31st
Last night, The Antlers came to Akron, Ohio. Peter Silberman, the frontman of the band, made Akron more than it usually looks. “Akron, a welcoming city, I think.” It was his first time here.
They made an uncomfortable space a place for intimate sounds, they made a bad PA work for them, they made children into papparazzi with incessent flashing cell phone cameras, and they made grown men well up.
Peter played guitar (or really, played guitar, and then played the guitar effects, as guitar sounds swirled and swelled, and looped forever, and became unrecognizable). He was supported by two other musicians, an able drummer, and a man responsible for a theremin, a chord organ, a synth, a Roland bass, and yes, more pedal effects.
The band perfectly translated what seemed like an eclectic record, Hospice, into a cohesive group of songs. The unified sound stressed the musicianship and the concept of the record: falling in love with a dying woman and remembering both the good and the bad, as opposed to romanticizing only the positive as so often happens when a loved one passes on.
This adapted sound was of post rock descent with nothing going for it besides sheer emotion, it was as beautiful as it was depressing. It felt so far from natural, the voice washed in reverbed, the melodie signals slammed through effect after effect. The only thing connecting it to primal depression were the subtle drums, the innocent melodies, and the honest lyrics.
People who have never faced loss have found this record to be an exhausting masterpiece of dedication to feelings not often shared (as noted here). For me, it was a testament to my understanding of what it feels like to suffer the loss of a loved one.
Overall, it was intensely depressing, and I couldn’t recommend it (enough, if you can handle it).
