Chromeo at Masquerade (Atlanta, GA)

What do you get when you combine a tall and skinny Canadian Jew named Dave 1 with a short and tubby Canadian Arab named P-Thugg?  No, this isn’t one of those jokes about guys who walk into a bar, although it could be.  Rather, it’s the self-described “only successful Arab/Jewish partnership since the dawn of human culture”: Chromeo.

This electro-funk duo is so damn lovable—from their sitcom-esque disparities to their earnest lyrics to their catchy melodies to the palpable sense of enthusiasm they exude on stage—that one simply cannot have a bad time at one of their concerts.  Even if the venue is devoid of air-conditioning on a particularly sticky night in Atlanta, and the people around you smell like they made a group decision that deodorant may cause cancer and should not be worn.   

At Masquerade on Thursday evening, after a bout of similarly endearing and surprisingly great white-boy soul from opener Mayer Hawthorne, it was time to get the party started.  The crowd—a diverse group of everyone from the polo-wearing UGA contingent to the ATL scenesters to the highly enthusiastic 50-something lady who was getting her groove on right next to me (this review is dedicated to you, madam!)—was visibly amped, diving into the “CHRO-ME-O, OHHHH-O” chants the moment the stage crew brought out the light-up leg keyboards. 

Finally, the impressive array of colored lights began to flash, and the duo emerged, dressed in outfits (Dave 1 in tight-fitting skinny jeans and Wayfarers; bearded P-Thugg in an open vest with his Buddha belly proudly spilling out of it) that only intensified their resemblance to non-evil versions of Aunt Spiker and Aunt Sponge.

What followed was an all-out electric funk-fest, with Dave 1 schmoozing it up on guitar and vocals and P-Thugg unabashedly voiceboxing and synthesizing up a storm.  From “Needy Girl” to “Tenderoni” to “Momma’s Boy” to “I’m Not Contagious”, the duo rocketed through a catalogue of greatest hits from their three LPs (2004’s She’s in Control, 2007’s Fancy Footwork, and 2010’s Business Casual) and had the whole crowd dancing throughout.  They paused only to deliver a heartfelt tribute to their friend and peer, the recently deceased DJ Mehdi, with whom they worked on the song “I Am Somebody” a few years back.

The show ended with a shower of silver confetti, which seemed perfectly designed to coat our sweaty bodies in Dalmatian spots of glittering mylar.  A successful evening, indeed.


Review and Photos by Hilary Cadigan

Manu Chao at Masquerade Music Park (Atlanta, GA)

By Rob Royall

Manu Chao, on his La Ventura tour, made his Atlanta debut on a perfect night at Masquerade Music Park last weekend. The French-born, Barcelona-dwelling musician has been lighting up crowds with his latin-reggae-ska-punk amalgamation in Europe and South America since the 1980s with bands Mano Negra and Radio Bemba Sound System. Only in the last decade has he begun to achieve recognition in the U.S., highlighted by appearances at festivals like Coachella and Bonnaroo. Word has gotten out that he puts on one of the best live shows around, and on this night, the crowd appeared well-informed.

With a setting sun on the city's skyline as the backdrop, The Masquerade's back yard music park made the perfect venue for the night's performances. The crowd of a few thousand was treated to an upbeat opening set of roots reggae from local outfit The Rocksteady 5. It was a good primer for what was to come.

It should be noted to those who know Chao's studio albums -- but have never seen him live -- that these are two vastly different experiences. His albums may inspire you to go relax by the pool, while his concerts may inspire you to start a revolution. While Chao's multilingual lyrics are full of left-wing politics, it's more the emotion of the performance that gets people moving. The band came out and immediately got the crowd hand-clapping to a groovy reggae number. The feel-good mood quickly turned to feel-great when they abruptly transitioned into speedy ska punk, replete with fist pumping, chanting, and call and response. This slow-fast-slow-fast formula became the norm for the entire show, as the band never settled for long into any style. Over and over the crowd was wooed by soothing, acoustic guitar-driven world music, then worked right back into a fervor by the pounding rhythm section and racing guitars.

Radio Bemba Sound System has been known to include as many as 12 members on stage, including horns, keyboards, and accordion. But, backed by a stripped-down group of only bass, drums, and lead guitar, Chao was more than able to flex some muscle and make the show feel bigger than it was. This was aided by great stage presence, with all band members singing/chanting along, and the awesome guitar work and oft-cartoonish showmanship of sideman Madjid Fahem. Chao himself showed no signs of being 50 years old, while jumping around stage shirtless for most of the night and frequently beating the mic on his chest.

The crowd was appreciative and enthusiastic throughout and were responsible for one of the show's true highlights. During one particularly energetic song, a handful of fans made it up onto the stage and began hopping around and hyping up the band. Predictably, security made an effort to remove these guys from the stage until Chao motioned to them that it was OK. This led to upwards of 30 other people deciding they should join, and the band only played louder and faster, enthused by the onrush and the encouraging cheers of the rest of the audience. This lasted approximately 10 minutes and was a great show of kinship between a band, its loving fans, and a cooler than expected security crew.

