A certain three
When we walked into Mercy Lounge last Thursday night for Blonde Redhead, it wasn't even 10 p.m., but sole opener Pantha du Prince was already almost done with his set of washy electronics, and the room was already completely full — of fog, that is.
As if to emphasize that the band has recently taken a cue or two from arty Swedish duo The Knife, Kazu Makino appeared onstage in a hood and a large mask adorned with what looked like ... tusks? Made of blonde wig-hair? It was hard to see exactly, but in any case that didn't matter much. Once she started singing, she could have been wearing a Christine O'Donnell T-shirt and Juggalo make-up, and we wouldn't have cared — her voice sounds like it's everywhere in the room and is amazing.
For most of the set, Makino and her twin brother bandmates Amedeo and Simone Pace (who were also joined by a keyboard player on some songs) stayed to the ethereal, electronic and shoegaze-y end of things. They hardly said a word between songs, but when Makino said, "Thank you," someone yelled back, "Thank you for playing Nashville!" — a sentiment we wholeheartedly approve.
We can count on one hand the number of songs they played at this show that they also played the last time we saw them. The reason people still pay to see Blonde Redhead is that they are simply a great band, with an onstage chemistry that transcends catalog. That said, the catalog is awfully good: In particular, "In Particular," with its string-tickling guitar riff, got quite the ovation, and deservedly so. While we genuinely like the newer stuff and the blippy-bloopy electronic percussion, songs like "Melody for a Certain Three," which opened the too-brief encore, reminded us that this is also a band with serious rock chops. We kind of wish those had been on display a bit more — and we were secretly holding out hope for "Bipolar" — but we are definitely not complaining. Even listening to a bunch of people argue about U2 on the balcony afterward couldn't snuff our glow.
Talk of the town
Up until JEFF the Brotherhood got booked as an opener for Die Antwoord, How I Became the Bomb opening for Girl Talk was one of the strangest local support choices we had heard this year. We're fans of Jon Burr and his cronies, but when we think "frenetic DJ dance party," we don't go straight to "Devo-inspired dandy-wave."
At an outdoor stage set up between 12th & Porter and Mai, the Bomb went on a little after 9 p.m. Sunday night, costumed as a jester, Pagliacci, a bearded lady, a cartoonish muscle man and (of course) a P.T. Barnum-style ringleader. Most people we spoke to didn't know there was going to be an opener, and most of the crowd wasn't dancing, but a handful of people seemed to be into their very un-Girl-Talk-y ways.
The downtime between sets gave us an opportunity to play that favorite of seasonal people-watching games — Halloween or Hipster. Anybody wearing headbands, feathers, captain's hats or makeup that wasn't Halloween-y went straight to the latter category. Sexy R2-D2, chubby Jack White and the laundry basket were probably costumes. The two full bands' worth of '80s hair metal dudes could go either way.
Eventually, Girl Talk came onstage in a Freddy Krueger mask to start a show that never paused or hesitated. Here's the thing about Girl Talk shows that people don't always understand: You're not going to see Greg Gillis press play on iTunes and sit back. The samples are extended, the songs lose a few ounces of their schizophrenia, and he isn't afraid to try something new. He even kicked in a "Monster Mash" sample. Festive!
By the end of the night, Girl Talk had sprayed us with fake blood, covered us in toilet paper and transformed the crowd into a mass of frothing, howl-at-the-moon maniacs. We can all disagree about whether or not Gillis' music is worth listening to past its initial novelty value, but it's hard to argue with his results. In an ideal world, we'd be at a GWAR show on Halloween, but Girl Talk wasn't a terrible substitute.
If you want to know if we want you to, we probably don't want you to. But go ahead and email thespin@nashvillescene.com.
