This concert-goer went to see a certain Sebastien Tellier and now begs to ask the question: Do we really need another disco-pop sleezeball?
To start by being fair, this hairy sex icon is imparting quite a lot of humor into his stage role, so I can't be too cruel. But I want to be. Watching him perform was like being a child listening to an adult argument. Why are you arguing? What's so important? I don't understand your petty differences in the slightest. I'd rather be picking gooseberries and playing games.
Tellier's band is a bunch of skinny, older white fellows who, other than the drummer, are all pretty average. And boring to watch. And no, they are no Kraftwerk. They all appeared on the Richards on Richards stage (before it was later demolished by a condo company) first to some mild applause. My friend Raffi took me to this show as an attempt to bolster our comraderie, which I totally appreciated. Without expectations, I was ready to take in this unfamiliar music. What I wasn't aware of was how much of a cultish following this Sebastien Tellier has generated, and when he appeared on stage, white wine glass in hand, the crowd roared. Roared! Almost ironically, like they knew he was supposed to be a bad-ass sexy dude, his luster rivaling the sun it self, but no one was blind to the fact that the man in the leisure suit looks just like The Dude from The Big Lebowski.
Ok, so premise covered, let's get on with the music. Tellier begins with by playing a distorted electro-clash riff on this guitar (seen above). I don't know what it's called, but in my experience this shape and style of guitar was the most awkward to play. It's longer, laterally, than anything I've held, and it's mahogany, so it's really heavy. This is no virtuosity guitar, in my estimation. Tellier plays this riff for a long time as his band chimes in and creates a pretty good groove. This would turn out to be the only song I liked, so good opener fellas. Shoulda left the stage after this.
But no, the inside joke was on, and I began to care less. The disco worship and 80's pop sensibilities met up with some more modern rock melodies, sometimes turning into pretty lengthy dance jams. One or two moments were relatively tasty, but nothing was more interesting or horrendous than Tellier's existence on the stage. Dwarfing his band mates in intrigue, he was like a Don Juan de Chewbacca. The use of sunglasses easily hid his bloodshot eyes and along with his stoic beard, his face was like a photograph, expressionless and still.
Sex sells. Tellier knows this all too well and milks it to the point of esoteric campiness. I couldn't tell if he was actually getting drunk, or if he is always drunk. A modern-day Pan stuck in Lebowski's body, he somehow barely did anything on stage. He was off key. He did play the piano well, but not very interestingly. His band seemed aloof, standing at their keyboards as if their jeans were doing all the work. Yet SOMEHOW, when Tellier would take a sip of that white wine off the bow of his mini-grand piano, the crowd would howl. HOWL, I tell you. Eat drink and be merry was the theme of the night. Tellier would occasionally address the crowd in a gruff, fey manner and with a thick, sloppy French accent. I understood nothing from this man.
I didn't want to witness an encore, but thankfully there wasn't one! I was left with no interest (not even the maddening, sick reverse-psychology interest) to go out and find this music on MySpace or wherever. The thing that I'll remember the most is the people who came to the show to give their loud Pavlovian response to every one of Tellier's mannequin sips. White wine is symbolic of an ancient tradition. Other than water, it's possibly the oldest beverage known to humankind, and the French know how to do it right. So people easily trust that Tellier would be drinking something worthy of his untouchable mystique. I didn't see a bottle on the piano, though.
Where was the bottle? One would imagine he would display the label proudly, to at least promote some good fermented grapes. Alas, Tellier is more likely to drink the Vin du Table, for wasting such a deflated musical showing on a drink that rates high in
AOC would be a travesty.
And do I really need to see a man pushing 40 lounging lasciviously across a piano? Conceptually it has the potential to be hilarious. I just don't believe Sebastien Tellier is all that good at pulling this off. He is a hack. As if he's come up with this persona and now, hiding behind the giant shades, he has to weather the storm of adoring fans. "How do I get out of this?" He looked entirely disinterested in being the sexy character he had created, instead going through the motions and realizing that people will still applaud. Just keep toasting the crowd and mumbling your fake French accent for the world, Sebster, and God will reward you with whores a plenty.
At least he is doing what he wants, and that can't be said for most of bovine humanity.
I saw this show months ago on April 14, but never ranted on it until now.
I was listening to Nadja's newest release the other day, Under The Jaguar Sun, when it struck me that Aidan Baker, the man behind the music, looks a heck of a lot like my friend Simon. In comparing them, I see the differences, but the similarities outweigh the discrepancies. In fact, if you put some black rimmed glasses on Drea and cut her hair, she might pass as Leah Buckareff, the bassist in Nadja.
Nadja is playing in Vancouver on October 3rd, which happens to be right around when I will be reviewing Under The Jaguar Sun for the Silent Ballet. Woa, spoiler alert! The album is a double album, and the intent is to synch the two discs, playing them simultaneously. Two halves, good on their own, making up an even more impressive behemoth when combined. Kind of like a lasting relationship, like Simon and Drea have. Or like the one I have. I don't know about Aidan and Leah, but they're probably buddies at the least.
So my thoughts were that Simon and Drea could BE Nadja, if they wanted to behave dubiously. Both have metal and outsider music backgrounds, and could totally talk the part out. Drea would have to go to the thrift store and make uneducated choices to pull this off. At the very least, they could be Aidan and Leah's stunt doubles when they have to sneak out the back of the Rickshaw Theater, escaping the crushing love of their adoring fans. It's a parallel universe waiting to be capitalized on! And hell, while they're at it, they might as well perform as Nadja. It's not like playing their songs is HARD or anything. Just press play and be spooky, right? RIGHT? Heh. Maybe not, but Simon and Drea got skills, yo. They could be Nadja, pick up right where the old players left off in case they died in a freak ferry accident.
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