Another dank summer Shoreditch eve, another bunch of Brooklynites, and another set of impeccably polished, proverbially pretty indie sheen as
The Hundred In The Hands continue their splattering of London tunnels, independent record stores etc. Essentially, there's nothing truly essential in Jason Friedman's darting Rickenbacker stabs as his limbs weave in and out of shadows and spotlights, and the duo's lack of commitment to live instrumentation is at best intriguing. Bolstered heavily by backing track and drum machine, the lasting impression is one of hindered humbleness yet it's the beguiling beauty of Eleanore Everdell, both vocally and aesthetically that tonight elevates The Hundred In The Hands above the smoggy rabble of raw musicianship spawned daily by Brooklyn. From the sci-fi MicroKorg chimes of Young Aren't Young, to the futuristic downbeat disco of the soon-to-be unleashed Pigeons (20th September for those still vaguely bothered by single releases), the male-dominated throng nod and bob in lustful awe (with Dum Dum Girls headlining and 5 out of 6 artists on show therefore not merely female, but furthermore bearing more leg and limb than a KFC bargain bucket, approximately 94% of tonight's attendees barely manage to suppress geriatric dribbling). Commotion is ultimately convincing, as Friedman slaps on a chunky bass, Everdell shrieking fibs when affirming she "won't go down" whilst stomping away in 6-inch heels, yet it's set closer Dressed In Dresden that ignites the caverns of Cargo, its robotic, undulating slabs of synth and synthetic snare thuds captivating. Whilst Friedman and Everdell may not be the arthouse borough's best cultural offshoot, their 80s-infused melancholy ought to have a fair few rejoicing in their four hands. Just expect pews lined with a few more gentlemen than ladies...
