Concert Review: Ting Tings Go Bling Bling While Pattern is Stasis

Now, I couldn’t play a triangle if you spotted me the triangle and the thing you beat on it with, so I try not to rag too heavily on bands who are making a living by playing instruments semi-competently… but these guys were pretty awful. Consisting of percussionist Chris Ward and multi-instrumentalist/singer Andrew Thiboldeaux, Pattern Is Movement played an eight-song set of songs that sounded exactly the same in their construction. You could set your watch by it: delicate, theatrical singing to start, which turns into an instrumental breakdown—repeatedly the best part of their presentation—followed by a dramatic quick-stop for some operatic singing by Thiboldeaux, and then Ward bangs on his drums like a petulant five-year-old in order to signify the denouement of the song. I’m telling you, I used to love songs with crashing cymbals. Dave Grohl was my favorite drummer. Now I’m considering putting a contract out on him for influencing Ward.

Meanwhile, calling the band’s dirges “songs” is probably a bit of a reach when you consider a) the distracting stops and starts left the mixed audience of hipsters, fratties, iPod owners, and, evidently, people who just happened to be walking down the street, unable to determine when a song was actually concluding; b) there was no discernible traces of melodies, hooks, or choruses, and; c) the singer was on some sort of Sigur Ros-ian headtrip, yelping and whining in a manner that left the listener unable to understand one word he was saying. I seriously thought I heard him say that one song was “a Jay-Z cover,” but I must have been dazed, because the stuff that came next sure didn’t sound like H.O.V.A.

Perhaps the only highlight of their set was when Thiboldeaux asked the assembled audience to clap and then launched into the opening strains of Radiohead’s “Everything in Its Right Place,” a song that probably ranks in the Top Ten of all time for this biased observer. Their rendition was actually quite strong, but served only to highlight the band’s deficiencies: playing within the structure of what is a subversive, yet tightly organized, arrangement, the band was able to showcase their intriguing, loud-quiet dynamic and even tossed in a stirring drum solo to close the number. When left to their own auspices, their sound was reduced to loud, predictable earplug fodder.

By the end of Pattern Is Movement’s set, the crowd was getting a little restless, and some even resorted to classless tactics, like the one who cheered when Thiboldeaux announced their last song, or the one that let out a "Yahoo" in the middle of a momentary silence. However, it should be said that he did not help his cause by repeatedly bemoaning the fact that the band was set up on the floor to the left of the stage rather than on the raised platform. No less than three times did the frontman refer to the setup, including one admittedly hilarious occasion when he stated that the band was “really floored when [they] got the opportunity to do this show.” The feeling of bitterness only seemed to push away an audience who was there to see someone else anyway. And let’s be real. While the floor setup had a bit of a second-class-citizen feel to it, these guys were given the opportunity to play in front of a packed house in their hometown. All they brought to the table was sound-alike noise histrionics that made no impression with the paying customers whatsoever and a shitload of self-defeating, angry harrumphing. When you consider this, what were these guys expecting? The Kanye at Bonnaroo outer-space extravaganza or a huge inflatable pig flying overhead? In other words: if playing a dud set didn’t kill their chances of playing Johnny Brenda’s again, ragging on the stage crew (and their headliner—“we didn’t want to disturb this nice, shiny setup”) just may have.

As for the Ting Tings, Pattern Is Movement’s performance was destined to make them sound as beautiful as Pet Sounds-era Beach Boys, even if they came out and played their instruments My Left Foot-style while standing on their heads, but right from the beginning they showed the musical chops that have afforded them a buzzworthy reputation and growing throng of followers. The duo kicked off with “We Walk”—mad props for pasting the set list on the stage beforehand for the unfamiliar—which featured drummer Jules De Martino playing guitar while working the kit, and singer Katie White churning out some killer, psychedelic keyboard ambiance. For the next track, “Great DJ,” White took up the guitar and De Martino was left to do what he does best—generate driving, danceable drum beats that had the crowd moving, including two inexplicable 50-year-olds to my right, who, on this night, had evidently taken either a little extra Advil or a little extra Ecstasy; I couldn’t tell which.

Throughout the Ting Tings’ nine-song performance, I found myself surprised by the measure of their instrumental prowess, something that I chalk up to two factors. First, I have not been exposed to too much of their music, although I have heard one or two songs on YouTube, and I will, at this point, be buying their debut album, We Started Nothing, like, NOW! Second, I must be a chauvinist or something because I really did not think a woman who looks like an uber-hot mix of Nico, Kylie Minogue's evil twin and Catherine Deneuve-circa Belle du Jour was going to rock so hard on guitar. Led by White’s focused ax work, “Fruit Machine,” became a highlight of the show, featuring a locked-in groove and a guitar line straight out of the Dick Dale playbook. Also of note was the extended conclusion of cursory encore jam “We Started Nothing,” and, of course, the instantly recognizable, '80s-retro “Shut Up and Let Me Go,” which featured White banging on everything from a huge bass drum to an always welcome cowbell.

As for negatives, there weren’t many, but I could have went without the down-tempo “Traffic Light.” Before starting off, White almost apologized to the crowd calling the song their “only slow one.” And well, she sort of did have to apologize because the song wasn’t very good and, considering how the concert had been going, its placement in the middle of the set list was a total momentum squasher. To their credit, once the song was over, they had no problem getting the party started up again.

And now for the obligatory venue gripe: This was my first time at Johnny Brenda’s and I do think it is a tremendous place to see a show…that is, if you can actually see the show. The iPod exposure has made this band a little too popular, and I’m thinking that they may have been a little more suitable for the TLA, perhaps? Since I like beer and, as a result, urination, I lost my spot at the front of the balcony and found myself at least five deep back from a line of sight by the time the Ting Tings went on. This left me unable to do much reporting on the stage presence of the group, and I also was not able to confirm my suspicion that, as Pattern Is Movement was sort of hinting at, White was a most likely major diva. The wife says she saw her treating the stage crew a little rough, but that is all I got.

In the end, the Tings Ting were the real deal. They performed a memorably energetic set, and left at least one viewer eager to find out what else they have to offer. Pattern Is Movement? Not so much. (Fairness alert: Drowned in Sound disagrees.)

None of my pictures came out, so image credit goes to Flickr user bunmun.