Playing an album in full on tour is hardly a new trend nowadays, but I’d wager that not many bands do it quite like Boris. Bands like Sonic Youth, Slint and (currently) The Breeders have taken their classic albums on the road, but where Daydream Nation, Spiderland and Last Splash offer the ebb and flow of rock records, Flood presents a monolithic slab of hypnotic drone and crushing doom. Flood unfolds in four movements over the course of 70 minutes, building from looped guitars to a subdued “Maggot Brain”-esque passage and then a massive, unfathomably heavy climax before fading back into the echoes and the mist. It’s a challenge for sure, and the band took some liberties to craft an effective live performance out of it. The looped opening and largely ambient closing passages were clipped back, focusing the audience’s attention on the contemplative Part Two and the explosive Part Three. The result was a satisfying dose of two of Boris’ many strengths as a band: slow-burn instrumentals and towering doom metal assaults.

The band warmed up with a few experimentally-minded cuts, having rocked out with their more punk and noise-rock oriented material the night before. A fierce set of sludgy hardcore from Doomriders had already met this night’s punk quota by that point, anyway. Boris opened with a reworked “Huge” from 2001′s Amplifier Worship, and even dropped a warped, slow-motion take on the My Bloody Valentine classic “Sometimes.” Night two of this residency surely showcased a more low-key Boris than I was used to, having seen them play an exuberantly face-melting set at the Royale in 2011. The usually gleeful Atsuo sat behind his drum kit shrouded in darkness for most of the set (though he did stand and raise his drumsticks to the sky more than once, and joined the crowd in a sign of the horns salute at the close of the show). Guitarists/vocalists Wata and Takeshi also appeared rather distant, allowing their towering stacks of amplifiers to speak for themselves. Seeing the band’s more upbeat side on Saturday would have brought the experience full-circle, but Flood night at Brighton was still a mind-bending experience on its own.

Full photo gallery here.

Watching back-to-back Wavves and FIDLAR sets in a packed, sweaty club just feels right. The two California-based bands deal in similar brands of youthful surf/garage/pop-punk that feels right at home in the confines of a room like Brighton Music Hall. Wavves was surely the bigger name on the bill, but they split headlining duties with their tour-mates straight down the middle, even down to the billing on the marquee. The result was a double-dose of frenzied rock worthy of the rowdy reputations of both bands.

FIDLAR was up following on opening set from Cheatahs, which I unfortunately couldn’t catch. From the first notes of the band’s rallying call “Cheap Beer,” the crowd converged into an ecstatic pit that never disbanded. Much cheap beer was both thrown and consumed. FIDLAR’s surf-tinged odes to intoxicants, poor decision making and the occasional broken heart are befitting of their name (an anagram for ‘Fuck it Dog, Life’s a Risk’), and they work exceptionally well as a live show. The band maintains an air of punk rock imprecision, but is tight enough to hold its frantically-paced tunes together. Frontman Zac Carper has a charismatically to-the-point stage presence, announcing song titles in the manner of “This song’s called ‘Cheap Beer’ because we like cheap beer,” before throwing himself headlong into the music. He also has the word ‘burrito’ written in enormous letters on his Telecaster, and his pedalboard is fashioned from an old skate deck. FIDLAR are not the world’s most sophisticated rock band, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t a damn good one.

A solid third of the crowd appeared to be at the show exclusively for FIDLAR, but Nathan Williams and company managed to keep the energy levels high for their subsequent set. Wavves released the polished and rather excellent Afraid of Heights a few weeks ago, and the record’s maturity was reflected in the tightly executed set. For a guy who was once most famous for having his drummer quit and dump a beer on his head midway through a disastrous Primavera Sound set, Williams has really pulled himself together as a musician. His songwriting only gets better with time, and with the help of a band consisting of drummer Jacob Cooper, bassist Stephen Pope (and his astounding hair) plus a second guitarist, cuts from Afraid of Heights and 2010′s King of the Beach sounded huge. The crowd went fittingly crazy for “Idiot,” “Demon to Lean On” and 2009 throwback “No Hope Kids,” and an excited few even belted out the lyrics to an unexpected, grunge-y cover of Sonic Youth’s “100%.” Williams wears his 90s references on his sleeve, but one can hardly fault him when they’re such good references to have.

