• printer friendly
• mail this article
• iPod format
• digg

By Kristin Fiore

Daily Bruin Senior Staff

Defunct missiles and cannons, walls and floors covered with government paraphernalia - what better place to hold an industrial concert?

Actually, Friday's show at the American Legion Hall with Meat Beat Manifesto, Loop Guru and DJ Spooky seemed more like a rave than a show - platform shoed and raspberry-haired fans buying "rave glasses" and ambient tapes, smoking (everything but) cigarettes and dancing as though possessed by the ancient goddess of groove.

Even between acts, the audience members were lost in their own musical trances, choreographing rituals that seemed to shut out the universe.

At 10:30 on the dot, however, the crowd joined to let out a collective howl as Meat Beat Manifesto took the stage and began to spin its eerie brand of sci-fi space rock.

The band started out strong with new songs off the recently-released double album "Subliminal Sandwich" as well as old favorites, though they did save some gems for later in the show. After the first hour, the music lagged a bit, blending together in a somewhat repetitive grind. But the audience didn't seem to mind too much; most kept on dancing, though some made a beeline for the bar.

The stage set the tone for the show, with the band's four bald heads and hi-tech equipment bathed in an alien green light. The entire ensemble was backed by a monstrous screen playing sci-fi videos.

The crowd dived in immediately and was, in a way, the perfect audience - enthusiastically yelling and dancing without moshing or being obnoxious. You could make your way to the front rows with little difficulty, and there was even room to dance there. The last rows, normally reserved for the "too cool to be anything but bored" crowd, were also alive with tragically unhip fans flailing their arms and flipping hair of every unnatural color.

In another way, though, the crowd and band seemed engaged in a phenomenon rare even for industrial and trance bands shows. Usually, the crowd directs all of its energy toward the band, or turns away in disgust and boredom to pool tables, cigarettes or meaningless chatter.

But, despite all the passionate dancing and occasional cries of approval for songs like the 1990 classic "Helter Skelter" and the current single "Asbestos Lead Asbestos", the audience largely ignored the band and held its own party.

Leather-clad punks and baby-doll-wearing girls swung and spun ferociously, facing not the band, but the sterile, white walls that lined the hall.

Others flung their arms in worship - or drunken stupor - onto the colossal speakers that blasted Meat Beat's samples and aggressive rhythms throughout the entire auditorium. Their clothes fluttered with the sheer power of the sound which could deafen the hardiest of concert goers.

Only the front row religiously faced the stage, holding the usually-coveted position that tonight seemed not only undesired, but unnoticed entirely. The back rows, the cheap leather seats that lined the hall and even the rooms in the lobby were in constant motion and apparent ecstasy - everything blending with the music, but not with the band onstage producing it.

This unusual mix of enthusiasm and indifference may stem from Meat Beat's absorbing, hard-hitting songs which lack the human quality that normally draws an audience into the band itself.

The songs rely on keyboards, samples and machines as complex looking as air traffic control centers instead of live vocals and instruments (though occasional singing and guitar is used). To tip off those who couldn't hear the indifference, the drummer was placed front, center-stage, which never happened even when Phil Collins sang and played drums during Genesis shows. Meat Beat Manifesto also carries a creepy, impersonal tone that, while intoxicating, distances the performers from the crowd.

There was also minimal chit-chat between the two parties, as no one from the band stepped forward to be the official "front man." This was clearly not a problem for the audience, which was completely absorbed and having a great time, but one wonders how satisfying it was for the band.

Often, the best and most fulfilling performances are based on the connection between the performer and the crowd that seemed particularly lacking tonight. The show seemed to continue as a rave with DJs throughout most of Meat Beat's set. The strobe lights and sci-fi videos flashing on a screen behind the band added to that mood, as did the sandwiching of each band between DJs like New York's legendary Spooky and KCRW's incomparable Jason Bentley, who spun records after the show ended.

Though the post-show hour is normally a time when tired, sweaty fans crowd the exit doors in a mad race to get to their cars first, fans on Friday didn't miss a beat as the music switched from live to DJ. Half an hour after Meat Beat Manifesto left the stage, the hall was still crowded with dancers and stragglers trading philosophies and favorite bands or buying cassettes.

The show was a raving success (pun intended) despite the odd chemistry - or lack of it - between the band and the fans. Meat Beat Manifesto yet again proved its place among the most innovative and enduring industrial bands. That aside, it must be said (as one fan put it), "The crowd was more interesting than the band."

CONCERT: Meat Beat Manifesto played the American Legion Hall on Friday, Sept. 27.