Micachu and The Shapes – Le Poisson Rouge, NYC 30/03/10

Did I miss something? I don’t mean to be rude, but last time I saw Micachu and The Shapes it was a wet Tuesday evening in Cardiff and there were about 50 people in the venue. They applauded politely after each song, a couple cheered, and some even bought merch. But seeing Micachu in New York was one of the strangest shows I’ve been to in a while.

Firstly, she was on stage at 8pm. I thought that must have been a typo, and arrived with little time to spare. Secondly, I’d imagined the venue as a small, dimly lit cave, but walking in through the doors of Le Poisson Rouge it was clear just how mistaken I was. It was like an underground dancehall, the stage a stretching expanse across one side where Tanlines were committing their layered Balearic rhythms to an audience.

And finally, the audience; there were a lot of them, and it only got busier as Micachu’s stage time drew closer. Soon the front of the stage felt like a festival pit, bodies pressed close, cameras and phones held up in the air. People always use that cliché ‘the venue erupted’, but when Mica, Marc and Raisa ambled into view that cliché sure made a lot more sense.

I can’t tell you much about the show. The sound was a little hollow given the looming expanse of the venue and its ceiling. It seemed more used to housing clubbers than indie kids, although this did throw up one advantage; the lighting. It was incredible, like watching Metallica pose-wank on a Las Vegas strip mall. There were several moments where the drum kit was solely illuminated, Marc smashing at its straining cymbals with lethal intent.

Of course Metallica, Micachu are not and every gesture of grandeur, every scream from the adulent crowd was met with a courteous and at times coy wit. The reason I can’t remember much of the show is because I spent most of it in complete awe. I know the songs were there, the hits. ‘Lips’, ‘Curly Teeth’, ‘Golden Phone’ – all these tracks carried off with the finesse and idiosyncratic charm we’ve come to expect from Mica’s performances. What had me in awe was the crowd’s response. Watching towering New York hipsters gyrate to the slang of her chu guitar, screams of “OH MY GOD. We Love you Micachu! SO much!”, and feeling the floor physically shake as several hundred feet stamped for more. It was electric.

Part of me wanted to put the response down to the over sentimentality of our East Coast cousins, or the novelty of listening to some pop that sounds distinctly British. But really, no amount of adjectives or theorising can cover the one clear fact. Micachu and the Shapes are fucking awesome, that’s what I missed.