Shortly after, the band left the stage, but they quickly returned for a long encore that left the audience more than satisfied. The group may have a tendency to repeat its best elements too often throughout the show, and would benefit from the more varied sounds other instruments offer, but nonetheless give an unforgettable performance. It is clear that Manu Chao and his band love what they do, creating an infectious quality that helps make this and any of his tours a can't miss. 

Glitch Mob at Masquerade 7/15/11

By Hilary Cadigan

FLASHING FLASHING LIGHTS LIGHTS BASS BASS BASS.

If you asked me for a seven word review of The Glitch Mob’s show at Masquerade in Atlanta this past weekend, that would be it.  Unfortunately, my actual word count requirement is a bit higher than that, so I will try to dig through the layers of glowing, pulsating bliss to eke out a slightly more comprehensive account of Friday’s extravaganza. Here goes.

With their seemingly effortless ability to hit a genre-defying sweet spot between hard-hitting hip-hop basslines and cinematic electronic noise, Glitch Mob has created their own brand of raucous dance music with a metallic edge, a more sophisticated precedent for the ubiquitous Dubstep scene that reigns today.

Since 2006, this Californian trio (formerly a quartet—founding member “Kraddy” left the Mob behind in 2009 due to “creative differences”) has been burning up dance floors and blowing minds at clubs, music festivals, and underground raves across the globe.

On stage at Masquerade, after a mysterious last-minute venue changeover from King Plow Arts Center in Westside, the evening began with two perfectly selected openers to get the crowd warmed up in doses.  First came chillwave wunderkind Com Truise, who we unfortunately just missed.  We arrived just as New York-based trip-hop duo Phantogram took the stage, masterfully melding the woozy, haunting vocals of keyboardist Sara Barthel with scratchy-smooth melodies and mesmeric beats.  My only complaint about this performance was for the sound guy—the vocals were often drowned out by the music, which was a shame given how excellent they were.

Then, it was Glitch Mob time. Against a pulsing backdrop of multi-colored LED squares, the three DJs, “edIT”, “Boreta” and “Ooah”, collaborated behind three individual turntables bedecked with their trademark LED light squiggles.  And, from there on out, it was a non-stop dance party.

Glitch Mob had the crowd simultaneously entranced and unable to stand still as the unstoppable trio churned out a seamless sequence of back-to-back gems, from the industrialized groove of “Animus Vox” to the orchestral bleeps and blips of “Fortune Days” to the grand whir and boom of “Drive It Like You Stole It”. The set list, comprised almost entirely of original material, included the majority of their latest album, this year’s excellent Drink the Sea.  And when the Mob did venture outside of their own catalogue, the results were nothing short of spectacular—an explosive rendition of “Seven Nation Army” had the whole crowd screaming and stomping along.

All in all, a seriously great evening. I only wish it could’ve lasted longer.

Crystal Castles at Masquerade (Atlanta, 9/8/10)

In May, indie-electro duo Alice Glass and Ethan Kath, aka Crystal Castles, released their second LP. It was named, in a typical show of studied apathy, Crystal Castles (II).

I loved it less that Crystal Castles (I), but not very much less. Ultimately, the album proved, like most successful sophomore efforts, unafraid to grow away from the greatness of its predecessor, with that natural ease toward tranquility that tends to come with age. Here, while the happy mix of distortions and syncopations remain, the jagged Atari sounds of their earlier material give way to a new kind of intricate yet hypnotic layering. See: "I Am Made of Chalk," which closes out the album by distilling all the noise into a strange and haunting lullaby of electronic cooing noises reminiscent of baby animals communing with mom animals on Planet Earth. Which is nice.

But, as suggested by the above photograph, at a Crystal Castles concert we do not have these moments of stillness—not once, from opener “Fainting Spells” to second encore “Yes No,” a B-side followed by Glass stalking off stage, as she always does. Don't worry, Alice hasn't grown up. Or if she has, she's not letting on. There was, in fact, a notable sameness between this and pre-2010 shows—they actually played more old stuff than new, but it didn't feel stale.

There's something boldly satisfying in the way CC forces us to work through their electric blankets of curdled noise to get inside the delicious beats underneath. The flailing limbs flailed on through “Courtship Dating” and the spastic shrieks of “Insectica” (featuring a rare moment in which Ethan stepped out from behind his turntable to rock out on the guitar), before accelerating into the double-time, double- spastic wilderness of “Doe Deer,” the ironically-titled sonic translation of a rabid monkey gang-bang.

