Crystal Stilts @ Sound Control, Manchester
John Cooper Clarke's verbose black trench coat had been left trailing over the speakers, his crusty Mancunian drawl as dark as the Dylanesque mop perched on his head. The pre-gig mish-mash of songs, usually a generic list of obvious choices, or even pandered regionalism, in this case achieved with heavy revision notes. JCC's 'Beasley St.' begins to pound from the speakers as a loose crowd gathers for this bunch of Joy Division sound-alikes to get going with their thing. You could say a veritable crowd of students or you could say hipsters, either way you'd be right.
The psych-rock tunnel that these Americans bounce down was once a war-torn trench, dirty and hard fought over- that was 45 years ago- Crystal Stilts aren't wading through a waterlogged ditch for the dead, they're strolling through a popularised mausoleum- complete with coffee bar and novelty gift shop. The psychedelic blues are no longer innovative, alien and frighteningly other. It's now a staple, it's that thing that Jim Morrison did that you can buy on a t-shirt from Topman and it's that thing that was revamped in reverb during the 80s with The Jesus and Mary Chain. It's history. But in fairness, that's the fate of our culture now, especially in the age of post-celebritism wherein even the most banal genre or fad can be eternalised for mere irony. Back to Crystal Stilts and our five comrades have left their Brooklyn battalion behind in terms of quality; creating an honourable pastiche to a genre flat of tribute. At a time when indie(tribute)bands believe wimpy androgyny is enough: Crystal Stilts brood with integrity over false originality. They may be doing a tribute, but they do it with heart & humility instead of karaoke lighting & dodgy gimmickry.
A short 30minute set that retains more mist than psychedelia floats overhead and remains like a gloomy cloud showing patches of darkness and promise. The band rattle through like an empty can of Coca Cola their cliche yankee-doodling, strangely cute and familiar. Lead-singer Brad Hargett, when applied to LP, hoovers like a half-awake Ian Curtis, but in the disinterested flesh his voice becomes a more concentrated baritone as he peers over to the exit sign in Sound Control's attic-cum-venue space. As the might of 'Shake the Shackles' builds, Hargett becomes less throaty and bounces loosely on one spot- the band balloon during this great storm and the audience loosen. Afterward keyboardist Kyle Forester speaks a few shy one-liners back at the one vocal crowd-member as he transforms, from fawn in the headlights to Brave Adult Bambi, taking control of the group and remaining the focal & vocal point for the rest of the gig. The band's expanding velocity continues as songs blow past in tight unison. The gig reaches climax with The Stilts setting up their muffled bear traps as the wondrous 'Departure' drowns the audience with its revenant hooks and ghostly pining.
Unfortunately the Bambi behind keyboards leaves a bad taste, with a 15-plus minute keyboard solo during the encore, causing his band mates to leave and the sober to wince. Maybe it was a self-parody of the pretentious hipster or maybe it was just a pretentious hipster on stage... Who knows? I left in the 10th minute of his solo, so never got to hear if there was a punch line- (answers to: ben.magill@roomthirteen.com).
Overall- A good gig that had intention but no invention.