Caribou + Fuck Buttons - Chop Suey (Seattle, WA; Apr. 20, 2008)

Riley: Before we dive into the joyous electronic psych-rock that was last night’s show, I thought our adoring public might appreciate a quick reminder of what Caribou (née Manitoba) had in store for Seattle the last time they graced our shores. Mr. Davidson, I believe that’s your cue.

Kelly: Oh man, it was just one of those nights where I felt everything went wrong. The sound at the show was TERRIBLE. The shitty house DJ didn’t take his queue to leave the stage and Caribou, after being confused for 15-20 minutes, had to walk on stage, and literally start their set over him. It was ridiculous. You know there’s a steaming turd behind the soundboard when the band has to request level adjustments for the first five songs, then just gets pissed and gives up asking. At the time, I naively thought the band’s wall of sound style was also to blame, but on Sunday, they sounded oh-so good!

Riley: That they most certainly did. From the opening strains of “Sundailing,” which startled me into a snarkless grin that lasted the better part of two hours, I knew we were in for something beyond the humdrum. Which isn’t to say I stumbled home drained of all bodily fluids, though that would’ve been quite the feat given the blissful mellowness that washed over the audience with every perfectly doubled drum cadence, tripped-out flute glissando, and reverb-drenched falsetto vocal. If this is at all indicative of the sun-dappled meadow where Caribou is headed, then smother me with patchouli and call me Rainbow.

Kelly: Daniel Snaith, the sole genius behind Caribou (well, in the studio anyway), sure picked out some winners for band mates. With the help of Ryan Smith (guitars and keys), Brad Weber (supernatural drums!), and Andy Lloyd (bass), he was able to, as far as I could tell, almost perfectly recreate his (what are we calling it?) pop-sensible, electronic, psych rock on stage. The detail they put into their performance made me think that what Snaith really wanted were robots to perform with him, à la that creepy/awesome dutch video you sent me a while ago.

Riley: Definitely did not see that coming, but big props for working Godfried-Willem Raes into the conversation. The man surely deserves more press. I must say, though, that Caribou—especially live—strikes me as the antithesis of Raes’ robotic “orchestra.” Sure, Snaith is yet another bedroom-bound one-man band, but unlike so many of his comrades (most notably Kieran Hebden of Four Tet fame), his menagerie of computerized beasties sounds uncannily . . . human. As you may remember, I even managed to leave Andorra off my short list of top ‘07 electronic albums because [swallows pride] I forgot Caribou was electronic!

Kelly: Maybe it’s the perfect melding of . . . man and machine? Sorry, I just wanted to include an 80’s cyberpunk reference in this review . . . . But yeah, just watching the band play so many loops over each other was really impressive! It totally got my inner math-rock nerd off. How about Snaith jumping on drums to bust out some duel percussion with Weber? Ridiculous! I also liked how Weber had his headphones linked up to his laptop. Maybe using some fancy metronome? I could easily see getting lost in the lovely waves of music bliss, even without jumping around to different instruments (which he did).

Riley: I definitely hadn’t noticed that, but it makes perfect sense. Shades of the Boredoms, the last band we saw with multiple (three!) drummers, all of whom kept exact time with a little help from ye olde ear cans. Unlike the Boredoms, though, Caribou manages to accompany these percussive stunts with masterful pop flourishes, a concept that tends to elude eYe and his cadre of Japanese noisemakers (not that they’re trying, mind you). Speaking of noise, we’ve yet to mention the surprisingly decent opener with the unfortunate name.

Kelly: Yeah, the name “Fuck Buttons” turned me off right away, as did their excessively long, distortion-saturated, somewhat pointless, drone-fuzz intro, the circuit-bent toys and their yips. As a recovering noise fan, I have to say that I have a real love/hate relationship with the re-interest in noise and experimental music. On the one hand, I want to don my Neubauten Strategies Against Architecture I shirt, get on my highest horse, and blow off bands like Fuck Buttons as tourists hiking down the well-trodden paths of the last 30 years. However, after listening to them for fifteen minutes, I totally can’t say that. I liked these guys a lot! They’ve really got depth, a unique control over their sound, and a real love for the music. Their constant contrast from beautiful synth lines and twinkling loops to the dark screeching and fuzz inherent to noise music was masterfully done. Their dual live drumming over luscious walls of static reminded me of the tribal beats of old Zos Kia, Einstürzende Neubauten, or, more recently, Liars performances. So damn good! Also, while I love circuit bending, playing those instruments live usually delivers a so-so performance. Not so with Fuck Buttons! Their control over every bent toy sound they created was spot on. Their repetitive loops came across as crafted and—almost amazing in a genre where live spontaneity is what usually gets recorded—sounded very close to what the polished studio album sounds like. They even managed to make a kid’s microphone sound EXACTLY like the one Lightening Bolt uses for vocals (which I love). I won’t lie, I straight up went out and bought their album Street Horrrsing the next day. It’s sick.

Riley: Damn, I guess we all know who the noise nerd is around here. Here, then, are my notes on Fuck Buttons, in their entirety: “Circuit bending. Relentless shoegazing fuzz à la M83. Like IDM, might be danceable if not for earsplitting noise.” That said, on your recommendation I did give Street Horrrsing a listen and found myself fairly won-over, albeit with a few reservations during the most glaring electronic squeal-fest moments. But those are blessedly few. Overall, thumbs up in a pleasantly surprised manner, which could also be said of this show as a whole. My new goal: go into every concert with drastically lowered expectations. Worst-case scenario, my suspicions are confirmed, and I hurl smarmy insults while reclining in my critic’s throne atop my ivory tower; best-case, I’m in for a night of aural shock and awe. Happily, Caribou and Fuck Buttons fell somewhere on the latter half of that continuum.

Kelly: True that. 

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