The Suffolk
Despite a minimal little stage setup that fused with the trickling-in audience, Glasser aka Cameron Mesirow, lately an LA-NY dual citizen, put on a wonderful, engaged and engaging show of songs from her EP Apply and what I assume to be a forthcoming full-length release on True Panther Sounds (please!!!) Glasser may love effects, but her voice is powerful and original and those little yelps on "Apply" sounded even more gem-like live than inside headphones.
Cymbals Eat Guitars
self-titled Showcase
Le Poisson Rouge
This was a better venue for Cymbals Eat Guitars, who played the Club Europa-like Santos Party House two nights earlier and there, seemed kind of obscured by the club's drunken fog of fun. Here, Joseph Ferocious and friends were bathed in beautiful lights, a large and attentive audience, and better acoustics. Fittingly, the band seemed tighter and calmer, but as always, mighty loud. This is not subtle stuff, so it was just as easy to get a sense of and appreciate Cymbals' intricate, jittery rock at Santos as it was here.
Phantogram
Music Hall of Williamsburg
This Saratoga Springs male-female duo visually reminded me of Handsome Furs, with the bob-haired Sarah Barthel leaning studiously over a keyboard and Josh Carter controlling the guitar. But Barthel shares vocal work with Carter, and together they're reminiscent of Chris Cornell's dark and vertiginous solo work and Blonde Redhead's soothing and sad 23. The visuals were beautiful, alternating from splotchy, bacteria-like patterns to a dolphin swimming through water and the seizure-like perspective of a fast-moving car.
The xx
Music Hall of Williamsburg
I felt some kindred British pain for The xx this week after it looked like the press had decided the 20-year-old Londoners had been overhyped, because their music is such a perfect recreation of the city's nagging, comforting, unquittable, unforgettable hold on its residents. But hey, it's not for everyone (neither is the city). The atmosphere of this utterly sexy, understated, brooding pop debut got under my skin fast. On stage, it ignites and burns slowly.
Romy Madley Croft (top), who co-lead sings with bassist Oliver Sim (above), is undeniably the maestro, but she and Sim have a fascinating (and, yes, understated) chemistry that consists of knowing glances, patient observation and perfectly in-sync monophony (more understatements; these guys don't care much for vocal harmonies). It turns out the pair has known each other since childhood, but just try and guess what kind of relationship they have and how it plays into their melodies and lyrics. Part of the joy of The xx's music lies in that guesswork.
I also reviewed this show for Spinner.
School of Seven Bells
Music Hall of Williamsburg
As much as I love this trio, mood-wise, it was a strange transition from The xx to School of Seven Bells. The new songs sound more chaotic and Secret Machines-y than their debut, but it's too early to really get a grasp of them. Last night the ladies seemed to be suffering from too-quiet vocal mics, but most of the songs sounded stronger and neater than at previous shows I've seen. I think it's partly the venue. MHoW has solid acoustics, even for this band's noodly, high-altitude cavorting.
