Crack

“Do you wanna liiiiiiive?” Do you wanna liiiive!” erupts Merrill Garbus, cheeks smudged with warpaint, eyes bulging from their sockets, a mouth so wide we can see her tonsils oscillate. We’re only 30 seconds or so into her first ever gig in Bristol under her Tune-Yards moniker and the crowd, so fidgety and restless beforehand, are now completely spellbound.

Released earlier this year, Garbus’s second full-length LP W H O K I L L has been heralded as one of the finest records of 2011, and has garnered notable attention not least due to the New Englander’s frankly exceptional voice. Tonight we caught her at her best. From the offing, listening to her raspy, primal, and yes, somewhat androgynous voice is as inspiring as witnessing a tiger delighting in the Indian twilight.

The show takes its lead from Garbus’s operations centrestage, where she revels in looping layers of her own caterwauling with fragments of floor-tom rhythms, baritone ukulele notes and even the sound of drumsticks kissing the microphone stand. Unlike that of a clutch of her contemporaries, her penchant for the loop pedal sees it used imaginatively and expansively. Conjuring a cacophony of sonic liberation, Gangsta blows down the doors of strictly defined genre, and explores the means of its own operations through powerful moments of apparent breakdown and musical seizure. The sound is inspiring yet never overbearing: Afro-rhythms blend with sluggish, jazzy basslines, saxophones in just the right amount add colour and texture, while glass bottles and even saucepan lids lend vibrant, carnival-esque vibes.

Unsurprisingly, the euphoria both onstage and across the floor of the Fleece reaches fever pitch as Garbus’s soundscaping glides into the instantly recognisable opening to Bizness. And then she unleashes her powerfully raw voice in a string of overwhelmingly-felt wails. Spines are tingling: the song builds broodingly, clamours with anticipation and then spills out into a rapturous crescendo of radiant sax.

What is genuinely charming about the performance is that Garbus is clearly in her element. So much so, in fact, she pauses to pinch herself during the set and extends her gratitude to the fixated crowd. It is clear her words are not perfunctory. Looking around the room, one might be forgiven that those in attendance are children absorbed in a party game: during the songs, the crowd is alive, beaming, cheering; as soon as it stops, all heads are pointed earnestly towards the entertainer, all mouths are reticent, all eyes transfixed. “Wow! You’re the loudest quietest crowd I’ve ever known!” Garbus exclaims. With performances such as this, Garbus will doubtless be captivating many more gig and festival goers over the course of this summer. You’d be loath to miss her.



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Words: Fred Yeast

http://www.myspace.com/tuneyards

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