[Editor's Note: We did not photograph Crystal Castles, at the request of their management.]
What do you do if you break your foot before your tour starts? Lesser mortals might choose to parade their cast around the home front, earning sympathy points from their loved ones, but not Alice Glass. She took that low jack slipper her doctor gave her and came to Portland; equally ready and willing to inflict further damage upon herself, as long as it meant bringing home a good show.
And so begins another chapter in the mythology of Crystal Castles, and let's be honest, they are most definitely trying to build a rep.
That punkish attitude they flip at the cameras, and which radiates off them as they turn their "we really don't give a fuck" faces out into the bright lights of the venue, only serves to enhance that image that paradoxically elevates their music, at the very same time as it reveals it to occasionally be in need of such antics. Fans who came to see them on Sunday also found themselves privy to a few hardly guarded secrets: e.g., Alice isn't much of a singer, and it ain't about the lyrics. Does that matter? Not really. Electronic music is a child of impulse and instant gratification, not deep thought. To expect more of it is to be let down and miss the point of what's being presented before you. And my instincts tell me that what I saw was exactly where electro needs to go.
Much like the Bloody Beetroots, Alice and Ethan incorporate hardcore into their central being. The result, when they choose to split an atom, is not an outpouring of inclusive joy, but one of aggressive-melancholy backed by a scrapper's need to defend it. Alice, even on a single crutch, spent the set wrestling with the demon angst she pulls straight up from her stomach. Like a little ball of fire, she sent it out wailing into the throngs of sweat-coated bodies that frequently held her up like giddy slaves. Aloft, she thrashed against the air like a child in the throes of a tantrum. Her movements pulled attention to her like a tractor beam, as Ethan became the invisible man, filling the room with a jittery basket of 8-bit glaze and low-end thunder. An impressive switch flipped whenever they dived into the shoegazey numbers from their latest record--the one that made kids like me, who thought their first album was fairly disposable, jump on board and see the talent behind that initial push up the ladder.
Frequently though, they opted for bangers that begged the room to sparkle and pulse. Monster tracks like "Baptism" and "Empathy"--the latter being one of my favorite beats ever--proved why the lyrics didn't matter. This is a visceral band, a band with a front woman that screams because she has to, a band that feasts on your gut reaction. They know you like to dance, but they also know what you really want is release, with just enough edge that you feel a lean towards danger without the consequences of it actually showing up. It is an exciting show, but it is also a tad contrived. What they sell is rebellion in a beat-driven package, which is fine until you snap out of it for a second and remember how safe this show really is.
What's not safe are your senses. The lights they bring out with them are absolutely devastating on your eyes. Notorious for their use of strobes, Crystal Castles spend so much time pummeling you with hi-watt flashes that it's easy to lose yourself in a bubble of disorientation. God help you if you have epilepsy. But I'm not complaining. In fact, I was actually kind of impressed. It was like they had studied with masters of mind manipulation until they could confidently send you into a dream-like state whenever they saw fit. That's what the lights did; they pulled you down into the rabbit hole and knocked you around until your equilibrium was a bit punch-drunk. This haze made the songs feel even larger than they already seemed. You just had to sell out your corneas and some unknown part of your cerebellum to get there. Fair trade, if a loopy state and "Untrust Us" is your prize.
In time, I'm not sure how we'll feel about Crystal Castles. But for now, I know they deserve our attention. Even if we just come to dance and watch Alice writhe.
I feel no ambivalence or hesitation when it comes to Suuns, on the other hand. They are destined for greatness. Rarely have I been so floored by an opening band, and left dying to hear more. Also Canadian, like those light sadists they call tourmates, Suuns forgo the crowd-grab anthems for songs built around dark instrumentals and hushed lyrics. Dim lighting was their accomplice, and they spent much of their time appearing as outlines of people rather than an illuminated force; occasionally coming out to play in the jagged tones of a noise freakout or the whooshing sounds of a vibrating, electric ghost.
To call this introverted is only natural; what is there is not particularly social; you wouldn't invite it out amongst your friends. No, instead, it connects into that deeper pocket of your consciousness that contemplates the root of a bad day or feels invincible at the thought of placing the last piece into a puzzle. The part that doesn't need words, only emotions. Which is perhaps why Crystal Castles invited Suuns to join them on the marquee.
Whatever the prompt, it was the masterful elongation of their songs, and the unbroken momentum that joined each track together that really set the hook into me. Hearing them play was like finding a new sense of "heavy"--a heavy without the mechanics of industrial, or the blackened crunch of metal. This was spatial heaviness and a song kid's delight. And now all I care to know is the answer to this question: when are they coming back around? Publicists, feel free to contact me. This is information I'm sure the band wants me to have, because I promise, when they show up, I'm bringing with me as many people as I can through those doors.
