I admit it has been a long time since
the McDonald and I have spent an evening together. But if anyone was
going to reunite us, it would likely be the indie darlings Beach
House. And while Beach House was headlining and I admittedly had a
girl-boner over seeing them, it was Dustin Wong that I expected to
steal the hearts of the youth painted in eyeliner and flip flops.
Dustin Wong might be someone you've
never heard of, and when he walked on stage wearing a gigantic
cardigan only a bingo-going grandma could love the crowd responded
tepidly. But tucked between two frat gentleman in the front row
(really?), I knew better. He gave us a sheepish wave, popped his
Converse off, and sat on a folding chair. The first staccato sounds
from his guitar were simple and deceiving; until he looped them and
began to build. Armed with pedals and a vision most of us lack,
Dustin continued compounding sounds to create songs of surprising
depth and warmth. Tweaking a guitar here and there is no big feat-any
bedroom rocker can get a pedal on eBay-but to have multiple going at
once and piling on the sounds to make something better than a wall of
noise is tricky.
The crowd fell quiet, trying to figure
out what exactly was going on, and on the way, fell in love.
Occasionally, Dustin would stand up and sing into the mic for an
extra layer, reminding us of the single human responsible for the
complex and lovely songs. Near the end, the crowd began to clap
along, and Dustin looked up a few times as if in disbelief. “You
really like it,” he seemed to be asking. “Oh hells yes,” the
audience replied, keeping the beat through the song. After his set,
as he was packing up to leave, a girl yelled “you were SO good!”
and he blushed. Both gentleman next to me asked who had just played
and upon being given the name, went about looking Dustin up on their
phones. One must give credit to Beach House for supporting such an
inspiring and gentle force.
When the lights dimmed for Beach House
(an extended 45 minutes later), some of the stars had fallen out of
the crowds' eyes. But what had been lost in momentum was gained in
pleasure of seeing Victoria Legrand slink onto the stage and take her
place behind the organ. Alex Scally and touring drummer Daniel Franz
were steps behind her, and they took a moment before launching into
“Wild,” off their recent release, Bloom.
There must be some special deal singers
have with the universe; they can get the box set of a big voice, big
hair, and big shoulder pads. This isn't the first time a paper-thin
singer has been anchored by shoulderpads—nor will it be the last.
Probably not the most chatty musical group, the anxious crowd made
due with the bare minimum of contact from the band. Which, while a taciturn band helped the dreamy atmosphere, seemed to keep Beach House from really
connecting with the crowd.
