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Because, and this is coming from a position of actually quite liking the band, there isn't a vast
chasm of difference between Prismatic Room and the 10 or so other songs Crystal Stilts knock out tonight.
They're good. They're droney. They're surfy. They're like someone took a Ronettes song,
connected it to a drip of pure ethanol, and then beat it too a groggy pulp with Andy
Warhol's banana. But different? Nah.
Actually, that's not strictly true. Crystal Stilts do display two hugely diverse types of song
this evening. There's the songs as described above, with Brad Hargett's ominous baritone
reverbing off the sides of the kind of inescapable gloom the brothers Reid made a whole genre
from, and then there are the songs where you can't hear him.
They aren't as good. Without the ethereal vocals haunting around, the drone quickly becomes like
a, well, drone. A shapeless fug that you can't find your way through. Leaving you with just
gloom, and a man sporting the kind of hairdo favoured only by Art Garfunkel and microphone booms,
mouthing into the night.
Eventually it all gets sorted and things click. Bass, synth, jangling guitar, girl-band drumming
and some vocals you can actually discern all present, correct and helping to produce a druggy
wave of sound that's hypnotic. A little bit The Doors, a little bit Velvet Underground and a little
bit the kind of arty noise that makes you feel like a nihilistic '70s beatnik.
The encore in particular nails it. The Sinking and, yes my profane friend, Prismatic Room, are
particularly fine distillations of all the little bits of history that Crystal Stilts lovingly
borrow.
Okay, it's not flawless and it's not exactly revolutionary. And frankly, the inter-song banter
could do with tweaking to be less chatty, and more inline with the sombre mood prevalent here.
But amongst all that, amongst the swearing, something in here sparkles enough to suggest Crystal
Stilts are worth watching.
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