Lower your expectations and you will rarely be disappointed. Scientists refer to this as the “Tom Arnold Principle.” It applies particularly well to tonight’s Blonde Redhead concert.
In the 1990s, Blonde Redhead was breathtakingly original. Its bracing, no-wave indie punk inspired (fitting) comparisons with alternative legend Sonic Youth. Its jagged rhythms and jarring, boy/girl vocals created a dynamic that was the envy of all bands who courted the avant-garde yet still wanted to sound catchy.
With the turn of the millennium, BR shifted gears, toning down its rock elements to create dreamy pop gems fashioned in a Fabergé workshop. The group had transitioned from gorgeous art rock to gorgeous art pop.
And now this.
The trio’s latest release, Barragán, is suitable for an elevator in Stockholm—fittingly, come to think of it, since the band seems sympathetic to its captors: it has fallen hostage to Euro-wusscore and seems content to seal the cocoon permanently shut. The album lacks the elegance and exquisite beauty of its previous releases: the tracks—cottony and threadbare—float through one’s ears like tumbleweeds through a dusty ghost town. To cite but one clunker, “Defeatist Anthem (Harry and I)” sounds as if the High Llamas dropped acid and performed on Hee Haw.
So expectations were running low for this gig. However, in Paris’ regal Trianon club, Blonde Redhead offers a polished, and at times inspired, performance. Kazu Makino and twin brothers Amedeo and Simone Pace play a deliciously languorous version of “Hated Because Of Great Qualities.” Even Barragán’s “No More Honey”—a bit limp on record—is haunting, hypnotizing in this live setting. It oozes voluptuous ’60s French pop à la Ivy. The song’s pendulum-like guitar line hangs suggestively in the air, tantalizing one’s libido.
Late in the set, the focus of the show narrows sharply onto Kazu. She abandons her guitar and bass and takes center stage with mic in hand. Previously, she had lurched about with the grace of a paraplegic spider, but with the euphoric, dancehall shoegaze of “23” she sways and shimmers and thrashes with physical poetry, energy and—fuck yeah—sexiness.
Even while belting out the staccato chorus to “Equus,” she exudes fragility and shyness. The audience is thoroughly entranced.
The band closes with “Seven Two” from the current album. The Pace brothers quickly exit the stage, knowing that all eyes are on a different set of twins. Kazu stands alone in a slinky white dress, absorbing lavish applause. She blows charmingly awkward kisses.
The public gushes. Kazu blushes.
Tonight, Blonde Redhead finds a new way to exceed expectations. Such is the art of seduction.
—Eric Bensel
