The Besnard Lakes emerged to a sparse but excited crowd of faithful fans. Jace Lasek’s falsetto high soared over the pregnant intro of warbling guitar and bass and suddenly the drums kicked in and we were away.
Despite having a unique appearance that renders him a creepy teacher: yellow tinted aviators, embroidered western shirt and a serious Les McQueen mullet, (with one friend pointing out that he looks uncannily like the League of Gentlemen character) Jace Lasek is in fact a very accomplished musician and no doubt all round nice guy.
His wife, Olga Goreas is a mean bass player, as well as being capable of Cocteau Twins-esque vocals – indeed it felt at times that her dirty basslines gave their sound a texture and depth that it sorely needed.
Kevin Laing, the moustachioed drummer, had an old school wrestler look, while Richard White on guitar supplied suitably psychy drawn-out riffs as Lasek swapped between Korg, guitar and laptop for those moments that required a sample.
There were lots of talkers at the Corner this evening, an oddly sparse crowd for such a large venue, no doubt due to Golden Plains. They were not shy of yelling out the usual platitudes such as “I love you!” and other weirder accolades, the obscure b-sides of appreciation. Lasek handled them all with humour, suggesting that “someone’s super baked out there” and proceeded to make up metal names for all their songs, based on an inspirational comment yelled by some booze-bolstered buffoon.
I have to admit a reviewer’s handicap. I had severely twisted my ankle negotiating a hairpin turn at the bar, to appropri-quote the revered and sorely missed Hunter S.
So I wasn’t exactly in the mood for band watching, and some of my notes from the start of the gig are downright narky – “trite lyrics about the ocean” “what kind of a band puts their own name in every album title anyway?”
But before you diehard fans out there start shaking your fists at the screen…I soon enough changed my mind about The Besnard Lakes.
I find myself rather wanting to defend them against my own cynicism. Imagine if you will an inner dialogue between two selves: For instance, one might argue that some of the best lyrics are simple, about natural things like the sea and the countryside such things have inspired us since time immemorial.
And whilst there are a lot of psychedelic bands out there that sound derivative, or simply manage to realistically convey the sounds and expressions of the past; The Besnard Lakes have a true originality about them that is inevitably appealing.
Prior to seeing them live, I had only really enjoyed the song ‘And This Is What We Call Progress’ from their recent album The Besnard Lakes Are the Roaring Night (I don’t know why they have their name as part of each album title, but it’s ok… I’m cool with it now) but upon seeing their set I realised that album and The Besnards (we’re on name-shortening terms now) were capable of a much richer and engaging set of songs than my pain-induced crabbiness had deprived them of.
Plus, I’m going to throw it out there. They were earnest. Who’s like that these days? Exactly. No one.
– Anaya Latter
