When was the last time you saw a performer alone on stage? And I’m not talking about a solo artist like a singer-songwriter or a DJ — but really alone. Just a man (or woman) and a microphone. Nothing to lean on but the sound of their own voice. Sure, How To Dress Well had backing music, coming from an invisible laptop that was as much a part of the show as the projector is to a movie. But the New York-based R&B black sheep left the laptop off the stage for a reason. I’m sure everything about the L.A. debut of How To Dress Well was done for a reason.
Two L.A.-based openers began the night and provided sharp contrast to the show How To Dress Well would later put on. First up was Death Kit. The five-piece is a traditional dance-punk outfit (I can’t believe I just said that) that finds its success in catchy tunes and high energy. The sound comes across as being very similar to The Rapture, especially when the singer busted out his cowbell-on-a-stick. In fact, the singer truly impressed with his onstage work ethic, adding secondary percussion and keyboards to his enthusiastic vocals, and even managed to cover a lot of ground when he wasn’t preoccupied. I’m not a dancer, but Death Kit provided the kind of music that it was hard not to move your body to. People who enjoy this kind of thing will especially be satisfied.
Schlomo, an L.A. based spacey-electronic producer came on next, clearly with the homecrowd on his side. His friends crowded the front of the stage and helped set the mood for an incredibly respectful audience for his complicated, carefully nuanced songs. Last year I saw Teengirl Fantasy and the two artists seem closely related; both use their voices as an instrument, heavily manipulated and there just to add texture. But Schlomo was captivating, maybe because it was so far from what I typically listen to, or maybe because he is just really good. I honestly don’t know enough about this kind of futuristic, laptop based music to really judge it. I can say it sounded awesome. I can say the crowd seemed to love it. I can say he is now on my radar. All of this is true. Combined with Death Kit, I was in no way regretting my decision to brave the heavy rain and get to Echo Park early enough to see the entire bill
And then came How To Dress Well. The show opened with Tom Krell, the given name of the previously enigmatic artist, standing in the near-dark and explaining to the crowd that it had not been the best day. He didn’t elaborate more than the fact that he was on a plane, but he unenthusiastically said he would try some songs and see how they went. The smoke machine flooded the room and a projector began playing backing videos, all unique to each other, some of which you might be familiar with if you have seen some of his videos. And there he was, just, well, singing.
The concert was a roller coaster of emotion. It took a couple numbers for the singer to find his rhythm, and for the audience to get used to the idea of what he was doing. But once he got going, it was easy to lose yourself in the experience. His lack of confidence early turned inside out on itself and became humility, and ultimately gratitude. When people started talking near the bar a little too loudly, Krell stood in front of the video screen in silence until they realized they were the only ones making noise. He then apologized for them. When a rude photographer suddenly appeared and started blasting flash in the singer’s eyes, Krell quickly disposed of him and again apologized to the audience. Sometimes it can come across as a weakness when a singer seems too apologetic, but here it was sincere concern with the atmosphere and the audience’s experience. It was hard to gauge whether Krell gets enjoyment out of playing live, but if he does, it comes from the audience reaction and seeing them enjoying something he creates.
Musically, he started performing brilliantly after the rust got cleaned off. “My Body” is more stunning live than on record. “Suicide Dream #2” is serious and introspective and engrossing. “Ready For The World” contrasted with everything else with its pace and enthusiasm. Everything came across fresh and shiny and, well, beautiful. The girls next to me discussed being on the fence with regard to the album and wanted to see how it translated live to form an opinion. They, and me as well, left The Echo as adoring fans of How To Dress Well. What more could someone want from their L.A. debut?
