welcome to the beach house

Nights at the Bowery Ballroom are always long. Though it's a beautiful venue, is exceptionally clean and the nightly lineup is always close to golden, the space itself leaves something to be desired for a girl like me. Without reason, every time I see a show there, I cannot leave the place without a raw, whine-worthy ache in my lower back. If someone knows why this is, please advise.

However, in my endless maybe-perhapsing about the tilt of the floor or the kind of shoes I wear, I have yet to discover why this venue ails me so. I have seen something close to a hundred shows there (I hope that's not an exaggeration) and yet I am clueless to why only at the Bowery am I in such pain. But with great luck and to the benefit of my poor, old-woman's back, I have just last night found the antidote:

BEACH HOUSE.

Their performance at the 6 Delancey Street address wasn't a lot of things (namely fast or peppy or music to get drunk to--wait, I might take that back later) but if it could actively encapsulate one word it would be this one: captivating. The music of Beach House is slow and melancholy, falling into moments of dronish drowsiness that make some of their songs indistinguishable from one another. For some, this style (particularly that we see on their new release, Devotion) is like a large, warm blanket--Beach House guarantees to take you with them, to protect you and to hold you until their hour and a half is up. However, I took less interest in being warmed by a fire of sadness than picking the truly kooky brain of their singer and keyboardist, Victoria Legrand.

Legrand is unabashed and unfiltered while her bandmate, Alex Scally, is hardly noticeable. When the two of them took the stage (accompanied by an unnamed drummer, supposedly from the previous band), my eyes had the feeling of adjusting to sunlight after being in a dark room. I was unsure of what to expect, uncertain of where to focus. The very moment Legrand began to sing, though, I was right there on her. Her voice is deep, penetrating almost, and her movements were shifty--she dances sexually, flipping her hair and bending her hips, all with the recklessness of a child. Victoria Legrand does not give a shit about the audience and it is incredibly endearing. What's more is that in combination with the fabulous oceanic light show and their various stage props (which the girl wonder claimed to have stolen from Connecticut), the music became much more than a listening event; it was something like a dance performance or a musical or a Bjork video.

Not be left out completely, Scally's guitar added layers that would be impossible with only Legrand's purrs and keys. When the band covered a Daniel Johnston song that I do not know the name of, the guitar was resonant and commanding, reminding the audience that yes, there was someone else to watch. Not to mention, his Flaming-Lips-esque costume of an entirely white suit introduced an angelic contrast to his counterpart's flashy, shiny, beaded getup that appeared to have no start or end point.

At the end of the night, after Legrand had coyly joked that "This is our last song" and had gone on to play three more (including "Home Again", off of Devotion), I realized I had not thought about my ailment all evening. The show wasn't unlike entering another world, one that didn't cause pain in your back but instead gave you a feeling of intense delight. Victoria Legrand and her friend Alex had distracted me from my distaste for the Bowery Ballroom's floor tilt and kept me involved all evening. Now if only Beach House wasn't just the band's pleasant moniker but also the location of their shows...

Beach House - You Came To Me
Beach House - Home Again
(buy)