Wavves kept their set relatively short and sweet, touching on most of their catalog highlights with nary a second wasted, apart from the occasional beer break. Williams tends to let his self-deprecating lyrics do most of the talking on stage, but a lack of banter was all the more music the band could pack into a whirlwind set. In their current iteration, Wavves are increasingly proving themselves a band worthy of the blog hype that once threatened to sink them.

Full photo gallery here.

Thurston Moore has also been in town recently, bringing his post-Sonic Youth band Chelsea Light Moving to The Sinclair on April 7th. I reviewed that show for Allston Pudding, and you can read about it here. A gallery with additional photos is also up at the Noise Floor photography page.

Stay tuned for photos and a recollection of some sort from the Wavves/FIDLAR show at Brighton Music Hall on the 5th in the next day or two.

It’s good to be back.

Thursday’s show was arguably the least disaster-ridden Odd Future event to take place in Boston thus far. The group’s first visit included a Newbury Comics autograph signing that turned into a small-scale riot, and last year’s House of Blues performance ended abruptly when a crew member was arrested outside the venue. Knowing the potential pitfalls in store, the Paradise ramped up their security to an unprecedented degree, patting down concert-goers at the door and stationing police officers inside. Another team of guards surrounded the stage, tossing back crowd surfers and doing their best to keep a set of flimsy wooden barriers in place as an ecstatic all-ages crowd tried to push as many bodies toward the stage as possible.

The sweaty, chaotic moshpit that ensued before Tyler’s set even began was typical Odd Future fare. The group’s antagonistic nature, energetic performances and pissed-off youth appeal are akin to punk and hardcore in many ways. The crowd, an even mix of older hip-hop heads and teenage skate-punks, converged into a violent mass of bodies at the front and spent the duration of the show raging as Tyler spit bile into the mic. A few very confused parents observed with concern from the back.

If one doesn’t find themselves among the thrashing masses at an Odd Future show, it’s difficult to know exactly what to make of it all. Tyler is nothing if not an entertaining presence on stage. He was bursting with barely-restrained fury during most of his verses, prowling the stage and barking his lyrics. Between songs he was a different character entirely, jokingly berating fans, accepting or rejecting their offered gifts and, in one particularly amusing moment, delivering a vulgar re-imagining of “Happy Birthday to You.” Despite all the violence and manufactured evil of his lyrics, watching Tyler goof around on stage with fans and Odd Future entourage members gives off the vibe that he’s actually kind of a nice guy.

Therein lies one of Odd Future’s various paradoxes. Tyler is clearly playing a character when his lyrics are in full-on chaotic evil mode, but even when you can separate the man from the music, the unrelenting darkness is still a bit much to take. With a setlist heavy on tracks from Bastard and Goblin, one’s tolerance for Tyler rapping about awful things was pushed to the limit. The sweaty kids in Golf Wang apparel didn’t seem to mind, but for a non-diehard like myself, patience began to wear thin by the set’s close. Just as listening to Bastard feels like watching a relentlessly bleak and gory horror film, an all-Tyler set can feel like something of an endurance test.

For a tour supposedly promoting Wolf, the set was surprisingly light on new songs. With the exception of a few short cuts mid-set, including single “Domo23,” Tyler didn’t touch on new material at all. He’s indicated in interviews that Wolf will move away from the pitch-black tone of his last two records, but it was hard to get a handle on any of the new songs with such cursory treatments. Performances of older cuts like “French,” “Tron Cat” and “Transylvania” made no indication that Tyler will be shying away from his more violent songs anytime soon, either.

That Tyler can deliver an engaging performance is undeniable. Most of the sold-out crowd at the Paradise was packed onto the floor and loving every minute. A strangely backward-looking setlist, however, indicated what seemed like a rare instance of compromise from the Odd Future camp. For a guy who’s usually quite vocal about not giving a fuck, Tyler seemed shy about unveiling some new and supposedly less conventional songs. Thursday was a disappointing evening for anyone hoping to catch a risk-taking, forward-thinking show, but that’s more the fault of misplaced expectations than the performance itself. Even when he’s calling them assholes, pleasing his diehard fans still seems to be Tyler’s top priority.

Full photo gallery here

Plaskett’s musical resume is a rather impressive one: Polaris Music Prize nominee, Juno Award winner, primary songwriter of Canadian alt-rock band Thrush Hermit and leader of the Joel Plaskett Emergency, not to mention a triple-album (!) and several more releases under his own name. Plaskett seems a minor celebrity in the music scene of his native Canada, but remains curiously overlooked here in the states. Even in a room as small as O’Brien’s, however, Plaskett’s charm and natural showmanship were undiminished.

