The lavish lulling of Los Angeles’ Local Natives couldn’t have flown further afield from the hazy horizons of the City of Angels than tonight, amongst the smog and fog of Italy’s fashionably late, puffer-jacketed capital of paparazzi-perfect politicians and y-fronted yobs. 2009’s Gorilla Manor was as an accomplished debut as any, rigidly carving out comparisons with alt. Americana trailblazers Animal Collective and Sub Pop sweethearts Fleet Foxes, layering six-foot waves of surf guitars over heavenly harmonies, before delightful disruption ensued in the form of frantically frenetic drum battering and lupine howls. Tonight, Taylor Rice’s Local Natives cultivate their primordially pulsating long player into an enrapturing enclave of utterly impeccable orchestration, as jaws and tears splatter the Southern Comfort-stained carpet underfoot. The tribal chimes of Sun Hands recall Red Indian dawns out over cactus-infested Leone landscapes, whilst World News is as enthrallingly effervescent as a thousand and one November sparklers. Shape Shifter swoons and swathes in a cacophonic crescendo that pricks every last hair, even from the bushiest of Italian backs before the dwindling of distorted guitars loftier than many an LA landmark destroys any lingering shards of discomfort quite majestically. As the apertures of Camera Talk open, ribcages rattle like human maracas, melting minds and hearts in a frenzy of drum stick clicks and slick, intertwining existence-affirming vocals. Talking Heads cover Warning Sign doesn’t turn too many heads, in a uniquely dull lull that fits in amongst the remnants of the quintet’s set like a forced jigsaw piece or Primark pantaloons, yet the hymnal hums of Sticky Thread and woozy whirring of Stranger Things translate the tribal trickery of these Natives into the self-sufficient saviours of the stagnant anti-folk scene they’re sure imminently to become.
Live: Marvelous Milanese Manor. Local Natives, La Casa 139.
The lavish lulling of Los Angeles’ Local Natives couldn’t have flown further afield from the hazy horizons of the City of Angels than tonight, amongst the smog and fog of Italy’s fashionably late, puffer-jacketed capital of paparazzi-perfect politicians and y-fronted yobs. 2009’s Gorilla Manor was as an accomplished debut as any, rigidly carving out comparisons with alt. Americana trailblazers Animal Collective and Sub Pop sweethearts Fleet Foxes, layering six-foot waves of surf guitars over heavenly harmonies, before delightful disruption ensued in the form of frantically frenetic drum battering and lupine howls. Tonight, Taylor Rice’s Local Natives cultivate their primordially pulsating long player into an enrapturing enclave of utterly impeccable orchestration, as jaws and tears splatter the Southern Comfort-stained carpet underfoot. The tribal chimes of Sun Hands recall Red Indian dawns out over cactus-infested Leone landscapes, whilst World News is as enthrallingly effervescent as a thousand and one November sparklers. Shape Shifter swoons and swathes in a cacophonic crescendo that pricks every last hair, even from the bushiest of Italian backs before the dwindling of distorted guitars loftier than many an LA landmark destroys any lingering shards of discomfort quite majestically. As the apertures of Camera Talk open, ribcages rattle like human maracas, melting minds and hearts in a frenzy of drum stick clicks and slick, intertwining existence-affirming vocals. Talking Heads cover Warning Sign doesn’t turn too many heads, in a uniquely dull lull that fits in amongst the remnants of the quintet’s set like a forced jigsaw piece or Primark pantaloons, yet the hymnal hums of Sticky Thread and woozy whirring of Stranger Things translate the tribal trickery of these Natives into the self-sufficient saviours of the stagnant anti-folk scene they’re sure imminently to become.
