Schouwburg, Rotterdam
16/04/04
With so much happening at Motel Mozaique, one of the main tragedies was that possibly the most beautiful piece of music to be played during the weekend was only witnessed by a couple of hundred people in a nearly deserted main hall. ‘Pooka Soundtrack’ the closing number from Lars Horntveth’s new album Pooka was simply gorgeous, starting off with a basic guitar arpeggio and transforming into a beautifully exciting string soundtrack by the assembled orchestra. It offered completely perfect sounds to close your eyes to and travel to another world, except it was also too hypnotic watching the orchestra to afford to miss a second of it. This was acoustic purity, with enough evidence inside those first eight minutes to prove that Lars Horntveth is a Norwegian musical genius.
However, it’s also a shame that the opening number turned out to be the real high point of the set. As the other tracks from Pooka appeared one by one, the electronic beats pouring from the laptop seemed to sanitize the atmosphere, and distracted from the orchestra who continually played beautifully. As for Horntveth’s individual contributions, he floated effortlessly from guitar to saxophone to clarinet, with wonderful musicianship, sometimes all within the boundaries of one song, and if there was any flaw at all, it was only that a few of the compositions stretched on beyond their welcome. When that was the case, it slowly felt like Kenny G was jamming with Four Tet, but overall, it was an impressively strong presentation of instrumental work.
Following that, the Lambchop set was potentially the highlight of the weekend. Yet, as the 12 figures took to the stage and began their gentle aural caressing (after five minutes of torture from the string quartet), I was struck by something of an epiphany. You see, I’ve always been sure that I liked Lambchop. Having seen them live years ago, I swear it was nice and I enjoyed it. Even seeing Kurt Wagner solo in 2001 seemed perfectly fine at the time. And all those times I switched off the Lambchop songs after two minutes, I put it down to my own impatience that I really couldn’t bear to listen anymore. Yet sitting in Schouwburg, it hit me hard within the first ten minutes of the performance – at their worst, Lambchop are nigh painful to me, and while this public confession is unlikely to gain me friends, a lot of this negativity is down to those ambling tones of Wagner.
If you believe all of the media hype, he has the most soulful voice in modern country music, and countless people around the world clearly manage to tap into that sentiment, so maybe there are tiny elements of truth to it. Yet when he sings, my body feels it necessary to encase itself in a shiny veneered surface that his voice simply cannot penetrate, instead reflecting it off awkwardly in all angles. This also prevents the music reaching deep down into my soul to move me in the slightest, and letting me feel as lifeless as the performers seem on the stage.
This isn’t to say that there wasn’t a great bundle of talent available. The eight band members and the additional Polish string quartet showed continually strong musicianship individually. Yet the combined output perpetually lacked charm or heart, particularly with the newer numbers from recent releases Aw C’mon and No, You C’mon. In fact, if there was any salvation at all, it was Kurt Wagner snapping a guitar string, then taking five minutes to resolve the matter on his own, and leaving pianist, Tony Crow and a member of the DAFO string quartet to tell jokes, which lightened the entire atmosphere in the room.
But still, it’s with great disappointment that this complete realization draws over me because I don’t want to hate Lambchop. I don’t wish to spread negativity, and I don’t want to upset fans of the band. I don’t even want to be any less cool than I already am, but a fact is a fact, and when it came down to it, the show felt dire. The only silver lining to this huge bastard of a rain cloud is that at least the performance wasn’t as terminally boring as a Counting Crows show, so it shall not linger in my mind as one of the worst ever. All that remains is for me to live with the echoes of those niggling thoughts of, “Why didn’t I go see The Shins in Nighttown instead?”
Steven McCarron
Photo: 3voor12
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