gig I really wanted to enjoy, but… maybe it needs more cowbell?
If you want to compare Melbourne electro partnership The Emergency to The Presets, go for it. But don’t stop there. Throw in the languid vocals of Depeche Mode, a Fischerspooner rhythmic android pulse, and a little brooding sexuality from David Bowie before you call it a day. The Emergency are Milo and Morgan, and in spite of a 12” album launch they reek of humility. The Emergency boast an interesting title, contrasting with an incredibly controlled musicality; Milo’s unearthly, evocative vocals, supported beautifully by Morgan’s engaging technical solidarity. No sign of chaos here. As the ethereal electro of Something to Tell You booms into the Toff cosmos, The Emergency stand in complete concentration. So much so that I would almost believe they were manoeuvring their way through the galaxy, pinned in front of a space projection not unlike a Windows 95 star screensaver. With Shock Wave slowly shifting the audience in their seats, one by one we are moved to sway along with Morgan’s Tai Chi styling on stage. He encourages his counterpart’s impressive performance, exclaiming “Man, you’re on fire!”
In truth, they both were. Spending Time brought a little more bone to their beat, with clear funk influences spurring on the restless audience. Although at times a leaning towards loose experimental sound distortion may have detracted from their impressive foundations, The Emergency definitely staged a celestial launch.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Goldfrapp @ The Palais (26/09/2008)
Critiquing live music is always interesting. It seems the less you enjoy a show, the more you want to talk about it. Who knows why? Perhaps the best way to purge the memory in all its gory glory is to have a long winded bitch. Equally interesting is the fact that the pattern also operates in reverse: Great gig? Less to say. It makes sense, really. After all, how many times can you acclaim to your mates “It was SO awesome!”? With this in mind, it gives me great pleasure to preface that I aim for this review to be relatively short.
It has become a monstrous review-ism, but as we waited for Goldfrapp to take the stage the anticipation truly was palpable. The show wasn’t a sell-out, but a wild enthusiasm from the moderately sized audience seemed to fill the empty seats. It certainly contributed to the underground cultish vibe, which I first began to take note of when two goat masks and a giraffe head passed me in the foyer. The Palais was a perfectly theatrical venue for Goldfrapp. Strings of draping circus flags decorated the stage, which oddly enough I noticed before the pair of moose antlers raised high above a six piece orchestra. The space appeared to house something of a mediaeval celebration, accompanied by the swaying hum of bagpipes (of course…). Evidently even an empty stage can become a spectacle.
As our eyes adjust to the colourful sight, lights dim and a fanfare of applause welcomes six musicians lead by Will Gregory, each floating onto the stage in white pinafores. Following closely behind them, sporting her signature pastel pink silk poncho-sack complete with pom-poms, is Alison Goldfrapp. An ominous swell from Gregory’s violin cues the plucking of an elevated harp, and the set opens with the eerie Paper Bag; a favourite from their debut album Felt Mountain. Listening to Goldfrapp at home might have you convinced that theirs is a highly tailored, synthesized sound. You would be wrong. The precision of these musicians in a live setting is incredible, utilizing each instrument beautifully to create a uniquely imaginative result.
Soon after opening, Goldfrapp are interrupted by some minor sound difficulties which Alison extinguishes by addressing her audience, uttering “U-turn” into the mic as though it somehow explains the broken set? Good enough for me. They u-turn into another Felt Mountain venture Utopia, threatening to cast a spell over an audience who remain entirely seduced by Alison’s phenomenal soprano wailings. She stands pitched in front of a dizzying visual projection, holding firm to her microphone stand as though the storm of sound would otherwise carry her away. “We’re completely spaced out,” she shares. She was stating the obvious – the entire venue was completely spaced out. With that, the previous technical stumble was resolved and forgotten.
Pulling the plug on their spiritual vibe, Goldfrapp sucks the audience out from their suspension in space and escorts us towards the electro-pop of their third album, Supernatural, with KOKO. Again, Alison’s vocals are immaculate. She holds a kind of tormented expression as she stomps, paces and twirls on stage behind a wild mane of hair. Following through into the thumping Satin Chic, visuals of rushing lava hurtle over the musicians in blazing red and yellow light. Like a woman possessed, Alison crescendos into a fury of sound as the band deliver piercing trebles to accompany her vocals. There is something positively exorcising about the performance. In the spirit of no surprises, the audience absolutely ate it up.
It was after a short interlude of Seventh Tree releases Little Bird and Clowns that Goldfrapp seemed to think we were ready to dance, excavating their earlier rock sentiments with Number 1. Of course Alison tore it loose, void of any restraint as she worked the stage in her shiny pink tent. However it was Gregory that delivered a surprisingly stirring punch, ploughing away at his guitar and leading the classic audience clap. A blaze of white light illuminated hundreds of beaming faces.
“Do you guys know how to stand up?!” Ooh La La and Happiness keep our feet pushing on the floor for another stretch of Goldfrapp glamour-dance. It isn’t until the bass driven synth of Black Cherry’s Train that the aforementioned elevated antlers seemed to morph into a ritual animal sacrifice amongst an underground cult. The stage pulsed with sensuality fuelled by Alison’s electric performance, producing static soundwaves as she convulsed and spasmed playing with a magnetised frequency box. Although a certain childish innocence is threaded through Goldfrapp’s Seventh Tree, there can be no denying that Alison Goldfrapp hasn’t forgotten how to strut.
