I’m still not completely sure what I wanted to see play out in front of me during Oxford, UK’s show last night at the , but I can honestly say that I had no doubt the performance would be great. No — scratch that — not merely great; I expected it to be resilient, perfectionist, perhaps a little heavy at times, but still replete with aural and emotional hooks. Sort of a live, visceral and in-your-face version of Darren Aronofski’s first movie, “Pi.”
I can’t say that I was completely disappointed — and, really, who would be, when you think about it, if the weight of the show turned out to be a mere fraction of the film?
Still, based on the predominant sound on their first record, “Antidotes,” which presented the listener with an almost too cogent, mathematical, European reaction to Radiohead, I half expected Foals’ show to be sweet and to the point, precocious, complex and maybe a little hard to absorb. I also had high hopes that it would prove my own theories about front man Yannis Philippakis’ tendency towards brilliant song constructions and (often really roundabout) pathways to passion. I wasn’t disappointed.
But I was surprised.
In an 80-minute set, Foals successfully wrung out a packed main room in the sold out Larimer Lounge, and left a sweaty and satiated crowd to slowly wend their way out, with nothing less than a brilliant rendition of post-punk funk, played through a filter of “Blue Monday”-era New Order and late Cure, with an aural pastiche of Scotland’s We Were Promised Jetpacks to boot.
Bassist Walter Gervers held down all the band’s melodies with some solid, booming fingers that would give Bootsie Collins a solid run, well met by Jack Bevan’s constantly frenetic, near disco drums. And, while the darkly stubbled Philippakis traded non-stop, upper-ended fretwork with Jimmy Smith, Edwin Congreave filled the gaps with varying levels of Moog and other synths. The results flew across an entire gamut that included an occasional foray into rave beats from an initial, and decidedly disco, post-punk base.
Philippakis upheld a growing rep as a perfectionist — often to a frustrating level — by storming off stage a few times as the show progressed. On one occasion, he headed towards the Larimer’s rear patio and exclaimed on the way out that the band was “sucking right now.” Later, he dived off the low stage and traversed the Lounge’s packed front room (guitar in hand) to the front of the bar. He was back onstage in less than 2 minutes after playing outside in front for a few seconds, seemingly calm, back among the dedicated.
The audience couldn’t have been happier with the band’s set, either, and took full advantage of the Larimer Lounge’s intimate atmosphere. Most of the room sang along with Philippakis, often word for word, throughout the set. And no one seemed to be bouncing heads out of beat, either.
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Billy Thieme is a Denver-based writer, an old-school punk and a huge follower of Denver’s vibrant local music scene. Follow Billy’s explorations at , and his giglist at .