Plaskett’s early days in Thrush Hermit saw him exploring Big Star-indebted power-pop, and he’s retained an ear for catchy melodies and big choruses throughout his subsequent projects. This particular evening featured largely acoustic instrumentation, stripping the typical power from the pop. It was no detriment to the songs, though. Plasket alternated between tenor and six-string acoustic guitars, which lent many of the songs an extra folksy feel befitting of the intimate setting of the show. For some of the more upbeat numbers, guitarist and backing vocalist Peter Elkas joined in, running a Gibson acoustic through a pedal or two and adding a bit of classic rock muscle to the songs.

Plaskett is a particularly earnest type of songwriter and performer. He had an immediate rapport with the audience that was evident the second he stepped onto the stage. With a genuinely friendly demeanor, a conversational sense of crowd interaction and the rare sort of anecdotal stage banter that was nearly as entertaining as the music itself, Plaskett proved himself an undeniable showman. He had the packed-in crowd squarely in the palm of his hand from start to finish. His songs largely followed suit from his down-to-earth stage presence, telling love stories, tales of life on the touring circuit, nostalgic recollections of Nova Scotian towns and other humble narratives. His lyrics felt human and relatable without veering toward the maudlin.

The thread of Canadian heritage ran through both the songs and stage banter all night, with Plaskett receiving zealous cheers at every mention of his hometown of Halifax or any of its resident establishments. The diehard fans in the room clearly expanded beyond the expatriates though. A chorus of enthusiastic voices sang along to songs both new and old. Plaskett, smiling all the while, was clearly having just as much fun as his fans.

Local acts Cause a Rockslide and World’s Quietest band rounded out the bill. World’s Quietest Band, an aptly named duo who performed from the center of the room, sans amplifiers or microphones, were on first. With a set of alternately humorous and poignant songs, and a series of performance antics that kept even the unfamiliar audience members engaged, they put on a memorable show. Cause a Rockslide, aka singer/songwriter Tim Cheplick, was unfortunately difficult to hear over the talkative crowd. What could be made out over the din sounded good though, and Cheplick admirably soldiered on through a performance of his latest album, The Daily Dose.

Full photo gallery here

Not even a week prior to Monday evening, PAWS performed their very first show on U.S. soil at Brooklyn’s Glasslands Gallery. 2012 saw the band building momentum with the October release of their solid debut album Cokefloat! and a European tour with garage-punks Japandroids, and 2013 has brought them across the sea to small but eager American audiences. Guitarist/vocalist Philip Taylor said that Boston would be the best show of their brief run up and down the East Coast according to the Japandroids, and while the crowd may not have reveled in the sweaty abandon typically inspired by the Vancouver duo on this particular night, there was no denying that PAWS had the room in its grasp.

Anchored by explosive drums, Dinosaur Jr.-indebted fuzz guitar and Taylor’s earnest lyrics, PAWS peddled a loud, energetic brand of angst-pop. Their melodies were undeniably joyous, but beneath the hooks lay some unexpectedly serious subject matter. Taylor observed that Sunday had been Mother’s Day in the U.K. prior to “Catherine 1956,” a heartbreaking lament for a lost parent. Elsewhere, he urged a collective “Fuck cancer” shout from the audience before the equally heavy “Bloodline.” Taylor’s heart-on-sleeve lyricism extended to an unguarded stage presence; a genuine, humble antidote to the typical aloof indie rock frontman.

PAWS surely didn’t invent the strategy of matching dark lyrics to catchy, upbeat songs, but they’re executing it as well as anyone right now. More than a few of their songs took their cues from the quiet-loud-quiet Pixies approach to dynamics. Taylor’s guitar playing vaulted from clean strums to roaring leads at the flick of a switch, making good use of a spartan, single-pedal rig. His vocals followed suit, punctuating singing with the occasional well-timed bellow. The percussive bounce of the rhythm section, cryptically named only as Josh and Matt on PAWS’ official websites, complemented him perfectly at every turn.

Monday night’s crowd may not have been huge, but already PAWS are inspiring the sort of fandom that sees front-row audience members reciting every lyric right back to them. They’ve got great energy, great songs and a rare, refreshing sort of sincerity. Here’s to hoping we’ll hear from them again soon.

