Live Review: Sleigh Bells

Sleigh Bells, Digital, Brighton
Tuesday 15th February

Every gig should be like this. On stage for just 40 minutes, Brooklyn-based duo Sleigh Bells deliver a short sharp shot of adrenalin that leaves ear bones rattled, muscles weary and the soul shaken. And all without an iota of boredom creeping in. The whole experience is revitalising; the equivalent of forcing your naked body under the bludgeoning icy torrent of a waterfall as opposed to allowing it to slowly wrinkle in a tepid bath.

The refreshingly postmodern combo of hardcore guitars, pop vocals and distorted beats that made Sleigh Bells’ debut album Treats such a success are out in full force tonight. In particular is guitarist/producer Derek Miller’s use of the metal dynamic for creating tension over house music’s predictable build and drop sensibility. And there is no better example than when, half-way through Infinity Guitars, Miller’s guitar unfeasibly doubles in volume to match the beefed-up beats, threatening to explode Digital’s soundsystem.

Inevitably, given the disparate elements at work, some tracks come across as ideas rather than fully-fledged songs. And anyone expecting an anarchic punk rawness would be disappointed. Despite the aural assault, Sleigh Bells are a polished act and this is a distinctly pop show. But that’s no bad thing, as the omnipresent laptop/backing track allows frontwoman Alexis Krauss to jump around in her basketball top and scream whilst Miller Eskimo-kisses the wall of Marshall Amps.

It is tonight’s closing threesome that typifies everything good about Sleigh Bells. Rill Rill, with its warped pop sensibilities, is more than deserving of the enthusiastic swaying, the delicious crunch of breakthrough single Tell ‘em still sounds exciting, and the riotous clash of hip-hop and hardcore guitar that is Crown On The Ground provides the ultimate finale.

Like the post-gig ringing in the ears, Sleigh Bells won’t last forever. But tonight, at least, they provide a brief and most welcome break from mediocrity.

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Tom Spooner

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