07/17/08
Text: Andrew Z. Williams
The South Street Seaport, located on Manhattan’s lower tip, is generally a lame tourist haven, a place avoided by day-to-day New Yorkers. On certain summer evenings, however, the Seaport plays host to free, outdoor concerts as part of River to River, a free summer-long arts festival. Under these auspices, the Seaport becomes one of New York City’s best venues. Situated on a pier abutting the East River, the bands play on a smallish stage hemmed in by a large mall on one side and the hundred-year-old Peking, an old sailing ship turned National Historic Place, on the other. On Friday, July 11, Pier 17 played host to Los Angelinos No Age, with support from Telepathe and Abe Vigoda.
Due to maximum Wall Street traffic on the subway, I arrived at the very end of Abe Vigoda’s set, catching just their last few songs. Their every-instrument-at-once aesthetic, displayed to such great effect on their latest LP, Skeleton, was surprisingly loud and aggressive live—if some of the nuance of their bumpy punk skree was lost in the volume, the songs were none the worse for wear. As they closed with the ringing tones of "Animal Ghost," I kicked myself just a bit for dallying to purchase Jack Daniels and Dr. Pepper.
Compounding my disappointment at having missed most of Abe Vigoda’s set was the appearance of Telepathe. The Brooklyn-based crew's first song started promisingly enough—they cranked out a murky, dub-influenced beat, overlaid with distorted guitar washes and kooky electronic drum set fills—but then the vocals began. Ranging from a half-assed rap to straight-out slam poetry, Telepathe’s interesting sonics were defeated by lengthy, self-indulgent jams. They illustrated the very worst aspects of shoegaze and noise, and being sandwiched between the economical buzz of Abe Vigoda and the masterful haze of No Age did them no favors. A sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the audience when they announced their last song.
No Age's Dean Spunt and Randy Randall finally strolled on stage as the light was beginning to dim. They plowed through a short set comprised mostly of songs from Nouns, as well as a select few from last year’s Weirdo Rippers—including an astounding version of “My Life’s Alright Without You” that removed some of the sneer and injected a little glee. Maybe it was the salty breeze blowing in off of the water, but the surf rock influences in No Age’s music really shone through, Randy’s guitar wavering and weaving across planes of feedback, Dean’s drumbeat hard and steady.
I first saw No Age in the summer of 2007, at a rambling communal house-cum-performance space in Bushwick called the Silent Barn; the bands play in the kitchen and the audience stands and watches in the living room. By comparison, the Seaport is situated next to a mall and an UNO chain pizzeria, American flags waving above. And yet, No Age’s performance at the Seaport was vastly more enjoyable than the one I witnessed a year ago. Perhaps that speaks to the band getting better and better; but the open air of the Seaport also let No Age stretch out a little bit.
If they didn’t seem entirely comfortable in this odd setting, it’s probably because they weren’t, but they still put on a hell of a show. At one point, Randy looked out over the crowd—and presumably at the towers of America’s financial center just behind—and shook his head, saying, “This is fucking crazy.” Aside from being a bizarre setting for a rock show, the Seaport also makes for a disparate mix of people—it’s an incongruous gathering of fanny-packed tourists, hipsters, and Wall Street after-fivers—that virtually guarantees an interesting audience experience. Old guys in khaki slacks nodded their heads alongside pot-smoking hippie bike messengers; guys in polo shirts and cargo shorts stood and sipped beers next to a skater kid in a New Era fitted who kept yelling “More feedback! More guitar!” There is a democratization that occurs at the Seaport shows that is good for bands used to playing warehouses and dive bars. Unlike Telepathe (who made no new fans with their performance) Dean and Randy seemed to embrace the weirdness of it all, and everyone was the better for it. At one juncture, Randy gestured towards the huge red UNO sign, and asked if anyone wanted to get a slice of pizza after the show. By the end of the night, I’d say that pretty much everybody was down.
