by Andrew Karpan, photos by Andrew Karpan
Click to view slideshow.If the old guitars vs. synth divisions mean nothing, then where does Purity Ring fall on the “pop” scale? Sleigh Bells’ newest album debuted in the top twenty and even Grimes seems intent on scooping up a prize or two. The fine art of creating something built to terrify your headphones is going mainstream. This leaves no hint for what seeing Purity Ring, who played the Bowery Ballroom Friday, live could mean.
Purity Ring’s two openers, DJs Headaches and Evian Christ seemed rather fitting, even without any costumes. The nonchalantly bearded Headaches threw down sound collages of paced electronic whiplash while Evian Christ kept the pace going with steady and confident hip-hop inflected minimalist beats.
Purity Ring marched onto the stage twenty minutes late to the optimistic cheers of a sold-out crowd. Corin Roddick, the literal man behind the music, takes his place, ready to chop beats behind a deck of glowing lanterns. Megan James, the chanteuse, bursts out of the darkness wearing a red jacket that’s almost a cardigan and is almost as fashionable and dynamic as her name.
Any dime-a-dozen Taylor Swift can sport the most elegant dress and pretend to be sad about latest chick flick plot, sure. But this is a riot against pop. If Sleigh Bells’ combatant guitars protest rock and Battles exist to resist dance music’s urges, then Purity Ring is a flat out attack on pop. Taking the house that underlines any top-twenty hit, chopping it up beyond recognition and spitting it out in otherwise awkward bursts.
James only stops for a breath once, to say the customary ‘thank you’ in a sarcastic gust and demand that whoever’s been throwing water bottles announce themselves immediately. Midway through the show, she takes off her red-realtor jacket and sings from her knees for the dark synths of “Cartographist.” She is dancing between limply hanging white orbs, she sings to a lamp designed to look like a trick-or-treat level torch and her songs have declarations like “Oh, my sweet fairy.” And then, with no thought of an encore, she leaves the stage and the half of her duo still in the midst of a beat.
Are these computer chopped-up beats worth waiting and paying for? Only if you want to see Megan James bang a large canvas drum with oversized drumsticks, throwing in more passion than any drumming song could ever merit. So, obviously, it is worth it.
Andrew Karpan is a contributing writer. Email him at music@nyunews.com
