The Death Set came highly recommended from my friend Scott, and I can see why he likes them: they’re a bit off-kilter, spastic, and bring a lot of kids that like to dance. They consist of two guys playing guitar and singing (almost yelping, really) over a laptop that spits out rapid drum machine beats. The songs last no longer than two minutes each (really more like a minute and a half), with random tracks (Jackson 5 to rap hits) in-between that give the feel of a DJ set punctuated by short bursts of punk. Their high energy set seemed short and promising; they brought a small (but clearly excited) group of fans who took over the front while they played; unfortunately, their sound was terrible and you couldn’t hear much more than the beats from the laptop. I would go see this band again, however, particularly in a small room somewhere.

Suicide were the main event, as chances to see them are few and far between. Judging from the age of the crowd, I’d guess that maybe a third of the folks in attendance would have had the chance to see Suicide back in the day, or at least have heard their records when they’d only been out for a few years. For everyone else, including myself, it was an opportunity to see a hugely influential, if relatively unknown band, who earned a brutal reputation for live performances at the beginning of punk in America. Going back and listening to their first two records, it’s amazing just how many bands (from synth-pop to industrial) ripped them off. But that’s what it means to be an innovator, paving a path for many others who will follow.

I’ve read a great deal about Suicide’s abrasive, confrontational shows from the seventies and early eighties. I didn’t expect that kind of experience these many years later, but I was still very curious to see what this band would sound like, in general, and after all this time. It was, for lack of a better word, interesting. Martin Rev had nice equipment, and his beats and synth lines sounded great. He was also wearing some kind of jumpsuit with some of the largest, strangest sunglasses I’ve ever seen. I believe the set was largely improvised (it certainly wasn’t a ‘greatest hits set’, though I wouldn’t expect that from this band). They did play Cherie, and Frankie Teardrop, however, both of which were good.

Alan Vega looked liked he’d lived through that turbulent time so long ago, complete with a wizened swagger that convinced me that he was once as menacing as the stories I’ve read, and as intense as the singer of Frankie Teardrop would need to be. He stalked around, without a bite but with a good deal of disdain for everyone there, including himself: playing at a music festival with corporate sponsors at a NYC tourist destination is nearly antithetical to the ethos of Suicide’s career. The tension showed. But I know that I was thrilled to have had the chance to see them, as were many folks there, and that at the end of their bitter set, with a great deal of enthusiasm and applause from the crowd, they looked a little flustered, pleased even, at the reception they received after all these years. They smiled. They even played an encore. If a band like Gang of Four can suddenly (and deservedly) be discovered by a new generation of music lovers, and receive credit for influencing a generation of current bands, Suicide deserves that much and more.

Labels: Concert Reviews, Suicide, The Death Set