The Books @ U-Dub
The Books are a band that exists in the blurry space between genres and scenes. While the bulk of their fanbase comes from the world of indie rock, they seem singularly unconcerned with the fleetingly fashion-conscious moods of that scene, instead drawing inspiration from the realm of academia and minimalism, with an approach that melds John Oswald’s plunderphonics with Steve Reich’s loopy patterns. In a way, though, the closest comparison to the Books would be a more pop-conscious and consistently musical version of art-pranksters Negativland, minus some of the sound-as-politics aspect.
But this obsession with classification is moot in the face of an inspiring show like Friday’s sold-out performance at University of Washington’s HUB, with P:ano opening.
We showed up pretty early, and there were only a couple dozen people in the large auditorium when we arrived, but the sizable venue quickly filled to capacity. A large projection screen formed the backdrop for the stage, with a string of numbers and the cryptic jumble “iamendtoitfanhandmart” displayed, the meaning of which would become clear later.
P:ano, a four-piece comprised of ukulele, bass clarinet (one of my absolute favorite instruments), accordion, and drums (along with a variety of percussion played by all the members), warmed the crowd up with delicate, melodic songs that rarely rose above a whisper. The boy-girl harmony vocals and light-hearted performance style were fun in a way that probably has to be experienced to be understood. Their unique sound rises above the twee label that would usually be applied to them, cute and heartfelt without feeling trite or condescending.
I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect from the Books. Their recordings are intricately detailed works comprised of assorted stringed instruments and found sound recordings, mostly vocal snippets from historical, instructional and documentary recordings of various sorts. Live, they recreated this mishmash of elements as an instrumental duo, playing acoustic guitar and cello (and on one song, dual electric basses) along with audio-visual accompaniment and live vocals. While many bands use visuals as a means of distracting from a lackluster performance, the Books video elements are as much a part of the performance as the audio. Featuring video from a variety of sources (archival footage, home movies, processed video), edited in time with the music, the video added another level of stimulus.
The string of numbers across the projection between songs turned out to be a tracklisting on their dvd player menu, each number representing a track to be played. The odd phrase underneath turned out to be two additional audio-video pieces that the pair played while tuning. The first, “iamendtoit,” was a series of anagrams for “meditation” projected in synch with a voice repeatedly intoning the word “meditation.” The second , “fanhandmart,” was a piece of archival footage of a man playing “Yankee Doodle” by squeezing his hands together, producing flatulent tones, followed by an interview detailing his obsessive quest to perfect his dubious “musical” ability.
The pair played with a variety of techniques, from fingerpicked and tapped acoustic guitar to plucked and bowed cello, often aided by timed digital delay effects. They covered a lot of material from their newest album, Lost & Safe, the first to prominently feature non-sampled vocals, which Nick Zammuto handled quite capably while playing complicated guitar figures. Most impressive was the song that included a projection of phonetic approximations of the lyrics, flickering across the screen in perfect time with the performance.
After their twelve song set, a standing ovation brought them back for an obviously preplanned encore (there were, after all, 13 track numbers shown on their projection), which Zammuto insisted was both a love song, and a song about Buddhist metaphysics.
The entire show had a novelty (and I don’t mean this in a dismissive sense) absent from most typical concerts. Everything about the lineup and approach of both bands was unique and refreshing, in a way that few guitar rock groups can hope to be. The Books particularly combine so many opposing elements (acoustic and electronic, live and recorded, old and new, traditional and progressive, pop and academic, etc.) that it’s hard not to feel like you’re witnessing a truly unclassifiable moment, despite such awkward labels like “folktronica.”
