Devotchka – 93 Feet East, London, 20/08/07

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The young denizens of Shoreditch left their inhibitions at home last night and partied away to an overwhelmingly barnstorming performance from Devotchka. After a warm up gig in the rural backwater of Ottery St. Mary in Devon (I wonder what happened there exactly), they found themselves in a small dark and sweaty east London club – and loved every minute. But lets not get ahead of ourselves. First up, the MGM fanfare and police sirens greeted the arrival of Paul St. Paul and the Apostles – all frilly knickers and pearl necklaces – and that was just the lads. I thought I had woken up in 1982, with Hot Gossip re-enacting the Rocky Horror Show. Blatantly miming throughout except for lead singer Paul St. Paul, I have no idea what’s going on here – drama students having some fun with cheeky disco performance art? Pulling it off without being booed off stage was an achievement of sorts in itself – largely due to their own small travelling barmy army being in attendance, and a Devotchka audience open-minded to visuals, mystery, and something off-the-wall. I can’t say I really want to find out more, having suffered Spandau Ballet et al the first time around thank you very much, but it was entertaining as a one-off and thought had gone into props and choreography. So, if dressing up in tu-tus, basques and vintage frocks (be you male or female) and partying like its 1999 is your thing, then get on down and check them out.

On the face of it, it would have been difficult to imagine more of a clash with what Devotchka were promising to serve up, but in their early days Devotchka were a burlesque backing band, and Paul St. Paul and friends had certainly loosened up the audience. Now packing tighter and buzzing with anticipation as they eyed up a stage littered with exotic instruments – sousaphone, bouzouki, theremin, accordian. How could these be used to reproduce the complex and emotional studio sound? Nine fifteen and out walked the quartet charged with rustling up this maelstrom. Only Nick Urata’s heavy stubble and battered cowboy boots gave any indication of them being anything other than an eminently sensible bunch. Violin/accordian demon Tom Hagerman looked like an actuary after a hard days number crunching in the City, whilst both drummer/trumpeter (sometimes at the same time) Shawn King and fairy-light-lit-sousaphone/upright bass player Jeanie Schroder all smart casual and innocuous.

An hour and fifty minutes and two encores later I was drenched in sweat but completely euphoric. The same goes for Devotchka. Though his three friends remained relatively restrained, Nick Urata was a frenzied performer. Greek dancing, leaping and straining to get those weird notes out of the theremin, toasting the audience from an ever present wine bottle, this was magical stuff. The club atmosphere leant itself to the dark sounds of their cover of Venus In Furs, and the eerie whistling and grizzly guitar of Enemy Guns had the walls shaking. I had wondered if Urata’s aching vocals would transfer unscathed to a live show. Often intentionally distorted via the antique microphone like the fiery Latino propaganda voice of Radio Castro, even when exposed his voice was equal to the task. Haunting. Overall the sound was immense – full of texture belying the fact that this was only a four-piece, and with enough volume to pack a solid punch without loosing detail. How It Ends was delivered mid-set with the crowd participating in the rousing anthemic chorus. For any uptempo number wild dancing and clapping was spontaneous and enthusiastic – Such a Lovely Thing and Queen Of The Surface Streets especially turning everyone bezerk. “Tonight Matthew, I’m going to be a dervish”. It’s hard to pick out highlights: there were so many. Just one of those great, great night’s out, and a must see for the next time they’re back in the UK.

Links
Devotchka [official site] [myspace]