I have been rocking Nouvelle Vague albums as wind-down music at after-parties for a few years now. Their soft, bossa nova interpretations of Hipsterdom's favorite new wave and punk anthems generate an atmosphere perfect for pick-ups and Pabst-fueled grope sessions. The albums are incredibly well produced; the vocals (all female, all in French accents) have a sensual energy that runs down the notches in your spine, and the guitar is a masterful complement that, even without the vocals, shines bright and bubbly through your speaks.
The crowd that greeted Nouvelle Vague was a motley crew of middle-aged smooth jazz listeners, pre-grad Francophiles, that group of 15 hipsters who always do what The Stranger Suggests, and . . . I think . . . high school girls (on a Thursday?!).
Not only did the show start nearly an hour late, but it also seemed like it ended an hour early. Most of Nouvelle Vague's covers are serious pop hits; three- to four-minute renditions of those Top 40 hits you heard while you were lounging about in your replica Malcom McClaren bondage pants. It was literally one song after another, and I estimate (this is where state-dependant learning will get the best of me) nearly 20-25 songs were played through, as well as two one-song encores. Even with all of that, I was standing outside the King Kat Theatre at 10:30pm, feeling a bit had and very confused. I guess I just haven't been to an all-ages show in a while.
Nouvelle Vague has a distinct sound that cannot really be mistaken for anyone else because, hey, they are the international French cover band to book . . . and that's what it all boiled down to. Did I hate Nouvelle Vague? No. The music was solid, the band was as tight as could be, and at times the female eye candy was impossible to look away from. Their sound and radio patronage led me to believe that there would be some massive Blue Note style improvisation, and that's unfair to expect of any cover band. Simply put, it was an all around enjoyable experience that would be better coupled with sipping scotch than dancing (as much as Seattlites can be expected to dance) with children. Next time, please book at the Triple Door.
