There is often a disconnect between a band’s recorded sound and their live performances. The complex arrangements achieved in studio may not be easily replicated onstage; on the other hand, the frenetic energy of a live performance may not translate on the record. Broken Social Scene, a band whose legion of musicians produce wonderfully layered recordings as well as exuberant marathon performances, has no such problem. On the contrary, it is almost startling to see this band in action, to see how well they are able to create such virtuoso performances without betraying the layered complexity of their compositions.
The Sea and Cake, as it turns out, was a more than apt complement to the spectacle that was to come. With a similar emphasis on composition, The Sea and Cake combine a distinctively Chicagoan math rock sound with subtle jazz rock influences in the vein of Steely Dan. The effect is wonderfully unique, yet steeped in the traditions of the band’s musical heritage. Their set, though not matching the dynamism – or the duration, for that matter – of a Broken Social Scene performance, was tight, proficient, and irresistibly engaging. Musically, they managed to fit with BSS without particularly sounding like them – a crucial but rare qualification for a great pairing.
Broken Social Scene, for their part, brought to the Crystal Ballroom stage exactly what audiences have come to expect: a fun-loving, carefree bearing belied only by truly outstanding musicianship and a sneaking suspicion, almost inevitably, that deep down, these people are professionals.
Their set, though spanning their whole career, was repeatedly punctuated with highlights from this year’s Forgiveness Rock Record. “Texico Bitches,” arguably the band’s most accessible tune to date, set the tone as the second number of the set, with Kevin Drew ludicrously (and, let’s admit it, awesomely) shouting “Hammertime!” as the intro picked up speed. The band proceeded, pell-mell, through a broad sampling of their catalogue until, eight songs in, Drew announced, “That was the beginning of the show.” It seemed like a ridiculous statement at the time, but only because there was no way of knowing what little progress through the set list had been made to the point.
As it turned out, there would be another eight songs before the equally arbitrarily declared “end of the show.” First up was “Sweetest Kill,” a sultry, haunting tune off of Forgiveness Rock Record. Then an incredible medley of “Superconnected” and a cover of Modest Mouse’s “The World at Large,” which saw the band seamlessly transitioning between the two songs like a hydra-headed DJ. Members of The Sea and Cake were brought on for a couple of numbers in this period, including Forgiveness Rock Record producer, Portland native, and Tortoise creative force John McEntire taking the drums for “Ungrateful Little Father.” They also squeezed in a stunning rendition of “Lover’s Spit,” demonstrating, as if it were necessary, the full range of their musical and emotional reach. Finally, Drew led the audience in a revved up chant of “I believe!” In what, it wasn’t clear, though that hardly mattered. The band had the audience so thoroughly wrapped around their collective fingers they could have done anything at that point without forfeiting the adoration. Being Broken Social Scene, they opted, simply, to announce the end of the show, and then keep on playing.
Somewhere in there, something like an encore happened, though my lasting impression is that the music never really paused, just momentarily grew quieter. A seemingly tame take on “Water in Hell” made a late appearance, and then, as if by design (which surely it was), defied expectation, went AWOL, morphed into a beast entirely different than anything that particular song suggests on the album. Finally, another led chant, “Fuck you I won’t do what you told me!” Equally meaningless, equally exhilarating as the first. And then a breakdown, an onslaught, an outright barrage of booty-shaking tunage unlike anything an education in indie music would advise one to expect. It was, to say the least, awesome.
This was a show with broad appeal, a fact easily confirmed by a quick visual survey of any particular patch of crowd. It was also a lesson in rock ‘n’ roll, a performance that perfectly articulated the founding ethic of that genre, to make some hips shake, to make the people feel it. If the various members of Broken Social Scene are professionals, and yeah, in a very real way they are, then it only goes to show how much rock ‘n’ roll music has to gain from professionalism. The flights of frenzy of the likes of Jim Morrison and Axl Rose may have defined a particular mythology at one time, but to borrow a line from “Water in Hell,” it’s the year two-thousand-and-ten. As good a time as any to let the music speak, and if you’re willing, Broken Social Scene will happily accommodate you.
