In October of 2004, I received a message from a band on MySpace telling me they had noticed my musical interests, and thought I might like their band. That was during a time (age? era?) when you could receive a message from a band on MySpace and actually consider listening to their music, rather than unconsciously clicking the “mark as spam” button. They had one song available to stream, a demo track that harnessed the chamber rock complexity of Rachel’s. My musical tastes at the time were such that I accepted their friendship request and decided I would see what this band, called And The Furies Say, could become.
A few weeks ago, when I found out that New Zealand’s Die! Die! Die! would have a Wednesday night residency at Silverlake Lounge in July, I excitedly searched to see if any of the shows would have an intriguing supporting band. When I noticed that And The Furies Say would be supporting Die! Die! Die! on their last night at the venue, my decision was made. By the way, I don’t remember who told me about Die! Die! Die!, but every time I hear them I wonder who it was, and I silently issue a short message of thanks to that unidentified individual.
The night began quite awkwardly. I figured the show would start at roughly 9, but when I showed up the room was absolutely barren. I spent about thirty minutes outside the club on my phone, and when I returned it was still totally empty. The first musician of the evening was sitting alone on the stage, shirtless, with a bass, a loop pedal, and a harmonica.
“Hey, my name is CJ Boyd and I’d like to thank you all for coming,” he began, before surveying the room. “Actually, everyone who’s here right now I know, so I guess I’m only thanking you,” he commanded, pointing at me. “Hey, I’m CJ Boyd,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
“Hi, CJ. I’m Evan,” I responded. “And you’re welcome.”
As one would expect from the above description of his stage setup, Boyd’s sound is wholly unique. Lush, sometimes dark, looped bass melodies accompanied by the occasional looped harmonica, percussive muted-string plucking/strumming, or vocal melody. His thirty-five minute set included some very trance-inducing ambient passages. With minimal compositions, Boyd kept things feeling loose and free, but always low and flowing effortlessly from start to finish.
And The Furies Say turned out to be quite disappointing. If their recently released self-titled album is like the realized vision of the demo I heard three years ago, then last night’s showcase was a complete regression. They did not sound like a tight unit. The guitars were tinny and grating. The drummer poorly utilized a double-kick pedal (or just had rhythmic issues). While these could be explained away with equipment issues or the general malaise of touring, the songs simply didn’t sound as nice as I had anticipated. The result was a band that sounded (and looked) like they were trying to imitate Explosions In The Sky or Godspeed, complete with Munaf Rayani-like body/guitar heaving, Efrim Manuck-like screwdriver-on-strings guitar playing (only instead of a screwdriver, it was a mallet), and two songs which featured crescendos eerily similar to those Godspeed has used (I’m not sure about And The Furies Say song titles, but the Godspeed tunes are “Moya” and “Albanian”). Perhaps the most gut-wrenching portion of the band’s set was when one of the guitarists walked over to the microphone and said that as a touring band, they could use all the support we could offer, and that L.A. had been pretty cruel to them. It sounded heartfelt, but then he followed that up by actually begging for money, then pitifully admitting that, yes, he had just begged for money. I hope that with more time on the road and more practice, And The Furies Say can reach their potential and carve their own niche in the instrumental post-rock scene.
Die! Die! Die! began with a brief commentary about how every New Zealand band comes to Los Angeles for the first time and leaves with an album’s worth of shitty material, and all the songs they were going to play tonight were their own new, shitty songs. Ah, self-deprecation. If you ever want to ingratiate yourself with me, there’s no easier method win my favor. They, in fact, didn’t sound shitty at all! They sounded thunderous, tight, and quite fun. The general formula was machine gun drumming, repetitive bass and guitar melodies, and an inevitable sonic freak-out. After the first song, the bassist announced that he had broken something on the bridge of his instrument, so the D-string was rendered useless. A few songs later, the drummer’s ride cymbal was broken and discarded. They persevered, and delivered an intense, rocking set. I want to say sounded like a lighter, sharper Mclusky. After rolling around on the floor, screaming his guts out, the singer guy in the Part Chimp t-shirt full-on lunged into the drums like a torpedo to conclude the set. Punk rock! Woo!
Eh. Whatever. I suck at writing reviews.
