Of Montreal / Mothers
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Lincoln Theater, Raleigh —
Art is hard.
And it can also be very stupid.
If you don’t have the chops to craft something as breathtaking as Monet’s Water Lilies or as haunting as Bruegel’s Triumph of Death, I guess the next best thing is to have your friends masquerade as big-titted, patriotic, poodle pugilists and parade them around the stage only to be stripped and motorboated by Abraham Lincoln mashups of Spiderman’s Venom and the Pink Power Ranger.
I wish I were joking, but that actually happened at Tuesday’s Of Montreal show at the Lincoln Theater. Da Vinci rolled over in his grave as I shed a solitary tear for the death of art.
Apparently, Of Montreal is not quite the draw they were 10 years ago because the Lincoln Theater had closed off the balcony, which was disappointing since the upstairs bathroom is at least serviceable, unlike the main floor bathroom which is reminiscent of The Worst Toilet in Scotland.
Opener, Mothers, fronted by whom I can only assume was a female Emo Phillips, got the 1/4 full Lincoln Theater crowd swaying along to some sullen jams that occasionally built toward a rockin’ crescendo. The kids seemed to like it.
Of Montreal then took the stage and proceeded to harangue the audience with their own brand of 1960s audio/visual psychedelia that was reminiscent of what was mercifully left on Sgt. Pepper’s cutting room floor. I kept thinking that Andy Warhol would have loved this band. And I fucking hate Andy Warhol. What a hack.
The only saving grace of the night was the impressively funky bass jams and the almost effortless guitar proficiency. I feel like a band with at least a modicum of Of Montreal’s actual musical talent should be able to let the music speak for itself but they’d apparently rather sing layered “whoa-ohs” while masked baby dancers cavort around the stage, miming temper-tantrums.
2/5 stars – From Dark Crystal-esque bird creatures to strobing eyeballs projected anywhere they could find purchase, I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a band scream, “LOOK AT ME!” so loudly with their flamboyant style and off-putting stage antics. Sadly for Of Montreal, Jane’s Addiction already taught me over 25 years ago that Nothing’s Shocking.