I’ve never lost my belt at a show before. One would think the strap of
leather looped around my pants would would be difficult to remove under
any but the most deliberate circumstances. Sadly, to all those
concerned about the inalienable security of their trousers, this is not
the case. Crystal Castles took my belt away last night without my
consent. When I searched for it on the floor of Studio B at the end of
their set, it had evaporated.
Ideally, however, every loss carries with it some form of discovery.
For example, that this Toronto duo (plus drummer!), whose
glitch-tripped remixes and self-wired bangers never really pressed my
panic button despite being called things like “Crimewave”, “Air War”
and “1991,” can indeed induce 8-bit electrauma with the touch, excuse
me, of a button.
Conceptually, the band is spot on. Get some guy in a hood who never
looks up to man a buffet table of hardware while a gorgeous, dead-eyed
girl stares the audience down shrieking before jumping on them. With
this kind of upfront action, it doesn’t really matter that Crystal
Castles essentially have one, big song that never changes tempo or
dynamics or rhythm. Likewise for their fantastic light show: strobe
blasts cut with blazes of hotwired Vegas ticker. Monotony, in this
case, is magic.
Photos by Jonny-Leather
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