MAGNET Live Review: M83

Twenty-six-year-old Anthony Gonzalez does not remember the Reagan ’80s. Gonzalez, the French electronica connoisseur who performs under the name M83, does, however, subscribe to the sensationalized worlds that exist solely within the two-hour time span of John Hughes’ teenage melodramas of that decade. When pressed as to why his new album, Saturdays = Youth, evokes an era that came and went before he’d reached puberty, Gonzalez has told reporters, “[Being a teenager] was one of the best periods of my life.” Fittingly, M83’s night at Philadelphia’s First Unitarian Church had all the elements of a classic Hughes gusher: celebration, empathy, nostalgia, timidity and a rousing final number to augment Judd Nelson’s declarative closing-frame fist pump.

Known mostly for mood-heavy landscapes painted by synthesizers, M83 was originally a partnership between Gonzalez and Nicolas Fromageau until Fromageau’s departure following 2003’s Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts. After the split, Gonzalez introduced vocals and more readily apparent song structures on 2005’s Before The Dawn Heals Us, a stepping stone for the new Saturdays = Youth. While various forms of shoegaze have always been at the forefront of electro-indie, M83’s take on the yard-sale-organ sound is vastly different from the more recognizable names of this sub-genre (Simian Mobile Disco, Four Tet). As a musician, Gonzalez works stealthily, layering textures and luring listeners into a sonic black hole while many of his contemporaries spend time on punchy beats and elementary fuzz tones. M83's deliberate aversion to danceable rhythms no doubt contributed to the Philadephia performance being booked as a seated show in a church sanctuary.

Fans filing into the 122-year-old building found no respite from the humidity on this early June night. Rising locals A Sunny Day In Glasgow threw the audience a curve when an opening folk/pop medley yielded cat shrieks and dog yelps from lead singer Lauren Daniels. The remainder of their 30-minute set, however, offered little more than faux-Cranberries vocals and poor use of an electric mandolin. More than 500 people were awaiting M83’s set when the chandeliers flickered off and distorted thunderclaps echoed from the empty stage. Though hardly visible in the darkness of the sanctuary, Gonzalez appeared onstage to toggle knobs and press buttons on his elaborate plexiglass computer cube and mounted synthesizer. The sound widened with heavy organ drones and meditative hums as the remaining three members of the M83 touring band took the stage, shaping what would become the opening epic “Waves, Waves, Waves.”

After some early technical difficulties, the band found its rhythm on “Graveyard Girl.” The lead-in drums and pleasantly piercing guitar line may too closely resemble “Just Like Heaven,” but it’s a difficult song to hate. Gonzalez’s floating whisper dominates the album version, but the live performance was highlighted by keyboardist Morgan Kibby, whose alto vocals all but held hands with Gonzalez’s baritone breaths. Kibby proved to be a driving force on Saturdays tracks such as “Skin Of The Night” and “Highway Of Endless Dreams.”

As the show progressed, however, the audience creaked restlessly in the wooden pews as the band shuffled through older songs with no discernible beginning or end. The incessant coyote howl and shimmering cymbals of “Moon Child” dragged on five minutes too long, as did the failed automated/live hybrid of “We Own The Sky.” The finest example of M83’s nostalgic new direction, “Kim And Jessie,” translated well into a live setting even though the band didn’t stray an inch from the studio recording. After closing the show on an unexpectedly heavy tone, the band members returned soon after as Gonzalez petitioned, “Please stand up for our last song!” in a French-accented mumble. The swirling blips and syncopated beat of “Coleurs” grew piece by piece into a trance-like, instrumental hymn that ricocheted off the walls of the sanctuary. The final minutes of the show were a stark contrast to what was essentially a night of sitting quietly in church. The crowd bobbed and raved, and the floor shook under moving feet.

—John Hendrickson