Cut Copy's danceable show misses some of its 'live' feel
There are few things less interesting at a concert than the spectacle of a band triggering keyboard sequences on stage. Why would anybody pay good money to watch a musician load up the preset tracks of a song and press play? And yet there was Cut Copy at the House of Blues on Sunday, doing exactly that time and time again in front of a packed house.
Perhaps the members of the Australian band figured that if it's good enough for DJs, it's good enough for them, too. It was easy to see the connection. Put Cut Copy in sharp suits instead of their T-shirts and untucked button-downs, and they'd be straight out of 1982, all alienated-cool synth pop with a disco beat. A few songs segued straight into one another without a break for maximum danceability.
But even with an audience prepared to move, it was supposed to be a concert, not a club night, and it's never smart to bank on people coming to see keyboards play themselves. It was noticeable immediately, as the opening "Hearts on Fire" went through its changes even when nobody was touching the machines. "Future" featured all four members of the band congregating by the drums and clapping together as the keyboard continued on its own.
It was so pervasive that midway through the show, when Cut Copy had settled into a lineup of bass, drums, and two atmospheric, reverb-loaded guitars for "Unforgettable Season," it was hard to trust that the sound coming out of the speakers was actually being generated by the musicians. That instinct was validated during "So Haunted" when the keyboards jumped back in without any help.
To its credit, Cut Copy never really tried to pretend that it was all live. But the result was precious little spontaneity in a show that really came to life during the more organic moments, such as Tim Hoey clonking on a cowbell in "Out There on the Ice" or the call and response between Dan Whitford's New Order lilt and Hoey's vocoder buzz during "Feel the Love." Meanwhile, drummer Mitchell Scott, the one person who could reliably be assumed to be actually playing his instrument when you heard it, remained in the dark the whole time.
Seeming like the up-with-people flipside of emo, drums-and-keyboard duo Matt and Kim opened with a set so breathlessly chipper that singer Matt Johnson was gasping for air right from the start. No matter how many times they thanked the crowd for the reception, it seemed as though playing music was the way they expressed their relentlessly grinning cheer, not the reason for it in the first place. 