By Andre Torrez
I went to Bimbo’s to see Junior Boys on a whim. I knew someone who had an extra spot on the list. I didn’t know what I was getting into, and was just happy to hang with my friend. Parking was a bitch, but we settled on a lot and made our way into the swank club. North Beach was definitely in the house.
Looking around, I couldn’t help but notice that this wasn’t exactly my scene. I felt like I was in an episode from The O.C. where the kids somehow get to hang in the bar and watch the latest “cool indie band” circa-2004. Waiting in anticipation of a band you don’t know usually proves to be anti-climactic, but there was something about the performance itself that was amiss. It didn’t take long for me to put my finger on it: I was annoyed at the lack of camaraderie between the band members, especially the core songwriting duo: the front man and the mysteriously silent man on the Moog synthesizer directly to his left. The drummer was in the background as expected, albeit all Genesis-looking because of the cool lighting, but the lead singer and this Moog man were placed prominently next to one another even though Moog man never spoke a word. I guess he had a cool haircut and all, but if you’ve got nothing to say and little to do, why take the spotlight? He might as well have been a prop. It was almost as if a wall was dividing front man and Moog man — they had little to no interaction with one another on stage. Not even a glance.
Moog man and frontman.
The two main men of Junior Boys would be better off pursuing separate musical paths, instead of catering to trends by fusing the electronic with the organic. With his scruffy look, the lead singer-guitarist came across as more of a traditional songwriter. He focused on lyrics and on connections with the audience. He was adept at banter and seemed to thrive off the audience’s energy. The man at the Moog admittedly held down the electronic portion of the show, but he was utterly detached. Given the opportunity to let loose, I’m sure he’d come alive — if he just wasn’t stifled by that other guy with the words and guitar. Both parties would flourish creatively if they just ditched the commercial combination sound. But who am I to judge? It’s probably payin’ the bills.
One night later at the Independent, Sebastien Tellier had the Moog-and-guitar combo down to a science. His sound was a perfect balance of heavy, deep, and dark elements. He had a lot more fun mixing synthesizers and rock star posturing, with a guitar representing a full-on phallus.