The stage was set for an interesting night last Sunday as people milled about, filling the dark corners of Cleveland’s Grog Shop in anticipation of Atlas Sound.
Who’s to say if these people were there because they love Deerhunter or if they were there to witness Deerhunter’s frontman, Bradford Cox, as he performed under his solo moniker of Atlas Sound. It doesn’t matter either way. What matters is that as soon the gaunt, towering form of Cox took the stage, all chatter stopped, and the crowd stood in awe as one man changed our lives with a few guitars, a bass, a drumset, and a smattering of pedals.
The first thing I’ll tell you about Atlas Sound is that his records cannot do his sound justice. You cannot capture his essence and truly experience it without a live performance. To hear it live is to hear it with a new set of ears. In live performance, you will be swirled around within the sound, carried on the air, and delivered to some plane of existence where the world is calm and people can just be. It’s a transcendental experience, the kind that stirs change within your soul and makes you reach towards a life you had discarded as frivolous. In summation, it’s awe-inspiring.
Cox takes the stage and slings a guitar on. From the minute he steps towards the mic stand, he appears haunted, staring off into the darkness of the Grog Shop. And then he sings. From his lips pour beautiful melodies dipped in effects, a guitar floating amidst the lyrics in a sea of ambient soundwaves.
The song “Te Amo” first captured my attention, wrapping me sonically in an infectious loop that I am still struggling to get out of my head. There’s something about Cox’s vocals that dredge up Smashing Pumpkins, but that thought is quickly dismissed as I am awed by the visible shaping of his words as he forms them purposefully; they drift like smoke rings out over the crowd, touching our ears in a gentle kiss. Cox emits this radiance as he flows from each corner of the stage, building his music as he effortlessly layers instruments over each other. I remember being completely lost in “Amplifiers” while he was singing it, when it ended feeling like I had to find a way back into my body, as I had floated off into some other place.
Although I had heard horror stories of Cox concealing his face and covering “My Sharona” for an hour at another show, he appeared quite subdued at the Cleveland show. The worst antic that happened was that Cox got upset at an audience member who didn’t know who Dave Thomas (of Pere Ubu) was. This audience member was also recording Cox talking, so Cox brought him to the stage, asked to see his camera, and deleted the video. He then asked the audience, “Who is Dave Thomas? And no, I don’t mean the Wendy’s founder.” A kid in the back said he knew and charged the stage where he proceeded to read the Wiki page for Dave Thomas. Cox recorded the reading and utilized it in the beginning of his last song of the evening, looping “Pere Ubu!” off into the abyss.
Perhaps the most interesting parts of his set were the moments when Cox spoke freely to the audience. Someone from the audience asked if Cox was a carnivore. “Of course! Look at me,” he retorted. He spoke about his love of Ohio and joked, “It’s Sunday. You know what that means. I have to take a bath.” While he was singing, I felt like I had happened across an animal in the woods, like if I breathed he would flee. It was a strangely beautiful experience.
The most strange experience of the night probably belonged to White Rainbow, the solo moniker of Adam Forkner. The music of White Rainbow was quite unlike the spiritual quest on which we’d embarked with Atlas Sound’s music; it seemed to exist to entertain one person: Forkner.
I didn’t feel like his music was connecting with the audience or even feeding off of their vibe. (However, I will note that the kid standing next to me seemed to be enjoying it, judging by the dance seizure he had.) To be quite honest, I felt as if I walked in on this awkward nerd masturbating, since he was the only one getting off to the music he was creating.
His music was expertly crafted, but it just didn’t do anything for me. With the hybrid of new age/dub-infused music he was layering, I was praying the set would end as I felt my life slip by me with songs that could have easily been cut off halfway through their length.
Opening the whole evening was a band from Atlanta that is definitely worth keeping tabs on, Carnivores. This band blends dissonance and punk-infused lyricism with catchy lines from a keyboard. There’s something about their sound that made me think that I should be roaming about in the Mystery Machine, solving capers to this music. Theirs was an ambient set that showcased vocals from every band member at the front of the stage, each adding a unique twist to their sound and proving the band to be dynamic.
Bassist Philip Frobos really came alive when he took the mic, working the crowd as he danced his way through the songs that he fronted. This band knows how to build an anticipation—perhaps that is the best part of their sound. They make you crave the sweet release of the song’s completion. They’re aurally orgasmic, if you crave that dark, ambient, monster-mashing sound. They’ve got this repressed wildness, too, that finally exploded in their last song, freed by the scream of the guitarist, who then fell to his knees and played his guitar with his teeth, while the rest of the band spun like possessed dervishes, whirling off into the night.
