(Note: I had intended for this review to be posted much earlier than today’s date. You can blame the Pilgrims.)
Brooklyn indie rockers The Vandelles played to a diverse crowd Friday night
at New York’s Crash Mansion. The basement venue (that curiously resembles some sort of hunting lodge-lounge-frat pad hybrid) was a melting pot of students, yuppies in cognito, and obligatory long-faced fashionistas. Few seemed hell-bent on “rockin’” and more interested in the open vodka bar, but the band was persistently energized, pulling out all the tricks (i.e. stage gymnastics, mood lighting, lots of sweating).
For those purists that preach “real rock belongs in the dank underbelly of tasteful society” and “rock musicians are the harmonious canker sores in the mouth of the beau monde,” I say…maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the kids these days want their rock ‘n roll in prettier packages. The Vandelles are certainly more attractive, collectively, than, say, Iggy Pop, but their music retains a feverish unease that would pull a smile from their predecessors. With a sound that blends the blurry diction of shoe-gaze with a stylish brand of modern No Wave, the band plays smart rock that sort of defies hipster creed, while simultaneously remaining hip.
While their surf influence has drawn comparisons to fellow art house rockers The Raveonettes, listen closely and you may catch a whisper of Sonic Youth’s blasé turbulence (although singer Jason Schwartz’s timbre is a few hard knocks and whiskey shots from Kim Gordon’s sexy snarl). To give you an idea of The Vandelles’ noise mash-up, the band cites inspiration from a diverse collection of artists, including The Jesus and Mary Jane, The Beach Boys, and communal soap huckster Phil Specter (even their name channels the spirit of 60s girl groups a la The Shangri-Las).
The Vandelles’ five-song EP is available now. To listen to tracks from the album or for information about upcoming shows, you can visit the group's Myspace page at www.myspace.com/thevandelles.
-Lara
