Warpaint composure lyrics4/13/2023 ![]() Tonight is a Yacht Rock Greatest Hits spectacular, no new album to flog (just a retrospective box set and a New Year’s Eve TV show they’re doing on cable, which Hall promotes by crowing, “Instead of watching the ball drop, you can watch my balls drop”), and thus crowd-pleasing from beginning to end, if you’re willing to assume the crowd really wanted to hear “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.” Their backing band is slick and accomplished and sufficiently mired in luxury to be able to afford to pay one guy to spend 80 percent of his time just shaking two tambourines simultaneously. Chortle all you want, but this show starts with “Maneater” (featuring a lengthy sax solo from an older, bespectacled gentleman in a purple suit and hair halfway down his back) and ends with “Jingle Bell Rock,” which is also pretty great, and I hate “Jingle Bell Rock.”ĭaryl Hall and John Oates are both still looking fabulous, in case you were concerned, the former clad in a leather jacket and forbidding sunglasses and a generally aloof air, contributing to the feeling you get just looking at them that one of Oates’s jobs is to be there in case someone needs to bail Hall out of jail. Sunday night, it’s time for something slightly different: Hall & Oates at Beacon Theatre. It’s startling to watch people enjoying themselves while playing these songs, and watching people in the crowd enjoy them. The crowd hoots at every bombastic drum break, and there are plenty to hoot at. There’s a lightness, a glee, to even their darkest odes to abandonment and alienation, their goofy between-song banter further lightening the mood (“This song’s called ‘Set Your Arms Down,’ bitch,” or maybe it’s “This song’s called ‘Set Your Arms Down, Bitch’ “). The best songs tonight are wracked with tempo-altering mood swings, several top-shelf Cure riffs fused together, “Composure” opening with another funereal waltz but speeding up into a percussive Bloc Party jam, “Beetles” veering back and forth between a shuffle and a sprint. Instead, Mozgawa and bassist Jenny Lee Lindberg keep things from wallowing with a rumbling, constantly shifting, surprisingly loud Public Image Ltd. Whereas the quietest, least audacious songs hit hardest through headphones-the devastated, uncomfortably intimate acoustic-guitar waltz “Baby,” say, or the particularly Cat Power–indebted “Billie Holiday,” off last year’s Exquisite Corpse EP, wherein they spell out Billie’s name for the chorus (B-I-L-L-IIIIIII-E H-O-L-I-D-A-YYYYYYYY) and refashion the lyrics to “My Guy” into a tearful eulogy-neither show up in the set list tonight. ![]() On The Fool, breathy, mournful voices dart at you from everywhere, an omniscient and anonymous Greek chorus of woe, but live it’s slightly more linear, Theresa Wayman and Emily Kokal trading off jagged guitar lines and forceful lead vocals: “How can I keep my composure?” howls the latter “Why can’t I just get it together?” laments the former “You could have been my king,” they note in unison. ![]() Everybody uncurl, stop bawling, and get ahold of yourselves. Their stupendous debut full-length, The Fool, triangulates Moon Pix–era Cat Power’s ghostly, morbid, gorgeous bedroom folk with the Slits’ lithe, muscular post-punk, but onstage at the Webster Hall Studio Wednesday night, the latter style dominates, thanks mostly to drummer Stella Mozgawa, a dervish of brash snare cracks, liquid drum rolls, emphatic soundman-hailing gestures, and rampant giggling. quartet generally seems built for solitude-for abject 4 a.m. They’re smiling! The bass player is dancing (and wearing overalls)! People in the crowd are dancing! There’s a crowd at all! You’re not alone in your bedroom, curled up in the fetal position, bawling uncontrollably! The all-female L.A. Warpaint live is a disconcerting experience. Jenny Lee Lindberg and Emily Kokal of Warpaint, pulling you off the floor Santiago Felipe
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