(Or, Guitar Hero IV: Cock Rock for Jocks)
I’m not quite sure where to start with this. Firstly, The Ribbon should have opened. ACTUALLY. Beat-heavy two piece with mercurially good guitar parts. Promoters, take note. Third time’s a charm? Not saying DJ Lotion did a bad job, but watching a sold-out Bodega try to disco to Gossip remixes was more reminiscent of a holocaust gas chamber than of a dancefloor- all awkwardly violent shrugging and gasping for air above the thick atmosphere of sweat. Too many drenched singlets, cries of ‘FUCK YEAH’ and too many pumping fists. The crowd-surfing, the side-stage bouncer who was happy to get all Wesley Snipes on douches as the front (thx) – it was like the crowd were more there to bring ruckus than they were to see Ratatat.
The cock-rock-jock aesthetic wasn’t restricted to the crowd, either. I lost count of the stadium-rock gestures Mike Stroud threw up during the course of the set, leaning backwards, bowing forwards, lying down, kneeling, his tousled locks flying infront of the fretboard as he notched out solo after solo (after solo after solo after riff after riff…. Yeah, we get it ok?)
Opening with LP3 highlight Shiller was probably a good move, its tantalising build throwing the crowd into a frenzy as his Omar Rodriguez-Lopez aping solo was torn into. Other than an early Lex, the hits were saved until last, Wilcat, Gettysburg and Seventeen Years all making appearances at the end. Ratatat have upped their live presence by virtue of video screens at behind the band, throwing up everything from buzzing particles that flew in time to Gettysburg to creepily well-looped clips of Arnold Schwarzenegger in Predator. It meant when you got over the repetitive movements of Stroud, you had something to ogle at, which was cool, particularly when his pinpoint-perfect silhouette (really good projector yalls) ragdolled across the visuals upstage from him. Evan Mast took up the mantle of being ‘the other dude’, pummelling out on all manner of devices, from bass to electronic drums to synths (oh yeah, Stroud played some synths too).
Ratatat are a band to remix, to be remixed, to play in the background while you vacuum, to lay down some mediocre raps over- they are NOT a sensational live headline OMG ITS RATATAT band. Their show just highlighted this. Despite pulling out all the stops that they could, and attracting exactly the crowd I feared (yet knew) would show, it failed to ignite. The noise was there, the beats were there, fucking Arnold Schwarzenegger was there. But it came off as a routine, a highly organised, moderately polished 70 minutes of performance. Lacking in spontaneity, freshness and ultimately band energy (even the encore was excruciatingly rehearsed for all to see), Ratatat were more forced façade than genuine show. They should probably click refresh.
James Beavis
