The Whitest Boy Alive @ Le Liberté Bas, Trans Musicales Festival
Rennes, France 3rd December 2009
I’m not for low blows. If not served in an evil, black-humored way – for which (I’m told) there is a time and a place. Therefore, even tough the leading man of the band in question is known as “he who dances – alone on the floor, to his own songs, wearing his own band shirt, and plays – exclusively his own music, then looks over the crowd from the back of the room like he was Al Pacino (uncle Telle of Tellé being Marlon Brando of course) taking over Las Vegas/Europe” I wasn’t going to touch on that.
I went to Rennes, France, with a (relatively) open mind, wanting to be proved wrong. If the music was good or the crowd went mad, I wouldn’t care that I only know one person who doesn’t frown when he sees this singer. Musicians can be as big-headed as they like if the music is great, right? Think of Mark. E. Smith. He can fiddle my amp any day.
And so, with the intention of being pleasantly surprised, we headed to Trans Musicales for some good, wholesome French fun. Little did we know we had entered a parallel reality, going from the sanest to the most absurd festival experience in a matter of two days and two sites.
Our second day in Rennes would include airport hangars filled with raving (mad) French people, a cynical Scot slagging off music and business alike, our new friend “Super Hans,” and the most ridiculous shuttle bus ride imaginable. The first day on the other hand, the day of the Whitest Boy Alive, was so well-behaved we for a good 20 hours thought the French were civilized.
Lost in Translation
Upon our arrival at Le Village press area, we were greeted by lovely, panicked Frenchmen, their eyes revealing desperation as soon as we opened our English-speaking mouths. After guessing our way to the info desk, we found a girl happy to translate, only to send us to the wrong room for the only relevant press conference of the day, where we hovered like idiots for a while.
After some searching, and although we couldn’t see over the cluster of people, we decided fragments like “The New Wine” and “Kakkmaddafakka, spelled K A K K M A D D A F A K K A“ proved the band behind the screen door to be The Whitest Boy Alive. From what we could make out, one of the three with a German accent does not listen to newer music, and could therefore not recommend any new acts (I guess 2001 qualifies as ancient. See: “Harder, Better, faster, Stronger” at the bottom of the page). But on request from the band someone recommended Ting Tings. And the guy we think sounded brilliantly Norwegian answered “Are they from Manchester?” so maybe the Berlin wall really did fall.
The Lethargic
As one of the first acts that evening, The Whitest Boy Alive was booked into the gigantic Liberté Bas venue. After having started as a computer-based duo in 2003, Marcel Öz and Øye apparently got over their fear of being mugged by them, and asked humans Sebastian Maschat and Daniel Nentwig to join. The WBA now fronts a standard band format of guitar/vocals, bass, drums and synths (one being a beautiful Italian vintage Crumar).
Reading interviews with the four, you get the impression that the band is very excited, surprised almost, about this concept they’ve discovered – the possibility to evolve their song structure whilst playing, and that they wanted to keep a transparency going from live to record and back to live again. But listening to their records I had also concluded that this ideology made their recordings as much alive as a written musical score. And in concert, well, their minimalism would turn out to be more of a lethargic than cathartic experience.
You feel your body getting heavier
As the concert starts, parts of the audience seem truly excited, and I’m hoping to witness those wild, Mexican reactions I’ve seen in pictures taken at their shows over there. It doesn’t happen. A few people up front try to dance, but are quickly pacified by Øye’s dull guitar sound and un-confrontational voice. He really does have the tone of meditation instructor. And where the likes of soft voiced singers like Nick Drake brings nerve, the WBA strokes you gently on the cheek ‘til you sleep. Or forget they are there. Come to think of it, this band would make the perfect butler; everything running smoothly in the background whilst you focus on something else. Then again, maybe it’s a good thing – generally the crowd seems quite content just mildly bobbing their heads to the almost programmed-sounding snare. It’s almost fascinating how band and audience compliment each other, both groups doing nothing to heighten the others experience, and looking perfectly fulfilled at that.
Last night a Crumar saved my life
In general they play well together, without imperfections. The music is so moderate in its expression you could book them for your great grandmother’s birthday. The band format that should set them apart feels a bit foolish with so little hint of human interaction.
Also, remixes of their music have been very well received, and this welcomed return to their roots should maybe set the alarm bells ringing. In their case the clinicalness of digitization might actually have given their sounds some much-needed edge.
The Crumar techno synth playing on “Courage” is the only thing that pops out at us. But;
It builds! it builds! …and back down to the weakest boy alive.
It builds! it builds! …and back down to the weakest boy alive.
It builds! it builds! …and back down to the weakest boy alive.
In the end we give up and want them to just end the bloody song. It’s such a tease, and definitely, no one is getting laid at the end of this. Finally, instead of bringing it home, Øye decides to lobotomize the song by adding, yet again, another pacifying riff with the same lackluster guitar sound. Probably it was even planned.
And although I usually enjoy a good seamless transition between songs, I also like to notice a new song having started before it ends. Some variation in the before-mentioned guitar sound would probably partially fix the issue, but then they might wake the masses they’ve worked so hard to quieten.
Picture Perfect
Fake it ‘til you make it is almost always a good idea if you want to get the crowd going. But Øye’s version is somewhat… embarrassing. After a few songs he decides to shout:
“LIFE IS GOOOOOD!
THERE IS FOOD ON THE TABLE!
THERE IS NO WAAAAR!
YOU HAVE MONEY TO PAY FOR THE TICKET TO COME IN!”
If there is something that makes people feel good, it’s remembering how others are hungry and cold. And in a warzone. Surrounded by European soldiers. So instead of the expected cheerful roar, he is met by roaring silence from his very cordial audience who are probably thinking: “He didn’t just say that? My English must be terrible.”
It’s truly hard to stay off their image when writing about their music, when the first makes more of an impression than the latter. As our photographer made her way to the front of the stage for the allocated three (last) songs, maybe the band were hoping the trillions of lights would have made them and their audience flatteringly flushed by then. And probably they look as perfect in photos as their image on paper.
Take a bow. Please.
Finally, to end the show, the group gathers at the front of the stage to take in their applause (your great grandmother would even love that).
Yes, people like them, but people like Travis. And nighttime radio. Anything that is easy to digest. I’ve been told they’re a love/hate band, but I have to wonder, can anyone really love something as bland as this?
Words: Linn Nystadnes
Photos: Åse Bredeli Røyset
—
Just to make listening to their records a tad more entertaining, or just to be annoying:
Golden Cage (Dreams): Queen “Another one bites the dust”
1517 (Rules): Daft Punk “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger”
Intentions (Rules): St Germain “Sure Thing”
High on the heels (Rules): Culture Beat, Whigfield, La Bouche, Dr. Alban- Knock your self out on this one
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One Response to “The Whitest Boy Alive live at Trans Musicales”
Dolf Linberg - December 8th, 2009 at 06:21
Wow, you spent that much time slagging off The Whitest Boy Alive? My mum used to say ‘If you haven’t got anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all’.
I’ve seen TWBA play gigs for 300 people and gigs for 20,000 people, and the in general the crowd seems to have a great time, pretty much of a better time than most crowds have when they watch a band. And if they didn’t like it they just left, and that’s probably what you should have done.