Australia, historically, hasn’t been known for producing a lot of music about which the rest of the world really gives a shit. Of course, there have been some notable exceptions over the years: Big Country, the band responsible for the song “Big Country,” off the album Big Country; Men at Work, who along with Big Country, can be filed under adult-contemporary radio filler; Australian soap opera star Kylie Minogue launched her singing career with a cover of rollerskating rink anthem “The Locomotion” in the late 1980s, perhaps leading fellow Aussie and TMT favorite Nick Cave to say of his home country’s musical output, "Australia still needed America or England to tell them what was good."
Then of course there’s AC/DC, Australia’s most popular musical export, and deservingly so. Anyone who can parlay the same three-to-five chords into numerous chart-topping anthems across the span of three decades deserves every bit of their success. And have you seen Live at Donington, bro? They lower a fuckin’ AC/DC BELL during “Hells Bells”!!!
That’s been about it for Australia though. Artists of game-changing influence have generally come to, not from, the land down under, as Mr. Cave asserted. That is, until recently.
If the past five years are any indication, the fans who would go on to form the following bands had secretly been taking great notes on what they were hearing from the rest of the world and how to perfect it. Midnight Juggernauts, Architecture in Helsinki, The Presets, and arguably most fervently, Cut Copy have in many ways shaped the current wave of electro-tinged dance-rock. Or maybe it’s rock-tinged electro. Either way, these bands seem to have figured out what so many of the electronic artists who inspired them couldn’t: no one wants to see a guy standing onstage in front of a laptop, or often turntables, for the whole night. Even international clubland seems to finally understand this. While a great DJ can still rock a crowd, their energy will never replace the interaction between an audience and people playing instruments. And if nothing else, this is a concept that Cut Copy has mastered.
Like most of the dates on this tour, Cut Copy’s Atlanta show at the Masquerade is sold out. The fact that the band can go from its first U.S. tour a mere three years ago to selling out practically every show it plays illustrates both how huge this scene has become and how well they have translated their exceptional studio albums to the stage. It doesn’t take more than a few listens to 2008’s In Ghost Colours to know and love these songs inside out; it’s like they’ve always existed. And in some ways, they have.
Cut Copy’s nod to Joy Divison/New Order, Depeche Mode, etc. is decidedly less than subtle. The guitars on “Hearts on Fire” could be straight from a New Order B-side, and the same could be said of many a Cut Copy synth bassline. Judging by the band’s remarkable ascent however, these sounds are obviously just as relevant now as they were 20 years ago. In effect, you feel immediately comfortable with these songs, kind of like meeting a good friend of a good friend.
This fact only becomes more evident as, only a few songs into the band’s set at the Masq, much of the seemingly shy, fringe-clinging populace has now pushed their way to the front, arms extended in obeisance. When Cut Copy launch into a particularly energetic rendition of “Far Away,” I swear I catch even the metal-head bouncer attempting to mouth along to the irresistible chorus.
With any popular trend comes an audience who wouldn’t normally be interested if it weren’t for the fact that everyone else is. Most people find this contingent rather annoying, but I can’t help my fascination with them. To say that they’re in full effect at this show would be an understatement: the look-at-me scene brats, their cream cable-knit sweaters tied around their shoulders as they skip in their Gucci loafers over puddles of piss water pooled around the men’s room; the clueless, mouth-breathing fratboys standing sentient around the dancefloor, a beer in each hand as they ogle the dancing girls. This place is crawling with them, which can less-cynically be attributed to Cut Copy’s wide-ranging appeal.
In fact, there are quite a variety of people in attendance. From the aging hipsters who experienced the Madchester sound the first time around to the kids who probably weren’t even born yet, everyone appears genuinely excited by the band’s ability to “jam-out” on their songs, changing them just enough from the album versions without sacrificing the best parts. The thick flanged-out section of “Strangers in the Wind” builds and finally comes swirling out of the normally subtle chorus, effectively taking the song well beyond the record. The place goes nuts.
A few words about the Masquerade: this club is straight grimy... but in the best possible sense of the word. Upon entering the multi-roomed venue, the appropriately titled clubs Hell and Purgatory flank either side of the ornery, wooden stairs that lead you to the main room (yep, “Heaven”), screaming FIRE HAZARD all the way up. Entering the main room, the disappointed throng of ticketless-persons outside is explained by the absolutely enormous throng of people inside, all shuffling about as the stage crew transitions from openers The Presets to Cut Copy (missed The Presets. Bad directions to the club. Sorry guys). Though I later notice during the “everybody jump” portion of Cut Copy’s perfect opener “Nobody Lost, Nobody Found” that the entire floor of the room is in fact moving more than any floor holding several hundred people should be, The Masquerade has got a vibe to it that is becoming increasingly rare in music venues these days (the shaking floor probably adds to it).
Maybe it’s the fact that you can still smoke inside; maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have to stretch your imagination too far to picture all the crazy shit that’s gone down here over the years. Whatever it is -- pardon me if this sounds completely ridiculous -- the Masq definitely has that rock ‘n’ roll Never-Neverland vibe that is largely responsible for making me, and I’m sure many others in attendance, forgo all rational options in lieu of dedicating my life to music and spectacles like this. And Cut Copy soak it up. The already-raucous “So Haunted” turns into an ear-splitting wall of dissonant punk guitars, while lead singer Dan Whitford’s voice sounds noticeably pained as he questions all “these satellites orbiting you and me.” The crowd loves it too, mimicking Whitford’s ever gesture: the pointing, the hands-in-the-air and even a few spin moves.
Despite the constant energy they bring to each song, the band does a good job of pacing themselves and the audience by throwing in more subdued tunes, like the hip-sway of “That Was Just a Dream” off their 2004 album Bright Like Neon Love. While not as intense as other numbers in their repertoire, the song illustrates how good Cut Copy are at pulling off a variety of textures in a live context. Thankfully, the laptop used for triggering loops and effects is kept off to the side, barely noticeable compared to the band themselves and the ever-changing light matrix, which also helps pace the show. By the time they get to “Lights and Music,” there isn’t a still foot in the place, with the super-hyped synths launching everyone, including the band, into near hysterics. The jumping returns, much to the floor’s dismay.
At this point, several songs from the end of the set, you might think the crowd would start to thin. It was, in fact, quite the contrary. The audience, still a throng, remained engaged and attentive until the very end, showering the band with applause and appreciative cheers long after they’d left the stage. As we headed back down the front stairs, a quick peek in Purgatory and Hell found the soon-to-be packed after parties quickly filling up, as electro-house of varying intensities blared from both rooms. Someone is doing this thing right, and Cut Copy are definitely at the helm.
