Review & Photos by Hilary Cadigan
I was initially surprised that tUnE-yArDs, the blissed-out brainchild of one-woman melody machine Merrill Garbus, would play in a venue as small as The Basement. Located underneath East Atlanta Village mainstay Graveyard Tavern, the venue is an awesome but small and somewhat hidden place, with little name recognition since it’s so new. However, my doubts soon proved unwarranted. In retrospect, I can’t think of a better place than The Basement—with it’s intimate size and understated allure—for what turned out to be one of the most epically wonderful concerts I’ve been to in a long, long time.
I was initially surprised that tUnE-yArDs, the blissed-out brainchild of one-woman melody machine Merrill Garbus, would play in a venue as small as The Basement. Located underneath East Atlanta Village mainstay Graveyard Tavern, the venue is an awesome but small and somewhat hidden place, with little name recognition since it’s so new. However, my doubts soon proved unwarranted. In retrospect, I can’t think of a better place than The Basement—with it’s intimate size and understated allure—for what turned out to be one of the most epically wonderful concerts I’ve been to in a long, long time.
The sold-out show began with opener Pat Jordache, a Canadian quartet whose creator/bassist, Patrick Gregoire, was once a member of Garbus’s original indie-pop outfit, Sister Suvi. Jordache’s performance was good, particularly in the percussion department, but weakened by mumbly vocals that sounded like when the guy from The Knife sings in that weird atonal way that only works when it’s sporadic and well-placed. In this case, it was neither sporadic nor well-placed, only mumbly. It distracted from the skillful melodies that almost but not quite obscured it.
However, these shortcomings only highlighted the flawlessness of what came next. At last, Merrill Garbus mounted the stage, decked out in a snug black dress with pink feathered sleeves and her characteristically asymmetrical face paint/mullet combo and fiddling with an array of microphones, instruments and wires.
The DIY set-up served as one of the many reminders that for Garbus, tUnE-yArDs is and always will be a truly solo project. Since she began writing and performing as tUnE-yArDs in 2006, she has melded unbridled creativity, brawny self-sufficiency, and undeniable talent into something utterly unique and deliciously refreshing. Her first album, BiRd-BrAiNs, took two years to create, and was self-released as a pay-what-you-can download on her website.
This year’s W H O K I L L emerged as the quintessentially perfect follow-up, and made a huge splash amongst critics and enlightened listeners alike. Despite the fact that Garbus recorded this album in a studio and added bassist Nate Brenner to the mix, the finished product preserved the untamable charm of BiRd-BrAiNs, and brought to the table an even funkier and more refined sound. It was my personal favorite album of the year, so needless to say, I had very high hopes for this show. However, I did wonder how the patchwork production of the album would translate into a live setting.
Quite perfectly, as it turns out.
From first note to final gasp, Garbus had the entire tightly-packed room in a state of elated hypnosis. Accompanied by Brenner on bass and a Blues Brothers-channeling duo that alternated between saxophone and aluminum pan banging, Garbus shone like an imperfect and thereby infinitely more fantastic Princess Odette (the lead ballerina in Swan Lake—thanks Google). Or King Midas, since everything she touched—from her drums to her ukelele to a row of glass beer bottles to the pipes hanging from the ceiling—turned to sonic gold.
From first note to final gasp, Garbus had the entire tightly-packed room in a state of elated hypnosis. Accompanied by Brenner on bass and a Blues Brothers-channeling duo that alternated between saxophone and aluminum pan banging, Garbus shone like an imperfect and thereby infinitely more fantastic Princess Odette (the lead ballerina in Swan Lake—thanks Google). Or King Midas, since everything she touched—from her drums to her ukelele to a row of glass beer bottles to the pipes hanging from the ceiling—turned to sonic gold.
Best of all, however, was her voice itself. Soulful, funky, and unabashedly eccentric, Garbus’ miraculous vocal chords can transition from a tribal howl to an earnest croon to a low pitched growl to a piercing scream in the span of about one second. Her expertise in live looping allowed her to build layer upon layer of vocals into an altogether stunning castle of sound, which would suddenly fall away to reveal the kind of self-effacing litotes that clench around your heart and jam it into your throat: “What if my own skin makes my skin crawl?”
Garbus’ true genius lies in her unending ability to build a magnificent sense of wholeness by gathering up and retaining the individual charm of a thousand sparkling pieces. Tied up in everything she does is the kind of magnetic yet humble personality that could hold a room captive even without musical talent. Barely pausing for breath after the final line of the night’s last song, Merrill announced that she’d had to go to the bathroom “soooo bad” since the beginning of the show. Then she dropped the microphone, jumped off the stage, and ran through the crowd toward the public restrooms, shouting, “I CALL FIRST DIBS!” Darling, you earned it.
