Here, revenge! Would be Alt-J that have thought when it was Friday night, packed with olympics news Frost with surgical precision on the knees forced?
No, the passage of the British artrockers on the main stage of rock Werchter last summer, there was no for eternity. Tense nerves, false starts, a disinterested public and a lot of daylight, …
No, the passage of the British artrockers on the main stage of rock Werchter last summer, there was no for eternity. Tense nerves, false starts, a disinterested public and a lot of daylight, in short: a square show of the band with the ∆ symbol.
Nothing of that in Brussels, the lads from Leeds were relaxed and cheerful, though they were still not about the fighting spirit. There was that podiumopstelling again for something in between: an impressive lichtdecor with lamps that are as futuristic chandeliers around the band members draped and hung. Cool and dazzling, symmetrical and angular, as if you were in the Matrix was reached.
It is also suitable to camouflage that guitarist Joe Newman and keyboardist Gus Unger-Hamilton is not a natural born podiumbeesten. Together with drummer Thom Sonny Green were the nerdy boys there is very static, being, side by side, each on its own riser. Each song clearly worked out, seemingly without a spatter of sweat, dogged pull or step aside. A lot of inspiration, sharp as a scalpel, but sometimes devoid of soul.
The set started tightly with the cumbersome hiphopbeat, and buzzing synth bass of ‘Deadcrush’, of which Newman are afgenepen falset drapeerde. The light tight black-and-white, Frost was a spaceship with helium lurkende Bee Gees if stuurlui. Somewhere hinnikte a horse in the hallway.
Typical Alt-J: not a band that weird cornering so quickly connects with pop. Zonevreemdheid that over the past five years is also the shortest path between hype and hate uncovered. No one that is so distributed as Alt-J with his third album, last year released a Relaxer. For one, they are the new Radiohead, for the other a bunch like poseurs that unpredictability confuses with a good song.
A tribute to any band that pop challenging. But in Brussels wrestled with the brain sometimes slightly to strongly with the diaphragm. Intellectualized cut-ups in which Anna Boleyn, Truman Capote, and Man Ray emerged, were interspersed with the sex stiff standing sentences like “love is pharoah and he’s boning me” and ” in your snatch fits pleasure.’
The lecherous ‘Fitzpleasure’ drove it in katzwijm falling Frost to a climax. So danced the set more up and down. ‘Something good’ wild too much, and ‘Nara’ kabbelde in the thin, but the funny zero one one one zero zero one one’ of ‘In cold blood’ gave you a blow. A cold ‘Bloodflood’ leed to anemia, while the tropical steel drums around ‘Dissolve me’ were dancing and the sharp guitar riff that ‘Every other freckle’ the throat oversneed your heart faster did knock.
Alt-J showed himself far in the set on his weirdst with his bizarre single ‘Pleader’, a somewhat pompous ballad that the John Ford film How green was my valley covenant with kamerpopstrijkers, pastoral folkgitaren, sacred chants, and ominous synths.
The response was very lukewarm. The funny intellectual gekoketteer to the contrary, in this arena it worked: the audience wanted to dance and jump, roar, and sing along. With the raw seventiesrockriff of ‘Left hand free’, for example, or with the hot-blooded ‘Matilda’. And with the verhakkelde dadada’s of the glorious valve ‘Breezeblocks’. ‘Please don’t go, I love you so’ chanted the fans frenzied, while the probe prematurely are landing began.
Seen on 12 January at Vorst Nationaal, Brussels