horrible mobile photo by: me
It’s really hard to diss a band that’s got the psychedelic vibe of Pink Floyd, the riff skills of Led Zep, and the respectful reference to more modern bands that have flourished from the same seeds of reference over the decades. Yet Tame Impala, much adored psych rockers from Australia who received a lot of hype for their first album, Innerspeaker, left me with a case of the yawns tonight at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver.
Don’t get me wrong, they did everything right. Too right. Sounded great, close enough to the album but with an edge of in-the-moment, garage-inspired jamming. Didn’t detract too far from the record, but enough live improv to earn respect from the headbangers. Songs perfectly streamlined and without boundary effectively prevented them from speaking outside of lyric for the first hour of the show. Looking so much like 14 year old garage band stoners that had been around the block enough times to pass for their 30’s or so that I had to blink my eyes a number of times to assure myself that I was seeing them correctly. Time warped teenagers. Either they’re young enough to be shy, or old enough to not give a fuck about audience rapport; that I still couldn’t answer you.
Right as I realized an actual word hadn’t been spoken this entire time and steam was about to come pouring out of my ears, Kevin Parker uttered a “thank you.” I almost keeled over in shock. Words, conveyed – what a concept. Went further to say that they don’t do encores, so when they play their last song, that’ll be it. That I can’t argue with…I would certainly do the same if I ever got a gig as, say, a percussionist or something in a band (not that I’m capable, or interested in that at all or anything), and had the austere authority of a lead vocalist slash guitarist to make such calls.
But at the end of a day, this is live music. It’s a performance. Played out by members of a band who are entitled, nay, obligated, to play out their part of the melodrama, drive the point of their lyrics home through action and raw emotion played out night after night without hesitation. Flail about, be drunk and disorderly if that’s what it takes. Remember, you’re artists.
Anything less is an utter bore, barely worth comparison to my speakers at home when they’re turned up to 11. At least here I can supply the emotion.
