opens the dances of the evening at 'Init Silje Nes, shy little bird from the moors in Norway and now living in Berlin, the soft voice and graceful movements Elven, on tour for the His second album released by FatCat Rec , Opticks, and mixed by Bernd Jestram of Tarwater.
share the stage in three, she, with her and the thousands of guitar effects and pedals, a violinist / bassist and another who plays the remains of a battery, electronic percussion and a bit 'on glockenspiel and guitar.
are dreamy, sparse, dilated. A delicate blend of electronic and acoustic sounds and a fresh start that I would have gladly listened twenty-five minutes longer than the few granted.
Then she arrives, the French sailed matron, Laetitia Sadier already Stereolab. It 'hard to describe the feelings that this eclectic and charismatic woman can lavish around him. First of all, traveling alone, she and her guitar left-handed. Stark, zero effect, but humble mesmeric presence, mature voice, vibrant, intense. Working on texts in English and French (a piece dedicated to Pasolini and one that mocks Sarkozy on ) gives us his elegant melodies harmonies accompanied by thin, fine weaving curlicues that rise from the shallow depths of the notes almost contralto to the peaks of crystalline soprano sounds like a Joni Mitchell European and post-modern.
Thanks, Laetitia, because you get to the public what it means to be a woman, singer, artist, small and thick, all at once. At about 23:00 arrive
Mice Parade, breathless and late, from Turin, as we inform the same Adam Pierce , nice guy and leader of the New York band. That (being delayed from Turin) entails a grueling live sound-check to see that we have all long for forty minutes.
I am placed, as usual, in front of my favorite sub-wooferone Central, where supported, for convenience, bag, jacket and knee rotation. Adam apologized several times even if the audience assures him. I myself say, "We can wait," even if, at the fifteenth minute, I already regret my statement.
The wait, fortunately, is then amply rewarded by the wonderful performance that the six musicians give us. Double drums on stage, one for the same Adam (when not busy playing his mandolin and two guitars or sing or hit the wooden cube that doubles as a seat) and the other, of course, for Doug Scharin (God bless you, Doug, for the great, great drummer who you are) when he's not handling mixer, sounds and noises to the right or to play bass. Then there are the childlike and angelic voice Caroline Lufkin (placed in front of a Mac that probably serves to make the solitaire Mahjong between a piece and the other or even from one another and sang the same song, moments in which she timidly crouches behind the Mac in question as if the matter did not concern it more), the guitar virtuous Dan Lippel and, finally, a keyboardist / bassist and another guitarist / keyboard player. Live are unusually energetic than the sound that you hear in their latest work, What It Means to Be Left-handed , (September 2010, all FatCat Rec ) album which are running almost all the songs in random order, with times slightly faster and so much more gritty and dilated.
The elegant mix of indie, electronic, folk songwriting, African and Brazilian rhythms, during live performances, making it perfectly and leaves much more space to flamenco and a little 'post-rock.
Tonight the crowd is strangely quiet and polite. But we have to do with a new kind of fauna: the drunk-lost-such marks. The individual, of course, deployed near the stage, on my right, performs dances shaky and sudden bursts of vitality alternating slow U-turn on itself. E 'surrounded by a couple of friends, thankfully a bit' less drunk with him, who takes care of him as you would a small child: they do dance, play and embrace it. When he falls lovingly raised him up and check it is not too annoying with other people in the room. Stunning often triggers the laughter of the musicians and try to give them small grapes pulled from somewhere. Adam and Caroline politely decline. Dan, the flamenco Seicorde courageously accept some berry and if swallowed. Apparently satisfied, the tune begins to crumble, slowly and inexorably, back on the mega sub-woofer center chest.
I do just in time to lift bag and jacket and he knocks it, five inches from my knee. Nothing but a
just because it's late, it's Friday and there is the disco.
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