Audioholic Media

John Vanderslice continued Berbati’s evening of low-key bands Friday, his mellifluous voice carrying over an assembly of instruments which included a saxophone and an upright bass. His dry humor (“Which direction is Mt. Hood, again?”) and gentle manner calmly guided the vibe toward the ghosts of a strange summer revisited in the grip of a graying fall. John’s poignant, often melancholic lyrics were coated with a slightly dirty folk motif, wrapped in tight guitar solos and accompanied by the floor-shaking rhythm of a deep kick drum. The crowd was swaying, undeniably affected with his particular tonic, which left the world feeling as though it were covered in chicken noodle soup.

It was an excellent set for true believers in the paradigm of a silky melody. And at the end, playing to his people, John said goodbye before the last song with the natural smoothness of a man who sings like melting butter, and wafted from the stage in a wisp of sepia-colored smoke.

Beach House followed the John Vanderslice set. If you’ve heard the music of Beach House, it will come back to you in your dreams. That’s because Victoria LeGrand’s voice (imagine if Janis Joplin, Blondie and Bjork made a fetus and fed it nothing but opium until age 20) and the unfathomably deep well of her sparkly organ synth and guitar accompaniment produce an aural texture that is sometimes scathing, sometimes soothing, and always supremely surreal. It’s the type of music that is so completely emotive you feel it more than you hear it; and indeed, as Alex Scally added his crystal cave guitar licks, it seemed many audience members began to share the motion of a slow, sad waltz, their lonely lake eyes shimmering with the same reflection of wandering stars.

Aside from the captivating qualities of their sound, however, Beach House did not convey much energy from the stage. Here and there, Victoria would tell the crowd that they were being “very kind,” and it did sound genuine, but also tired.

Visually, they appeared as triangles, black and white decorated instruments, a wrinkled canvas sheet put up under the stage lights; and, aside from some gentle swaying, neither Victoria, nor Alex, nor the profoundly patterned percussionist moved at all. But the bass drum shook like an erupting deep-sea volcano, and on occasion some wind chimes would sound, and then it was all aurora borealis. And that just might be the greatest claim to fame for this Baltimore, Maryland duo. They aren’t worthwhile because they’re awesome, or spectacular, or charismatic. The music is not really fun, and it’s not entirely faultless, but ultimately, it’s intrinsically deep and emotionally truthful. That’s what Beach House has to offer, and, after the last song played, an encore, something that could saturate the ending scene of the saddest romance movie ever written, it was soundly proven that this is what makes them a group to keep listening to. Their live shows may not have stunning mass appeal, but the songs, mellow, moody and haunting, are sure to keep you coming back.

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Find more on John Vanderslice at johnvanderslice.com.
For information on Beach House, visit myspace.com/beachhousemusic.