PAWS toured without an opener for this brief U.S. jaunt, so the bills were filled out by local acts in each city. Shirtless Boston native Dylan Ewen and his equally shirtless band took the first set, dishing out absurdist pop-punk and nonsequitur stage banter. “This song is about Hüsker Dü’s dick,” a band member announced in one choice excerpt. Allston’s Idiot Genes were up next with a roaring set of guitar-heavy songs that effectively set the stage for PAWS, and commendably inspired the evening’s only moshing.

Full photo gallery here

Unknown Mortal Orchestra’s last few Boston shows have been as a supporting act, but Saturday finally granted the group their own spotlight. As openers for noise-rock provocateurs Liars in July and art-pop darlings Grizzly Bear in September, UMO largely kept to themselves and delivered a half-dozen songs with restrained precision. They were certainly competent, but they didn’t leave much of an impression. This time around, there was a noticeable shift in the band’s confidence and stage presence.

Commanding a space half the size of the Paradise and worlds smaller than the cavernous Orpheum, the band owned the stage. Time on the road seems to have shaped them into a more assured live band, and the buzz from last month’s well-received sophomore record II surely couldn’t have hurt. One still wouldn’t call vocalist/guitarist Ruban Nielson talkative, but he did exhibit a kind of quiet command while letting the songs do most of the talking. Joined by bassist Jake Portrait and drummer Gregory Rogrove, Nielson fronted a power-trio to be reckoned with.

Nielson’s guitar playing is one the band’s most immediate assets, especially in a live setting. He often seemed to be doing the work of two guitarists at once, encapsulating both lead and rhythm by deftly squeezing riffs between complex chord changes. His acrobatic fretwork was frequently impressive but rarely showy in a typical guitar-hero sense, accentuated only by the occasionally dip to the floor during instrumental passages. Only during an extended jam at the close of the encore did Nielson get a bit theatrical and thrust his instrument outward over the crowd. By that point, it felt as though he’d earned it.

The contributions of the rhythm section of Portrait and Rogrove are not to be overlooked, though. The two formed a restrained but tight counterpoint to Nielson’s quick strums and bursts of fuzzed-out melody. The band’s recorded output is shrouded in lo-fi haze, but the songs absolutely came alive during performance. Punchier and livelier renditions of “From the Sun” and “Swim and Sleep (Like a Shark)” showcased the propulsive rhythm section, while “So Good at Being in Trouble” was anchored by an especially soulful vocal from Nielson.

Unlike Nielson’s previous band, the notoriously chaotic Mint Chicks, Unknown Mortal Orchestra performances tend to groove more than pulverize. Songs from II and the band’s self-titled 2011 record bounced along with catching rhythms, only bursting into extended psychedelic jams at choice moments. Nielson’s easygoing stage presence combined with the moody lighting and glowing electric candle stage decorations to foster a sort of Zen calm over the performance. Even during the set’s noisier moments, the crowd was still suspended in a relaxed and joyful daze.

A laid-back opening set from Portland, Ore.’s Wampire proved an appropriate mood-setter for UMO, if not for fellow supporting act Foxygen. Interestingly, Foxygen seemed to draw a crowd as large and responsive as the show’s headliners. Wampire’s charmingly dazed dual-vocalist/guitarist approach was a solid showing from a band finding its voice, but Foxygen’s already full-fledged weirdness couldn’t help but steal the show. With a Pitchfork approval behind their appropriately titled new record We are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace and Magic, Foxygen seem to be building quite a buzz for themselves.

Vocalist Sam France hopped on stage dressed like Tom Baker’s Doctor Who on an acid trip, and proceeded to wow and weird out the crowd in equal measure with his manic energy. The rest of the band wasn’t particularly huge on stage presence, and multi-instrumentalist and second core member Jonathan Rado spent most of the set getting increasingly fed-up with monitor issues, but Foxygen still delivered a performance worthy of their sudden notoriety. Their shaggy, 60s-indebted psych-pop translates exceptionally well to the stage, especially with the sort of frantic delivery they’ve perfected. The crowd was clearly enraptured, even as the technical issues seemed poised to derail the whole thing at any moment. The band held it together, though, and still pulled off a fun set. If the audience’s engagement was any indication, they’re headed for their own headlining tours very soon.

Full gallery of photos here.