NEON INDIAN @ THE MUSIC BOX

By Allie Furlotti

Enter: Quartet comprised of one lady and three men. The guitarist is quiet in appearance until he slays his whammy bar into a psychedelic wave which really brings his outfit and manner into character. He has thick black hair, aviator glasses and looks like Robert Plant from a country in the east. His guitar has a LED screen that lights up with Native American textile glow. The lead singer wears all Black and throws his hips honestly, while being bracketed by keyboards and the Theremin instrument controlled by hand signals. The jam is perpetual and rhythmic. To the left, from a pit view, the aforementioned lady keyboardist pounds away on a double-stacked set of synthetic pianos. Behind the trio is long, ash-blonde, grunge hair beating up and down, culturally mirrored by a black torn band tee – perhaps the Misfits, the Vaselines, I don’t know, maybe even John Cougar. His demeanor is earnest. The beats harnessing the esoteric and friendly improvisation the guitar, key, and vocal three announce, contained hits from the album likes psychic chasms.

The backdrop is illuminated with 8bit formations of the same palette tittering a two step on the light up dance floor in front of guitarist number one, interspersed and patterned by old movie clips like a Marlene Dietrich diving into bed or Grace Kelly brushing her hair and smoking. The color engendered by the music is perfectly mimicked by the lighting engineer and the band members enjoy playing their songs and enjoy performing their music, as they should because the crowd enjoys every minute of the fluid session. Neon Indian is exciting and glamorous because their music engages the body. They are a rock and roll band. Rock and roll in 2010 is a mutt. I feel only recently that music [snobs] have accepted the analog/synthetic union as a natural fit. So if you are willing to hear them as a neo-Led Zeppelin, that is exactly what they can be. I regret a few of my references to other musicians because in this world it is hard to ascertain the style of one without the other, so while they can be likened to myriad things they are unique- they are Neon Indian.

Furthermore, each song from the album becomes a harmonic drift into the next and an epic hour set has been accomplished with reverbial eloquence and drifting artistry, especially because the front and center (not the center of attention) moves both precisely and imprecisely. Recognizable and human builds: boom boom cha like Kraftwerk explode into dilated string wails which makeout with the echo eerie delay of the singers singing; and all of them sing at points, moan, sonorous claps and swoons. The vocal chords also become an instrument of meaning beside language spoken. Bright like neon love, not cut and copied but varied according to the quartets malice and life experience. Two motherfuckin thumbs high in the sky.

Neon Indian – Deadbeat Summer

Neon Indian – Terminally Chill

Neon Indian – 6669 (I Don’t Know If You Know)

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