The Horrors are a Neil Gaiman dream of a rock band:
all tailored black trench coats and blazers and toothpick-skinny slacks
and improbably giant black hair, like human Q-tips had been used to
clean all of London’s sootiest chimneys. They’re a sharp-looking
bunch—one of their T-shirts is just a picture of a
stylish-looking low-cut boot; and sure enough, the band members whose
shoes I could spy were all wearing gleaming black leather boots or
dress shoes. Last Tuesday at Neumos, lead singer Faris Badwan
alternately brooded and paced around the stage, hung from the
microphone like a coat on a rack, or shook like the mic had suddenly
started shocking him—often, at climactic moments, he would throw
his arms out toward the crowd like he was casting a spell.
Who-/whatever funds their shoe shopping has also laid out for some
pretty nice, you know, musical gear—all the usual, plus an
impressive array of synthesizers and a pedal board roughly the size
of my apartment. It all gets put to good use crafting the band’s
shadowy shoegaze sound, which in concert tended to be slightly more
raucous and less restrained than on record, some subtleties sacrificed
in favor of a more overpowering sonic assault.
The echoing carnival organ riff and buzz-saw guitars of “Who Can
Say” sounded great, as irresistible as on record, whereas “New Ice Age”
just sounded overbearing and blunt. “Mirror’s Image” was good and
haunted, especially Badwan’s vocals, but some of the engrossing
interplay between the upper-fret bass lines, the smeared guitars, and
the insistent keyboards got lost in the live translation. I can’t
recall if I heard them play “Three Decades,” but if they did, it was
with something less than the awesome My Bloody Valentine–echoing
guitar sheen of the recorded version. Overall, I prefer the band on
record; the live show was leaving me cold enough that I split at the
first sign of a slow song. (I understand I missed a cover of
Suicide’s “Ghost Rider”—damn—and presumably also their
set-/album-closing motorik epic “Sea Within a Sea”; I’m listening to
the latter on headphones while writing this, and it sounds just
great.)
A word about the crowd: I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen so
many goths intermingling with odd, colorful club kids. All these
NME readers coming out of the woodwork/bat caves! Well
done, Seattle.
As for opening act Japanese Motors, the Vice
Records–signed band’s T-shirts advertise them as “sun-bleached
garage pop from California.” Eh, okay. Plenty of
thatstuff around these days, but Japanese Motors do
it in a manner that’s entirely unconvincing. Like if washed-out
surf garage weren’t happening right now, they’d switch to the next
thing without skipping a beat—no crime, but you didn’t get much
of a sense of investment. Add to that the fact that they were such
bright, sunny daylight to the Horrors’ night, and it made for a rather
blah opening act. Best thing I saw them do was a cover of Wire’s
“Outdoor Miner,” complete with Blur-ry British accent. 