This is a world full of dirty surprises. Yesterday I witnessed how Yann Tiersen offered his rear to the cheapest kind of electronic copy-paste Anglo-American synthpop. Dust Lane lacked the kind of meticulous variation, intellectual exploration and virtuosity that I’ve grown to expect from him. I simply could not believe my ears – the anticlimax of the decade! Or let’s still bundle this with the last one, so that I don't have to share a decade. This may be a tad unfair, but I couldn’t help feeling that the maestro Midas has begun to envision that all he touches turns to gold. ‘Look, I’m Gandhi on the Moon’, Tiersen seemed to wave about erratically and braced for his apotheosis. He seemed to treat his band as if they were accessories or slaves, without offering the courtesy of, say, introducing them to the audience. The concert was an utter, defeating contrast to the previous marvel of composition and the tribute to continental music he’s previously served. I say this as a person who’s listened through most of Tiersen’s pre-2010 discography. Sure, I most loved his best known soundtracks, his cooperation with Claire Pichet and his involvement of ondes Martenot on C’était ici. A simple piano melody Comptine d'un autre été, accordion variation and innovative percussions appear the height of his musical style to me.To add and with all due respect, I’d also prefer if Yann Tiersen never publicly sang in English.
The venue wasn’t acoustically optimal at all, I admit: a rock ‘n roll ditch that easily breaks and muffles the sound – but since the performance was so unrefined in itself, I don’t really think that this was the problem. I’ve seen people like Joanna Newsom and Owen Pallett (you can call this time travel) offer immaculate, staggering performances in the same space. If Joanna Newsom can play the harp in that cave, then Tiersen should have no excuse whatsoever in that area. And now, breathe… …
I must still say that the ticket money was not entirely wasted, though this is not due to the hypnotic last two minutes of Tiersen’s undeserved encore (I felt morally wrong when I joined the audience in applauding him back in hope of hearing some older pieces) as all the sawing, thumping and one of Tiersen’s two synth effects seemed to fall into their right places. The warm-up East-London band Dry the River was delicious on stage, and won my heart with their highly motivated performance, though a lot of their pieces took a long time – up to one and half minutes – to launch properly. Still pretty impressive. I heard afterwards that they haven’t even yet published an album. I really should’ve recorded them… just a tiny bit. Listening to the music available on their MySpace makes me think that their music can lose quite a lot in terms of emotion if produced and polished too carefully. They were a breathtaking live band, however – if only they can manage to transfer that life force onto an album.
Well, done, given the hard to define exhaustion that presently plagues me. Even with Dry the River it really took until the last song to penetrate the thick membrane that seems parasitically to embrace my aesthetic instinct. To think, last evening it took five people seemingly giving everything they could to touch and vitalise me. Should I be worried? Not that I'm a vitalist – or am I?
The following Brussels recording is bad quality but it is the only one I found that has a hint of the ecstatic suggestion last night. I'll replace it if someone uploads something better:
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