At a glance, The Books seem too clever by half. Their songs are intricate electronic reconstructions of bits of found sound—news reports, old TV shows, radio call-ins, people on the street—set to music, and they have witty titles like “That Right Ain’t Shit,” “A Little Longing Goes Away,” and “Enjoy Your Worries, You May Never Have Them Again.” But after a few listens to one of their three albums (their debut is called Thought for Food), you begin to notice a subtlety and depth that goes beyond craft and craftiness.
I’d go so far as to call what they do bricolage—their soft touch and precision defies the term “mash-up.” A duo, they accompany the sonic clips and extracts with nimbly plucked guitar and warm cello and, some of the time, softly spoken/sung lyrics. I was very curious to see how this music would manifest itself live at Columbia’s Miller Theater. The Books are composed of two rather bookish-looking fellows. They sat for the entire show, surrounded by electronic equipment. Behind them, I was pleased to see, was a large video screen. Because of course in addition to their skilled musicianship and clever audio mixology, they also sync everything with found visuals. The whole effect was dreamlike in an almost literal way—a series of sounds and pictures that nearly makes sense, until you stop to focus on any one detail. A sweet dream indeed.
