You were My God in High School

I'm still moving to wordpress folks...but will continue posting here in the meantime. The Irish round-up is nearly ready, so that will be up tomorrow. In the interim here is a review of Deerhunter in Andrew's Lane Theatre t'other night.

Deerhunter: ALT

Phrases like “sweat box” and “sausage factory” are being bandied back and forth about the ridiculously large, mostly male, and mostly damp crowd down to check out Deerhunter in Andrew’s Lane Theatre. At a time when some of their contemporaries are seeing undersold gigs and tickets being slung around the place in giveaways, the level of devotion evident in Deerhunter’s Irish fanbase tonight is impressive. In recessionary times, it appears that a bit of consciousness-obliterating white noise is yer only man. And for the most part, Deerhunter bring the noise.

Not only that, but before their encore, eccentric front man Bradford Cox throws in an uber-weird monologue about dead babies and censorship for good measure. God knows what he is talking about. The normally implacable bassist Josh Favreau – who looks like Pacey from Dawson’s Creek gone off the rails on valium - doesn’t seem to know either, judging by his impatient glances and raised eyebrow. It’s an awkward interlude, but it’s quickly obliterated by a killer encore that ends in a pulverising version of ‘Calvary Scars II’, an epic song about Bradford imagining himself as a crucified Polish boy at a Gorgoroth gig. By the time this twelve-minute, feedback riddled, sonic assault concludes, the audience members up front can go home and confidently tell their mates they know how a goose must feel when it gets sucked into the rotors of a Boeing 747 jet engine. That’s the crowd up front, though. Unfortunately, it’s a different story nearer the back.

It seems that as one moves further from the front of the crowd there is an exponential drop off in sound. During a rare lull in the set, I squeeze toward the back to stand nearer a mate of mine. The difference in acoustics is remarkable - like listening to the band from the inside of a fish tank. Deerhunter are playing a blinder, but what is layered and dense a few rows ahead, sounds shot through, formless and mangled. What is to blame? The shape of the venue? It’s P.A? Either way, punters toward the back hear a bit of a mess. Which is a shame; because, in spite of looking a little disengaged at times, Deerhunter are thunderously tight.


What stands out most during the gig is how muscular their music sounds in a live setting. Deerhunter are often described as shoegaze revivalists but in truth that description sits easier with Cox’s and guitarist Lockett Pundt’s expressionistic and floaty solo material. The real engine that drives this band live is a German ‘70s model. All their big songs are delivered over a clanging motorik rhythm section that never misses a beat and creates a sensation of perpetual forward motion. The band are driving the crowd headfirst into a storm, and judging by contorted and upturned faces near the front it’s a blissful experience for some. Strangely though, one of the songs that best exemplifies the band’s Krautrock motor – ‘Nothing Ever Happened’ – seems to lose something tonight. The speakers struggle with the nebulous high end guitars and the suspension of disbelief is shattered. It isn’t a hurricane after all, just guitar noise coming through equipment not made for this sort of thing.

No matter, over the course of a long set there are plenty more thrills. Tellingly, the bands faces flicker into life when they get a chance to air material from their new EP and ‘Famous Last Words’ in particular is a pounding revelation. You can add to that a visceral rendition of that primal scream of a song ‘Flourescent Grey’, a bone-chilling ‘Cryptograms’ and more droning, nervy, wigged-out music than a young John Cale could shake his cello at. A success.

Ian's review is up Here