Being surrounded by lobotomized bobbleheads and thick clouds of smoke may not be the best conditions for enjoying a concert, but I was fairly confident that this well-loved, experimental indie rock five-piece would put on a show that would make up for the loveless atmosphere. After just one song of subpar energy, however, the beloved stroke-inducing strobe light was introduced (to ensure the crowd was still awake, perhaps). Breaking out the big guns so early in the game is never a good sign. It was also disconcerting that not a single member of the band even attempted to pretend they were enthusiastic about performing.
However, it was the band's lack of fervor, rather than a blatant disinterest, that set the tone. The most movement of the night came from frontman Stuart Braithwaite. At the end of the 12-song set, he shook his guitar with mild triumph-miraculously, as aloof as he was he had managed to snap a few strings. A little charisma never hurt anyone-I've seen countless bands live whose mediocre material was irrelevant because their stage presence made the event enjoyable.
Considering the grandiose potential of Mogwai's music to thoroughly envelop its listeners, one would expect the visual aspects to be more spectacular. I expected my post-show paralysis to be the product of a solidly powerful performance, not a maniacal stroboscope. There's a point at which the charm of scintillation wears off.
Despite such harsh words, the night was not a complete loss by any means. It wasn't a typo when I called myself a Mogwai fan earlier. Really. I enjoy their music just fine, and I really enjoyed the audio aspect of the concert. Crowd-pleasers like the nearly 20-minute "My Father My King" from the EP of the same name, as well as more obscure songs from "Come On Die Young" could not be faulted. Each member's interweaving skills helped to project a sense of tightly-knit togetherness.
It gives great testimony to the richness of Mogwai's purely instrumental music that the fans were highly attentive regardless of the fact that the microphone's only use was to amplify Braithwaite's "thank you"s. It is no small feat for a band to create such a loyal following without writing lyrics. It is easier for the general public to digest the rhyming of "boy" and "toy" than eight-minute eccentric amalgamations of noise, conspicuously lacking vocals. Although resembling Radiohead and early Sonic Youth at times, Mogwai successfully achieves a unique sound of complex guitar riffs and touches of electronic influence.
The fluctuation from eardrum-bursting loudness to a feeble quiet was key in the instrumental success of the night. More often than not, a live show with unexpected variation within a song will prove fruitful in terms of capturing and sustaining attention, and Mogwai are aware of this. The band closed the show with achingly harsh dissonance and unintelligible interjections, but in a way so perfect that any other method would not have worked quite as well.
The purpose of a live show is to be able to experience music in a different dimension, to have something that differs from listening to a CD in your bedroom. Mogwai write beautiful music and perform it just as well, but energy is a fundamental factor of a live show, and theirs was sadly lacking.