Micachu and the Shapes
Date: 28 April 2009
"If you don't like Micachu and the Shapes, you probably shouldn't have ears."
James Cartwright
Tuesday evening hits and I find myself in something of a predicament; reviewing a gig that has only just been brought to my attention with a set of bands I've never even heard of. Not for me the luxury of research; trawling through myspace examining the musical fruits of Micachu's labours, noting useless pieces of band trivia to casually reference during breaks at the bar (a nauseatingly smug habit of mine which tends to bring about waves of self-loathing). I am informationless. A brief pause before entering the auditorium allows me time to reflect on my situation; I'm in at the deep end and I don't even have my notebook and pen. Bravely I enter the gloomy confines of the venue, only certain in my uncertainty.
Thankfully my heroic persistence is rewarded from the outset. The minute that Laurel Collective scamper onto the stage a raucous cheer emanates from the crowd, loudly announcing the presence of a cult following. These East-End gentlemen play host to a super-cool club night known as the Hindenburg Mile-High Club, an event that the majority of tonight's audience have clearly attended. As they strike up their instruments, a murmur of appreciation ripples through the room and events start to take an exciting turn. Laurel Collective are trendy, really trendy. In fact, when I encounter them changing clothes in the toilet before their set I'm immediately struck by their trendiness. It's not just their look (although they definitely dress well); their sound too is deeply rooted in Hoxton, but in a good way. It is both Fela Kuti and Roxy Music simultaneously, crooning and harmonious vocals placed over tight guitar and afro-beats. Consequently I find myself dancing like a fool in a matter of seconds, a broad smile plastered across my face. I'm in good company too, the whole crowd seem to be getting into it and frontmen Martin Sakuto and Bob Tollast look like a couple of mad kids strapped into a huge intravenous drip of purest glucose. Not bad for an opening act.
Sadly, all the excitement generated by Laurel Collective is sapped by the next band. Let's Wrestle look like they might be idiots. They remind me of myself age 14, greasy, angry and inexplicably arrogant. I feel nothing but contempt for them as they make their way onto the stage, and they haven't even picked up their instruments. When they do, my worst suspicions are confirmed; Let's Wrestle can't really play music. Or write good songs. Or generate any enthusiasm in a crowd. Actually, the majority of skills that you'd expect to find any half-decent band seem to have evaded them. Let's Wrestle? Let's not.
So then to the headline act, the classically trained child prodigy and her merry band of friends. As I'm waiting for them to start their set some Nigerian disco-funk (no, really) is played over the PA and a friend informs me that this is what Micachu and the Shapes sound like, "Like this but not." I'm not sure whether this description is wholly accurate or whether it even constitutes a description, but it excites me nevertheless. I'm surprised then to see a Hoover, children's acoustic guitar and a collection of tins amongst the band's other instruments. In actual fact, what Micachu sound like is the most sublime, danceable, experimental pop ever to exist. They play with such a disparate and incongruous selection of sounds that on paper they'd seem like a joke; mixing dubstep-style synth with atonal guitar strumming and warbling vocals hardly seems like the most likely of combinations, but somehow, arguably with a great deal of talent, they make it work. And how it works. Eat your Heart and Curly Teeth have me at hello, Abandon Ship and Guts are growers but equally brilliant and Turn Me Well brings about a bizarre euphoria that lasts for the rest of the set. If you don't like Micachu and the Shapes, you probably shouldn't have ears.
Post a comment
In order to post a comment, please log in:
Not Registered?
Please register here now.