Stereolab
By Trey Perkins
Monday. Apr 24, 3:47 AM
live at Town Hall (New York, NY) March 17th, 2006.

(pics taken from Ultra-High Frequency)

Rock and Roll lacks an adequate definition. Historians of the musical form always debate whether or not it is a specific type of music with its own conventions and stylistic nuances or if it’s an attitude. Those who hold that it’s an entirely different type of music than, say, classical, jazz, and blues, stress the fact that the “rock” rhythm stresses the backbeat and simplistic melodies / harmonies. But why can’t it also be an attitude? Those who argue that it’s an attitude stress the etymology of the term “rock and roll.” The very terminology has its roots in African American slang for “sex.” There is a sensual attitude at work behind the very rhythm, and this attitude derives its power from the very performance of rock music. Without this sensuous attitude, one would lose the affective charge rock carries. There’d be no pelvic thrusts, nor orgasmic bursts of vocal emotion. Embedded in what it means to “rock out” is an idea of throwing caution to the wind; setting aside convention and letting spontaneity rule the day.

It is of worthy note to cite Michel Foucault, for even he would argue that rock is every bit as much an attitude as a musical form. Rumor has it that Foucault loved The Beatles, and would hole up in his apartment for days on end, smoking pot, listening to The Beatles, and theorizing. In one such interview, he praised rock as being a cultural catalyst, allowing the audiences who receive it and the communities it engenders to express something radically new and diametrically opposed to traditional ways of imagining one’s self. To discount rock’s role in easing racial tensions in the ‘50s and ‘60s is to lobotomize history. Soviet teens employed The Beatles as a signal of protest against the Soviet State in the late ‘80s. The point is that this attitude inspires people to come together, to get down, and to have a good time over the common experience of receiving a form of music that is at once new, spontaneous, and exciting. Rock and roll depends on a close bond between audiences and performers, and without this relationship, rock falls mute. Or at least that’s how it used to be. Perhaps my understanding of rock and roll is a little bit too quixotic.

So we arrive at the point of this diatribe: the concert. To return to Foucault once more, he suggested that rock and roll is a unique cultural form because it makes its audiences feel as “though they are a part of something” in a way that no other musical form does. Of course, he meant the concert, and of course presentation of rock music derives from “the attitude” more so than the actual music itself. Nowhere else is the relationship between the audience and the performer so close as it is at a concert. It would be proper to think of the audience and the performer as a dialectic, and during the concert, these two opposing entities become one, thus opening the door for new possibilities. Did this happen during Stereolab’s performance at Town Hall?

Granted, for my argument to work, we’d have to assume that Stereolab are just as much a rock band as, say, Bill Haley & His Comets. No matter how much music they amalgamate, their roots still stem from rock. Watching Laetitia Saedler coo out her vocal melodies over a steady groove should be more than enough to bring a seemingly disparate audience together, and provide them with a unique experience. This, however, did not happen on March 17th. The affective charge that makes rock “Rock” just wasn’t happening. The sensuality found in her vocals failed miserably in achieving this task. If there was one thing that could be said about the experience of seeing Stereolab, it’s that the audience completely lacked an attitude necessary to rock out.

Part of this had to do with the fact that the venue was completely improper: it was too regulated, too prone to a disciplined audience one would find at a symphony. The very architecture severed the performer/audience relationship. Would Jimi Hendrix orgasmically grunt forth the chords and melodies to “Purple Haze” in front of an audience expecting to see a classical guitar quartet? Hell no. My friends and I were required to sit down and gaze up at Saedler and company because, if we moved, a no-necked individual shined a mag-light at my friend and I, ordering us to return to our seats. Seating was assigned. Again, if we assume that rock is an attitude that casts off the chains of traditions, then assigned seating has no place in a carnival-esque festival. Each round of applause was programmatically perfect in length: not too long and not too short. There was no howling from the audience. Indeed, everyone seemed well trained by the venue: as if the majority of audience members bought season tickets to Town Hall and this fact alone made them hip. A sea of concertgoers were completely content to hunker down in their chairs. Finally, Saedler asked us not to be so shy, and at that point, members of the audience hesitatingly stood up. A hilarious scene ensued: I saw people look around at those seated next to them as if to ask whether or not she was serious: “You mean we can stand up at these things? You mean we can dance and move and shake?” Some even waited for their neighbors to rise up to the challenge Saedler posed to the audience.

Usually, after every concert I attend, there’s a conversation that goes something like this: “Man, I can’t believe they played that!” or “I was really pining for them to play it, and BAM! Second encore!” or even “I can’t believe the way that song sounds live!” Given the complex arrangement of Stereolab’s tunes, the latter response would seem like something you’d hear as the crowd dissipates out into the streets and the post-show chatter begins. On the contrary, my friends and I just stood there and looked at each other. On our faces were millions of words. An entire conversation rested in our eyes, but nothing needed to be said, because we all pretty much agreed that something was missing from what we saw. Our hope of witnessing something – of being part of something we’d want to remember weeks and months after the show – had dried up. The best part about seeing a great show is the memories. You can recall them for weeks. It’s comparable to eating a good meal and being able to remember its taste by burping moments after it’s been consumed. But this wasn’t the case.

If anything, I can only blame Stereolab for picking a venue that did not encourage the rock and roll attitude I’ve tried to describe. Stereolab tried their best, but it was only half the battle. Laetitia sang “Vodiak,” “Visionary Road Maps,” and “Interlock” while effortlessly hammering out riffs on a Moog synthesizer. Perhaps also, the sharpest criticism of Stereolab’s music becomes apparent: that so much of it sounds the same. When played at a show that is the furthest thing from a rock show, the set begins to drag. Perhaps we witnessed a band with a tighter affinity to the recording. Their music demonstrates so many parts and nuanced arrangements that the studio may just be their proper environment. The audience just plain sucked. I plead to Stereolab: play venues where the effect of your music can be fully realized. I didn’t feel a part of that “something” Foucault praised rock and roll for engendering. There was nothing engaging about the performance.
www.stereolab.co.uk

Trey Perkins

Got something constructive to say? By all means, rant away. Gonna blab about something unrelated and/or talk shit? Don't expect your comment to stick around.