By Carlos Detres

Things to remember.

 On a brisk evening at the far end of Brooklyn, a venue called The Music Hall of Williamsburg vibrated with an unlicensed rumble from within its walls. There was no line but the stragglers loitering in front of the building complemented the atmosphere with their small chatter and thin wisps of smoke and breath dancing gracefully into the air; juxtaposing the grey clouds that loomed thousands of feet above. It was a night for thundering music, melancholy melody, and neck breaking rock and roll.  Presiding over the evening of October 16, 2009 was a five piece band from Southend, England called, The Horrors.

The Music Hall of Williamsburg was the former residence of Northsix, a venue that saw the upcomings of many bands in the neighborhood. It’s a large space with a bar in the basement, a wide mezzanine section, and a ground floor appropriate for the Indie bands that make their rounds through the underground scene. You can get close to the edge and crowd over a guitarist who could be hitting the squelching bleats of an emotionally charged note like a lamb before its throat is severed. It’s not as dirty, dark, and grungy as one may hope — in fact, it looks like a space that old timers could use to enjoy their Big Band numbers while pulling the brittle bone dance of the Lindy-Hop.

The crowd began to trickle in for the 11 o’clock performance of tonight’s travelling band of musicians. The kids hovered around the ground floor, waiting for their band to take the stage. The lackluster music of the opening acts played from another room, garnering no response from the fan gallery. Then music began to flow through the speakers. Familiar music. Music that was heard in every punk/grime/garage/rock and roll/jukebox joint that ever existed, which did much to quench the thirst caused by the previous local band. Then that beautiful music was cut in exchange for the crescendo screams from feedback, which aroused attention to the stage.

The lights dimmed, allowing only a spotlight on center stage. The din of synthesizers sounded like electrical generators running through a lawn mower; popping electrical aural knives interrupting the impatience of so many. There was a beautiful post-modern vibe about the whole thing; knowing that the audience would finally be vindicated for all of its complacent and ironic lusts. A door opened and onto the stage birthed the band every one had come to see.

Faris Badwan casually strolled to the mic, wearing a grey peacoat, and a smile as if he knew a secret no one else shared. It was like peering into a different time when Jack the Ripper whistled a tune before unleashing the knife that would cut apart bodies from their souls. The whirring and high-pitched sounds began to form a familiar tune and when Rhys Webb played the opening bass line for “Mirror’s Image”, the crowd was ready to jump into the wave of Joshua Third’s first stabs at the guitar.

The Horrors

Badwan crooned through the mic, singing his shoegazer song. The performance reflected the singer’s shyness that is elaborated in the tune but also foreshadowed most of the evening’s performance, most notably when he sang, “Draw strength/walk on into the night/passing a try/to pass her by/walk on into the night”. The singer mostly hid behind the shadow of his hair. Unfortunately, the energy in the room waxed and waned during his attempts to explode into the rest of the songs; sometimes displaying a Jesus Christ pose to proclaim an announcement…a victory.

The band played a tight set, showing off their recent album, and recreated it onstage in its entirety. But what you might imagine from The Horrors’ performance is probably what you would have found — brooding chorus lines, melodic anthems mixing seamlessly into morose lyrics. It was difficult to sense whether the singer was personifying the music or if he was just bored of their brilliant album, Primary Colours. One could perceive that he was unable to openly commit to the audience; a disconnection perhaps.

After The Horrors finished playing the album, Primary Colours, they retired casually to the backstage as if their work was through. The audience required more, however, knowing that the band hadn’t played anything from Strange House- an album that was laid out in a sharp collection of witty, lyrics describing macabre fantasies, ’60s Garage flavor, and cartoon-ish imagery. That was what had convinced most of their fans out of their headphones to begin with. The loud thumping, clapping, and cheering didn’t have the enthusiastic clamor one would use to entice the band for another go but The Horrors came back anyway for an encore performance. This has all been done before by the band. Leave in mid-set to make their audience pine for Strange House.

Due to the drastic differences between the band’s first and second album, it’s difficult to surmise an appropriate and cohesive set list for their live performances. There are fans who claim the first one to be the best album while other, more open-minded listeners may demand a universal acceptance of Primary Colours an album that indicates a band willing to grow and shed comfort for the mysterious beyond. In truth, both albums are excellent and display the breadth of The Horrors’ talent. The band has found a way to appease both by forcing a demand for an encore and when they came back out, it was immediately noticeable that things were about to change.

The band returned with an explosive set, playing all of their big numbers from Strange Houseas well as their new single, “Whole New Way”. It was during “Gloves” that Badwan came out of his shell. The rest of the band seemed to run with it too; shaking, and bouncing violently across the stage. The mop-topped lead singer barked into the crowd the song’s dark vision of willful murder while the audience erupted into a chum fiesta of swinging arms and flailing bodies. Third’s guitar screamed during “Sheena is a Parasite” beside the large speakers and lights flashed onto him from cameras and probing spotlights. It finally became mayhem.

When the band finished, it left everyone satisfied. The hits were played, aggravation was thwarted in the chum fiesta, and in one big final breath — a massive exhalation of stress and good times was made. Being one of the last shows of their tour, it seemed as if the band needed to finish off their set in the way that they did.