Ariel Pink and his group look like they’ve dropped from a far-away planet with nary a worry nor care in the world save for rockin’ out tonight, tomorrow night, the night after that, the night after that and so on and so on. They amble on and off stage setting up; picking over monitor levels carefully and pedantically, oblivious to the audience now packed in like sardines and growing restless. Heckles are ignored as equipment is adjusted just so and wry smiles stay glued in their place.
This oddball presence, devoid of spit, polish, poise or pretence is consistent with Pink’s strange history of lo-fi experimentation, prolific output and obsessive analysis and dissection of the pop song in all its forms. He has gradually emerged from relative anonymity into a cult figure and musical visionary akin to his hero R. Stevie Moore. As a newcomer to Ariel I am entranced, getting that wonderful feeling when you stumble upon a fully-formed artist with a substantial heap of myth and music in which to immerse yourself. Judging by the reaction of the crowd to each and every song the love for Pink has seeped a long way from his dingy corner of LA.
It’s music to restore your faith in lo-fi rock n roll. So many garage bands manage to trade on a layer of hype and contrived style while leaving the music as something of an afterthought, but Pink and his Haunted Graffiti deliver tune after tune of inspired and accomplished material. Their set rattles along, spinning off on tangents like a bizarre collision of The Doors, early Zappa and Tears For Fears. I hate to have to refer to other bands but when describing a group so steeped in the history of rock n roll it is impossible not to.
The five-piece – seemingly only recently established as a fully-fledged band – are tightly fused, careening around like a multi-limbed and satisfyingly druggy jukebox. Special mention must be given to Tim Koh’s bass playing, adding beef where the recordings can be swampy and never missing a beat.
Homage, pastiche, passion and ridicule all play their part in Ariel Pink’s world, where silly voices and abrupt changes of key and rhythm merge in a sincere and joyous emulation of the powers of pop music. It is psychedelic, riotous, playful and earnest enough for 10 bands. Buy a ticket for an Ariel Pink show, immerse yourself in his weird and wonderful world for 40 odd minutes and you’ll see this string of adjectives is entirely justified.