[live review] Destroyer @ the Paradise
Before
last night's DESTROYER show, I had my doubts as to whether Dan Bejar
was a real person. In the time since its release, last year's Kaputt
has ascended to mythical status in my mind. Like, even if you told me
that the album was recorded in Vancouver or something, I wouldn't
believe you. Its pristine sensibilities are too fanciful for Vancouver.
I'd have to suspect Barcelona or Cape Town or Atlantis or some equally
enchanted locale. And despite my near deranged intake, I've yet to
pinpoint a comparable contemporary piece of work, from any artist
really. Even his own prior efforts, while enjoyable in their own right,
have trod closer to the "routine indie rock" spectrum than the "transcendent yacht rock"
stylings contained herein. Truly impeccable.
But
the too frequent issue with such lofty perceptions, as we all know, is
you inevitably set yourself up for disappointment. Conversely as it may
seem however, quite the opposite occurred inside the Paradise: Bejar
only became more cool in my mind, a revelation I didn't suspect
possible.
An
obvious divide exists within the world of rock frontmen: There's those
who bask in their positionality and then there's those that shy from the
attention afforded by being the one who gets to say all the words. I
suppose the two extremes of this spectrum would probably be David Lee
Roth and Maynard James Keenan -- the former with his high-kicks and
air-humps; the latter with his opposite of everything the former
represents. Of the apprehensive types, there exists another subdivision:
The ones who feign introversion because they're douchebags and those
who take genuine pleasure in ceding the spotlight to their bandmates.
Fakers
need not be mentioned by name, but Bejar is a prime example of the
latter latter. Handling only singing (and tamborine) duties in his eight
person touring outfit, he would quite literally cede the spotlight
anytime he was not using his mic, squatting out of view to sip his beer.
Considering the meandering nature of Destroyer's work, this occurred
frequently, with Bejar assuming his crouch for at least half of their
90-minute set. And the method proved a success thanks to the lockstep
groove of his instrumentalists -- notably Joseph Shabason who deftly
switched off between saxophone, flute, and electric clarinet, often
mid-song.
Perceived
indifference could be one way of viewing his peculiar technique if not
for the refined croon that drained through the room every time Bejar
opened his mouth. Working leisurely through a majority Kaputt
(sans "Bay of Pigs," which was my only real gripe with the gig) while
sprinkling in a handful of older numbers, the live Destroyer performance
may be a tad off putting for those in attendance not familiar with
their catalog, but there didn't seem to be many of those present last
night. A couple of especially rapt attendees clamored for "Rubies"
throughout the evening, and when Bejar lackadaisically obliged, the
crowd responded in an appropriate manner: Reveling in eyes-closed bliss,
emulating the inconspicuous frontman in their concealed elation.
(Getting
pretty tired of routine phlipcam footage and not owning a cellphone camera worth a shit, I instead opted for a rare MS Paint
rendition of the evening's proceedings. You're welcome.)