Last week, shoegaze darlings Asobi Seksu returned to New York City after eight draining weeks on the road. Accompanied by Tyvjk and Crocodiles, the bands homecoming was an elegant swan song to a tour in support of their new LP, Hush.
The openings acts werent exactly in line with Asobi Seksu’s music; nevertheless, they made fine complements, their lively stage acts preventing the show as a whole from slipping into fuzz. San Diegos Crocodiles, riding the No Age bandwagon without being just another No Age knockoff, kicked off the evening with a sunglass tinged blend of post rock and garage rock, trading the drums that usually anchor a rock duo for looped backing tracks, an Iggy Pop penchant and a whole lot of gratuitous spitting on stage.
Detroits Tyvjk, who had been on the bill throughout the tour, cut right against the grain with an angular assault of spastic, stripped-down punk. They were easily the most interesting act of the night. The bands coke-bottle glassed front man, alternating between humbled stage banter and bursts of pent-up yelping, could have been in the Descendents. Tyvjks keyboardist provided a hilarious foil with his smooth-talking grin and too-sincere-to-be-smug jokes, while their (literally) standing drummer did what any good drummer does onstage: have the time of his life.
In sharp relief to the rock-oriented acts that preceded it, Asobi Seksus stage show was a smoothly flowing cloud of sound and strobe lights, more often thunderous than serene. While a flood of guitar and atmospheric vocals find themselves front and center on record, the bands live act allowed its rhythm section to leap forward, frequently overtaking the rest of the group in song.
This rush of power was an exhilarating change, but was ultimately undercut by the fact that, for the majority of Asobi Seksus performance, James Hanna’s guitar was mixed into the PA at a woefully low volume. Yuki Chikudates vocals were at times completely stripped of reverb and echo, no less beautiful unfiltered but occasionally robbed of their ability to meld into the band’s hazy, effects-laden guitar work. The result was a sound that felt distant and disjointed, a chorus that often failed to become greater than the sum of its parts.
When this obstacle was overcome, however, Asobi Seksu was enthralling. Nowhere was this clearer than during fan favorites from their 2006 LP, Citrus. New Years, already a propulsive pop powerhouse, galloped straight off the stage with the bands floodlights and Larry Gormans drums striking the music hall relentlessly at every tick. Thursday, performed with a directness that lies dormant on record, made the urgent connection with the audience that makes any band worth seeing live. The feather-light Strings and the moody, epic Red Sea redefined grace, floating Yuki’s delicate alto just barely ahead of the swooning, roaring arrangements behind her.
These songs, especially in the concerts final moments, redeemed what could have been a regrettable experience by capturing Asobi Seksu at its peak: a thundercloud with a silver lining, an avalanche of gold-laced boulders, a tsunami of red wine a force of nature playing a Fisher Price xylophone. Welcome home.
