Peter Bjorn and John/Russian Futurists
The Spitz, August 5th 2006
Summer returned with a vengeance and The Spitz was sweltering. Not then,
the ideal conditions for branded hoodies, but that’s what The
Russian Futurists have opted to wear. Matt Adam Hart and touring buddies
O and Scott on keyboard duties don’t let the sauna conditions
get to them and they insist that the listless audience get up off our
skank asses. For all their electro-pop whiteness, The Russian Futurists
tonight are homeboys.
Their soaring synthesised sound and irrepressible glee at performing
are infectious, and although it’s too hot and probably too early
for the audience to be moving as much as The Russian Futurists would
like, we’re giving it a go.
Matt Adam Hart’s keening vocals tell stories unfulfilled love
and mix tapes. The kind of thing that Magnetic Fields and Postal Service
do so well—van Halen meets Kraftwerk. By the end of the sweaty
set, the audience love them and they are a tough act for anyone to follow.
Peter Bjorn and John, are largely only known for their one song, "Young
Folks", the whistled opening refrain from which gets in one’s
head in a way that only syphilis has been able to achieve until now,
but with much lovelier results.
Theirs is not all the sunny Scandopop that you might expect. Although
they are gifted with a knack for sixties meets shoegazing wonderment,
much of the set this evening is much darker. Pulsating soundscapes accompany
a two line repeated phrase from drummer John on his one vocal-solo track;
almost like three minute Sigur Ros tracks, if you will.
Knowing only one track, the audience seem unsure at first but soon warms
to the Swedish trio. It seems unfair to mention their accents, but some
of their pronunciations are wonderful. In the song "The Chills",
the line “you’re giving me the chills” could be misheard
as “you’re giving me the shits”, but hey, a childish
snigger is no bad thing if it’s not mocking and it’s not.
Despite the high bar set by the support and the heat at The Spitz, the
Scandinavian trio, to quote The Russian Futurists,“own our butts”.
And the sellout crowd leave walking on the sticky August air.
Peter Hayward
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