For an inevitable encore, Strict Machine picked up where Train left off. The performance was so hot it practically left welding sparks ricocheting around the stage. Surprisingly it was their closing song Some People which shone as a definite highlight. Alison might as well have been sitting at the end of your couch lulling you to rest, with a little help from a rolling cymbal and some angelic harmonies. Gentle purring from Will’s violin served as a parting kiss on the cheek. This one was stunning.
Well it would appear that there was plenty to say about Goldfrapp’s show. I suppose, to the detriment of my ‘measuring quality by quantity’ theory, I couldn’t help myself. It’s just that it was SO awesome!
It has become a monstrous review-ism, but as we waited for Goldfrapp to take the stage the anticipation truly was palpable. The show wasn’t a sell-out, but a wild enthusiasm from the moderately sized audience seemed to fill the empty seats. It certainly contributed to the underground cultish vibe, which I first began to take note of when two goat masks and a giraffe head passed me in the foyer. The Palais was a perfectly theatrical venue for Goldfrapp. Strings of draping circus flags decorated the stage, which oddly enough I noticed before the pair of moose antlers raised high above a six piece orchestra. The space appeared to house something of a mediaeval celebration, accompanied by the swaying hum of bagpipes (of course…). Evidently even an empty stage can become a spectacle.
As our eyes adjust to the colourful sight, lights dim and a fanfare of applause welcomes six musicians lead by Will Gregory, each floating onto the stage in white pinafores. Following closely behind them, sporting her signature pastel pink silk poncho-sack complete with pom-poms, is Alison Goldfrapp. An ominous swell from Gregory’s violin cues the plucking of an elevated harp, and the set opens with the eerie Paper Bag; a favourite from their debut album Felt Mountain. Listening to Goldfrapp at home might have you convinced that theirs is a highly tailored, synthesized sound. You would be wrong. The precision of these musicians in a live setting is incredible, utilizing each instrument beautifully to create a uniquely imaginative result.
Soon after opening, Goldfrapp are interrupted by some minor sound difficulties which Alison extinguishes by addressing her audience, uttering “U-turn” into the mic as though it somehow explains the broken set? Good enough for me. They u-turn into another Felt Mountain venture Utopia, threatening to cast a spell over an audience who remain entirely seduced by Alison’s phenomenal soprano wailings. She stands pitched in front of a dizzying visual projection, holding firm to her microphone stand as though the storm of sound would otherwise carry her away. “We’re completely spaced out,” she shares. She was stating the obvious – the entire venue was completely spaced out. With that, the previous technical stumble was resolved and forgotten.
Pulling the plug on their spiritual vibe, Goldfrapp sucks the audience out from their suspension in space and escorts us towards the electro-pop of their third album, Supernatural, with KOKO. Again, Alison’s vocals are immaculate. She holds a kind of tormented expression as she stomps, paces and twirls on stage behind a wild mane of hair. Following through into the thumping Satin Chic, visuals of rushing lava hurtle over the musicians in blazing red and yellow light. Like a woman possessed, Alison crescendos into a fury of sound as the band deliver piercing trebles to accompany her vocals. There is something positively exorcising about the performance. In the spirit of no surprises, the audience absolutely ate it up.
It was after a short interlude of Seventh Tree releases Little Bird and Clowns that Goldfrapp seemed to think we were ready to dance, excavating their earlier rock sentiments with Number 1. Of course Alison tore it loose, void of any restraint as she worked the stage in her shiny pink tent. However it was Gregory that delivered a surprisingly stirring punch, ploughing away at his guitar and leading the classic audience clap. A blaze of white light illuminated hundreds of beaming faces.
“Do you guys know how to stand up?!” Ooh La La and Happiness keep our feet pushing on the floor for another stretch of Goldfrapp glamour-dance. It isn’t until the bass driven synth of Black Cherry’s Train that the aforementioned elevated antlers seemed to morph into a ritual animal sacrifice amongst an underground cult. The stage pulsed with sensuality fuelled by Alison’s electric performance, producing static soundwaves as she convulsed and spasmed playing with a magnetised frequency box. Although a certain childish innocence is threaded through Goldfrapp’s Seventh Tree, there can be no denying that Alison Goldfrapp hasn’t forgotten how to strut.
For an inevitable encore, Strict Machine picked up where Train left off. The performance was so hot it practically left welding sparks ricocheting around the stage. Surprisingly it was their closing song Some People which shone as a definite highlight. Alison might as well have been sitting at the end of your couch lulling you to rest, with a little help from a rolling cymbal and some angelic harmonies. Gentle purring from Will’s violin served as a parting kiss on the cheek. This one was stunning.
Well it would appear that there was plenty to say about Goldfrapp’s show. I suppose, to the detriment of my ‘measuring quality by quantity’ theory, I couldn’t help myself. It’s just that it was SO awesome!
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