The Ruby Suns of New Zealand, four weeks into the first leg of their U.S. tour, graced us with spirited music and polite post-show, merch-side conversation. Rock-pop-techno beats met one curly haired boy in red pants and two blond girls on stage. The three, Ryan McPhun, Amee Robinson, and Imogen Taylor, stomped and bopped about, using loop-peddle recordings to fill transitions and create sheets of rhythm and noise. McPhun flung a few sweet and lingering notes out into the audience and then, swinging his guitar around back, thundered out infectious beats on the drum set. Robinson and Taylor contributed vocals and juggled several instruments: flute, keyboard, guitar, melodica, saxophone, bass, omnichord, floor tom, and tambourine (whew). All appeared relaxed and happy, a rare phenomenon, we later learned. The final song (title unknown), off their newest album Sea Lion (2008) presented a pleasing stage set-up: Robinson on guitar and Taylor on flute angled outwards, book-ending McPhun on guitar/drums. Aboriginal beats, fast hand clapping, and nondescript woops and wails escorted The Ruby Suns off-stage, “Super Cheer[ing]” the audience adieu. When The Ruby Suns roll into your city in their sweet camper van, have a listen, and take them along a home-cooked meal!
And now, ladies and gents, what you’ve all been waiting for: as organic and hot as lava ripping through the earths crust, as synthesized and tight as spandex bike shorts; Le Loup. Tune your dial to The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations' Millennium General Assembly to get an ear-full of this oddly enduring fusion. The five men, two women crew crowded the stage at T.T. the Bear’s Place, battling rampant feedback to deliver ticklingly layered sounds. To be sure, seven is a good number of folks, but this baker’s-half-dozen jitter and sway as a single, pulsing organism. Oregon-native Sam Simkoff and his DC-craigslisted collection of the musically inclined, Mike, Nicole, Dan, Robert, May and Jim, ride the wave of experimental music and, full and fragile, surface and explore feelings of hopelessness and passion. With no strict set-list, the band casually selected a colorful wardrobe of songs which matured and blossomed through repeated, swelling movements, while staying playful with episodes of hand-clapping and creative, group/mic stand/water jug percussion à la Yeasayer. Each song may be seen to reflect a day in the life of person X: waking comes deliciously slow, the haze of morning keeps you swinging between consciousness and dreaming; this is followed by a harsh exit out into a day full of mindless monotony and disconnect; and finally a return home, warm dinner, and tuck into bed. Granted, many bands choreograph their music this way: start soft, build to a bang, and leave soft. Le Loup, however, embodies this metaphor through both sound and word: lyrics are dark and haunting and speak of night, social isolation, faceless phantoms, world’s end, heaven, and being stuck. Simkoff jerked his way around stage, doubling up with French-horn-player Nicole on the keyboard, convulsing center-stage with mustachioed guitarist Mike, and cuing the dynamics of guest-percussionist, college buddy (and melophobe contributor) Sam Anderson. Le Loup bestowed an electric mix of human-generated, tech-tweaked music upon the small but enthusiastic crowd, leaving us twitchy and delighted and wanting more.
