The Decibel Tolls

I believe that, technically, Atlas Sound is the headliner, but I’m treating this show as if Broadcast was. I love both artists, obviously. However, Bradford Cox, to quote The Spirit of Truth, makes his “ass very available,” whereas Broadcast hasn’t been around in a minute. So for me finally seeing Broadcast, after being a huge fan for six or seven years, is quite huge. They were also the primary motivation for making the three hour trek up I-71. I’m pleased to report that the goods were thoroughly delivered.

Opening was The Selmanaires from Atlanta. They were rad. Think of Gang Gang Dance. Now imagine a non-shitty version of Gang Gang Dance. That’s The Selmanaires. The majority of the set consisted of ambient layers by way of their Mini Korg, which eventually ascended into Mercury Rev-style ornate pop with pervasive, intricate rhythms and nasty low end. Oh, and djembes everywhere. While The Selmanaires were fairly cosmic, they do indeed like the nightlife and/or like to boogie.

One thing I really dug about the Wexner, besides being a nice college facility, was the total absence of fucking around. There was virtually no changeover time. After The Selmanaires finished up their 40-or-so minute set, the crew wheeled out the screen and flipped on the projector. The title card illuminated the screen – Winter Sun Wavelengths. And in the upper left hand corner was the Ghost Box logo, which pretty much guarantees that you’re about to see some shit. Some shit is also known as brain burning hauntological visuals from Julian House’s celestial brain.

So the Broadcast show takes a big fat page from the Wizard of Oz. Actually, spooky technicolor performance piece is a more accurate description, but for the sake of brevity, I’ll keep referring to it as “show.” Anyway, the “show” was divided, as suggested, into two segments. The first was a 20-minute, highly structured dissonant noise jam set to high contrast black-and-white visuals of opitcal illusions, eye exam cards, sine waves, and barren trees. During the epic psych slam, Broadcast was surprisingly loud. I’d put them on my top ten loudest bands I’ve seen list. Of course, their loudness is different than, say, Dinosaur Jr. Their loudness was dependent on frequencies and wavelengths that hit your ear in a very intense fashion rather than Mogwai-style pure horsepower. The permeating zone-out transmissions pulsated hard. My dome turned in to a cottonball and my balls retracted, not unlike my reaction toward My Bloody Valentine’s Holocaust Section (though Broadcast’s was less demonic).

Then, very suddenly, the barren trees faded – replaced with swirling pastels and a lead in to “Corporeal.” This was the latter half of the show. Broadcast treats their set as one long piece, so most of the songs faded into each other. After some atomic deep sea diving, we were treated to more Tender Buttons action a la “Black Cat,” as well as “Lunch Hour Pops” from Haha Sound, and… gobs of new material. It seems that Broadcast is now distinctly within motorik dream pop realms laced with the type of ambiance found on Witch Cults, meaning that the forthcoming effort(s) will be decidedly different than their pre-HaHa Sound retro-futuristic lounge as well as the glitchy IDM of Tender Buttons.

The highlight of the evening, however, was the finale. Trish Keenan strapped on a dulcimer, which is one of my favorite simple acoustic instruments. For the non-musician types, a dulcimer is a popular tool in traditional Appalachian music. It’s a rather quiet instrument, and one that you can often find with build-it-yourself kits for $30 or so. Hence, I figured we were going to get a break in the stratospheric jams and take a load off with a quiet ballad. No fucking dice. That dulcimer was amplified. Wut chu kno bout an electric dulcimer?!

This, folks, is a krautrock hoedown:

Lana put it best I think. She said something to the effect of “Band did not dick around. Girl sets up, throws up hands and cusses at the sound guy, walks on, says hello, rocks out, bumps into the mic a couple of times, gives a grateful thanks plus buh-bye, and they were out.” She also mentioned she felt “haunted,” and I’ll agree with that. This is art. Broadcast slayed it.

Atlas Sound closed out the evening. B Cox, of course, came out with some his world-famous banter while setting up. The Selmanaires returned to the stage to act as Bradford’s full backing band. I was impressed at how Cox reinterpreted his catalog for the live show. The best way to describe it would be “shoegaze Americana” or “truly cosmic American music” (a play on the Gram Parsons quotation) or “kinda like The Byrds but with more effects pedals.” Harmonica and twangy, tinty guitars were given the same amount of exposure as Deerhunter’s ad infinitum stage drones and effects pedal tweaking. It was a good time, but we had to dart shortly after “Walkabout” so we could get home before 4 a.m. and I could be at work Monday morning without being a total zombie. Besides, I love ya B Cox… but it’s fucking hard to follow up Broadcast. I mean, their live set was Old Testament. I still had crazy tinnitus ringing in my ears during Atlas Sound, ya know. Gonna miss those frequencies.

Regular readers of this blog will be familiar with my usual bellyachin’ about how my camera leaves much to be desired. However, I think the camera’s fuzziness in low light, combined with the high contrast visual element of the show, actually worked to our benefit this time. These photos, perhaps ironically, truly capture the telescopic mood of the show better than, say, a big boy camera like the Canon Rebel. I’m extremely pleased with how these turned out, considering troubles I’ve had with concert photos recently. Lana took ‘em all, so please send her some love on her Flickr page.

::: BROADCAST (a.k.a. <3 U TRISH KEENAN!!!1)

::: ATLAS SOUND