LA Weekly newspaper August 2002

Review by Alec Hanley Bemis.



MUM, DAVID GRUBBS, NAUTILIS

at the Knitting Factory, August 8

It was fly. The required attire was latex-tight daisy dukes and denim pantsuits for the ladies, baggy jeans, leathers and jerseys for the fellas -- all accessorized with braids and cellies and floppy hats. At one point, when the DJ began spinning hot hot hits on the 1s and 2s, the throng started a small-scale dance party. Guys in doo rags were sandwiched by dope honeys. Yes, you're reading the right review. Apparently, whoever books the Knitting Factory has a sense of humor, because, on a night when the main room's bill was composed of an eclectic mix of deep thinkers, the audience arriving for that show needed to pass through a bar/restaurant area playing host to a Def Comedy Jam­style open-mic event. Was this a metaphor for the odd contrasts that would define the evening?

The show in the main space opened with a button-pushing performance by a one-man IDM act named Nautilus, a.k.a. Skyler McGlothlin. His music served as a reminder of how sui generis the music of Autechere and Aphex Twin was when they first appeared on the electronic-music scene, and how little their followers have lived up to that promise. In the first uncomfortable segue of the night, McGlothlin gave way to David Grubbs, who belted out precise bursts over low throbs from a pearly-white iBook and acoustic guitar lines that recalled minimalist composition and earnest folk. His songs were pulsing and circular; his lyrics drew from modernist poetry and philosophy; and his voice was a singular melodic yelp. It's idiosyncratic stuff, but the whiplash contrast between Grubbs, Nautilus and the scene outside threw the crowd. One member of the audience -- probably expecting an evening of IDM -- wondered aloud about Grubbs' "James Taylor vibe."

Thankfully, Iceland's Mum left the audience with sweet dreams. Twin sisters Gyda and Kristin Anna Valtysdottir elicited charming throaty sounds over an eclectic backdrop part electronica, part chamber music. They and their three bandmates dealt with instrument selection the way teachers treat the cast of a nursery-school play. At whim, they cycled between a selection of sounds that was alternately serious (cello, guitar, organ, synth) and silly (accordion, melodica, a pan dipped in a pot of water and struck with a mallet). The compositions were unambitious, but the performance was accomplished; their music was as magical and transient as spilt fairy dust dispersing in twilight, ethereal as a snow-globe scene. They shared little with the two opening acts other than an allegiance to a brand name: Apple Macintosh. Mum favored the Titanium PowerBook and black G3 laptop. Outside played the music America would be listening to if we were still in love with the jukebox; inside was the sound of a music box's soft serenade.



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