I saw Caribou last night in Manchester. The fact that I saw him at all was a minor triumph of extended haggling with the doorstaff, because the venue was packed sardine-tight with the usual array of haircuts, too-cool-for-schoolers and louts that populate ‘buzz’ gigs.
Still, it was worth it: ANBAD alumni Gold Panda was supporting, noisily, and the audience was mesmerised by both his heavy, muddy beats and his woolly panda-hat.
Caribou themselves were delicious – swirling and deft tunes with, alternately, dreamy, delicate punctuations and squelchy, heavy, house synth noises.
Songs were built, looped, dropped and reassembled with consummate skill. Ringleader Dan Snaith played, variably, guitars, drums, keyboards and percussion – a true musical polymath.
The Horn The Hunt maintain a similar approach in their dexterous, and yet pleasingly raw, songs. The songs, you feel, are constructed carefully, and then allowed to crumble around the edges. The result is gloriously sinewy, overblown songs like The Valley.
Overblown but restrained, The Valley satisfies the listener in all manner of ways. Rumbustious and tactile, clanking and delicate; there are sounds here that evoke all manner of feelings – some troubling, some warm, some white-light-bright.
The Horn The Hunt crystallise the mania of the creative process into one shimmering, glittering moment of brilliance. Excellent.