XL Weekend Reviews: Richard Thompson, Animal Collective

Texas Union does Richard Thompson's sound proud

Monday, September 24, 2007

Music: Richard Thompson

At some point in the past 15 or so years, Richard Thompson realized something very important. No matter how many over-slick albums he made with Mitchell Froom (five in all), he was never going to be more than a cult figure; one with one of the most obsessive and slavish cults this side of the Grateful Dead, but a cult nonetheless. Heck, he might have realized this in the mid-'70s when he was making his ground-breaking albums with then-wife Linda. Or maybe it was when he converted to Sufism. Or when he was with Fairport Convention as a teenager, practically inventing British folk-rock. In marked contrast to his reputation for mopey songwriting and black humor, the guy radiates onstage humor, wearing his status as one of the greatest guitarists alive like an old, comfy sweater.

His Saturday set at the Texas Union Ballroom reflected all of this, boosted by some of the best sound I've ever heard at an Austin show. (Why don't bands cut live albums, or albums live-in-the-"studio," in that room?) Thompson and his crack band (hard-hitting, Texas-born drummer Michael Jerome, multi-instrumentalist Pete Zorn and bassist Taras Prodaniuk) jumped all over Thompson's 40-year, 40-album career in a two-hour show, though it drew largely on his excellent-if-overlong 2007 album, "Sweet Warrior."

Thompson's voice has only grown richer and more subtle with age, his legendary soloing still equal parts lyrical and emotionally violent. He can switch from electric to acoustic, from full-band to solo with an ease that reminds you of his virtuosity without ever drawing attention to it. His striking acoustic solo on "I Misunderstood" is as visceral as his electric blowout on "Hard on Me." "1952 Vincent Black Lightning" floored with intricate finger-picking, while "Mingulay Boat Song" was their version of a sea shanty. The obnoxious ode to family abandonment "A Man in Need" ("I packed my rags, went down the hill/Left my dependents a-lying still") has lost a bit of its self-indulgent bile now that his kids, Teddy and Kamila, have turned out OK with careers of their own — it feels like a throwback to a younger, less mature Thompson, which it is. (He even made a joke about being in competition with the Wainwrights for greatest number of musical offspring.) "Wall of Death" and "Read About Love" were crowd-pleasing rockers. The key word is "crowd-pleasing." Sure, his cult can be too forgiving, but man, does he give them what they (um, we) want. What a pro. —Joe Gross

Music: Animal Collective

Animal Collective delivered an artful and improvised sound that was both trance-inducing and dance-inducing to a sold-out crowd Saturday night at Emo's. Synthetic beats, digitized sounds, drumming and compound melodies were sent out in deafening decibels to this young audience — some wearing animal ears and panda bear masks — as they yelled for more.

Rainbow light towers pulsed behind Panda Bear (Noah Lennox), Avey Tare (David Portner) and Geologist (Brian Weitz) as they twisted knobs on consoles blossoming with wires carrying experimental and ambient noise to the booming speakers. Two life-size skeletons in tutus with glowing eyes were perched on the sides of the stage, frozen in mid-dance. Cascading digital blips and buzzing with occasional screams and falsetto vocals during the chorus of "Peacebone" from their latest album, "Strawberry Jam," sent everyone into a frenzied bounce and jiggle.

Instead of the folk acoustic sounds present in earlier works such as "Sung Tongs," Animal Collective focused on layered electronic effects and overlapping vocals that overstimulated the crowd with noise and creative clamor. Tare did throw some electric guitar in with the thick and relentless drumming on "Fireworks," and everyone yelled even louder as the track escalated. All without the foresight of earplugs got to take home a little piece of A.C. in the form of a set filled with spacey and underwater sounds adorning electronic folk experiments that will be ringing in ears for nights to come.

Philadelphia's Tickley Feather (Annie Sachs) was a form-fitting opener for the Collective. Her echoing vocal effects pumped out over programmed beats while she cupped the mike to her mouth and swayed with her hair in her eyes.

— William Mills