And while I remain decidedly un-thrilled by the synthy, syrupy futurepop of inexplicable single “Celestica,” it did function better live—providing slight reprieve from the pounding without breaking anyone’s momentum. But "Celestica" pales in comparison to a song like “Baptism” (which I'd like to label the shoulda-been single of Crystal Castles [II]), when the itchy noise blanket is suddenly stripped away to reveal a deliciously clean and catchy techno beat that feels at once classic, rare, and totally rewarding. This, my friends, is something to shake your shit to.

The middle of the show was one big delicious soup of popular favorites from 2008, including “Crimewave,” “Untrust Us,” and of course, “Alice Practice, ” proving perhaps that ultimately, for all their ‘tude and grandeur, Crystal Castles is here to give us exactly what we want. Ethan stoically pumps out the jams in his hoodie while Alice, with kohl-rimmed cat eyes and an entirely black ensemble, shrieks and thrashes amidst an epileptic wash of strobe lights, repeatedly stage-diving into the sweaty sea of limbs below.

As the tired-looking security guards snatched up less-famous crowd-surfers washing up from the aforementioned sea, we on the floor bounced in unison until those achy old floorboards felt like they'd cave in. We watched transfixed as Alice danced atop the drum set and slugged down what I’m pretty sure was a bottle of whiskey onstage. And it’s not like we didn’t know she’d do these things, but we really do love the way she does them. Yeah, she can be a bit of a turd sometimes—from snubbing Texans to pirating blog art to punching Spanish security guards in the face—but for some reason the lady remains, in my eyes, utterly forgivable and totally bad-ass. 

Maybe it’s because she’s Canadian.

Review and Photos by Hilary Cadigan

Yeasayer (Masquerade, Atlanta 4/6/10)

At Masquerade on Tuesday, Brooklyn-based indie-rockers Yeasayer propelled their already fantastic repertoire into something even greater, striking a fine balance between earnest sincerity and playful gratification. With both vocalists dressed in jumpsuits—Chris Keating in monochrome, Anand Wilder in multicolor—and a backdrop of large vividly colored cubes of ever-shifting light, the band’s fun-filled vibes had the sold-out crowd keyed up and eating out of the palms of their hands throughout their short but powerful set. Case in point: the guy next to me who kept chanting, “this is THE BEST show I’ve EVER SEEN.” There was more than one moment when the floor was literally shaking so hard I thought it was going to cave in, and I probably would have gone down cheering if it had. 

With a particularly funkified rendition of murky opener “The Children,” Yeasayer quickly set into motion an energetic sequence of feel-good sonic confection, including upbeat and unsinkable crowd favorite “Ambling Alp” (word of wisdom: check out the music video, it’s insane and filled with nudity).   The guys played the entirety of 2010’s synth-heavy, dance-friendly sophomore gem Odd Blood, smoothly interspersed with hits from their first album, the gorgeous, genre-bending masterpiece All Hour Cymbals, as well as winning Dark Was the Night contribution “Tightrope.”

Photo Credit: Guy Aroch

Yeasayer reached that utopian middle-ground that few live acts master, staying faithful to their quirky recordings while bringing a special kind of freshness to the show that makes concertgoers feel like their experience is unique.  There was nothing contrived in each band member’s motley form of infectious enthusiasm—Keating jolted and swayed and smiled and closed his eyes as he crooned into the mic; Luke Fasano seemed ready to get up and dance as he beat away at the drum set; Wilder and bassist Ira Wolf Tuton played their instruments like extensions of themselves, completely focused and completely at ease in the stratifications of sound they were producing.  The guys didn’t need to resort to any kind of gimmicks or over-the-top stage antics—they had nothing to prove but everything to show why they’re a band worth following.

The set concluded with a short and sweet encore twofer that featured buoyant, synth-drenched Odd Blood closer “Grizelda” followed by the haunting percolations of All Hour Cymbals’ more organic-sounding “Sunrise.”  These two tracks stood well together, both layering sinuous vocally-driven melodies over snappy polyrhythmic syncopations. 

Like that of many bands, Yeasayer’s compositions have evolved into a decidedly more synthesized realm—sometimes to the point where you miss their more tribally-minded beginnings—and yet the artful progression and sheer exuberance of the band’s live performance proved to me that they are not only aware but in control of their own transitions, and far from selling out.  The passion exhibited by every individual onstage coalesced nicely into an overall sense of mutual respect, both between band members and between band and audience.  Further proving their down-to-earth charm, the guys actually came down and hung out with fans at Masquerade’s modest little bar after the show.

Continually compared to more well-known indie-rocking peers MGMT, perhaps due in part to the timing of their respective 2007 debuts, Yeasayer outshined the latter by a long-shot, cutting the patronizing bullshit and inexplicable resentment that MGMT tends to bring to their own lackluster performances and replacing it with hard work, humility, and a whole lot of enthusiasm.  In other words, whereas MGMT makes you kind of hate them after seeing them live, an encounter with Yeasayer just piles on more reasons for unconditional love. 

Review by Hilary Cadigan