| | Yo La Tengo Shepherds Bush Empire, London - March 1st 2004 | This gig worried me. I am a Yo La Tengo fan but their last two albums have been all laid back and mellow whereas I prefer the fuzz drenched songs of earlier records. Was tonight going to be a noodling jazz snooze fest? Or were there going to be enough old favourites in the set to placate me?
Over the next ninety minutes they do rock; they do pop; they do jazz, they even do a three part accapella.
I should have had faith. Yo La Tengo are gods.
Taking the stage they launch straight into Save Tony Orlandos Home and from the moment Georgias sun dappled vocals float in over those simple organ chords I am a convert. How could I ever have doubted their genius?
With nearly twenty years of back catalogue to pluck songs from they can move from wistful melancholy strum pop to hook laden rock to jazz tinged bossa-nova without it looking like contrived eclecticism.
Time disappears. I check my watch; already an hour has passed. There is a tangible buzz as the descending keyboard motif to Blue Line Swinger announces itself. Only it seems that the song is never going to start as Ira is crouched in a foetal position around his guitar intent on abusing it. All the while the James maintains that magical keyboard sustain whilst Georgia repeats a slow thudding drum roll. Then, finally, when my anticipation is at breaking point, a half recognisable version of the songs riff emerges out of the atonal maelstrom. It is repeated, slowly gathering pace, as the storm breaks and Georgias lullaby like vocals come in.
I feel myself getting a little chocked. There is something about the atmosphere. It feels like everyone is here because they love Yo La Tengo: not because its the right gig to be at. Even when they rock out the vocals are quietly sung, conjuring an air of intimacy like their singing these songs just for us. They are not the most demonstrative of bands but you can see that, in their own quiet, understated way, theyre glad to be there sharing their songs with us. What the hell else would keep them going for twenty years; it is not as if they sell that many records.
Special.
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