Reykjavík Grapevine - 02.06.2006, Page 21

where
whO
whEN
NASA
Coco Rosie
Paul Lydon
May 17th 2006
The atmosphere at NASA prior to the start of Coco
Rosie’s set did not point towards a terribly enjoyable
evening. The crowd was of the vegetarian coffeehouse
variety, consisting mostly of smiling, smoke-free
youths all here to see their favourite band, but who
scornfully mock the opening act who was delaying
their heroes’ appearances.
I can’t say I disagreed with them. Paul Lydon’s
music was so forced that even the supposedly open-
minded and easygoing types rolled their eyes in igno-
miny and sipped their cocktails in disdain. Once the
wailing and rather badly amplified piano had subsided,
the room started to fill with a very genuine, even in-
nocent form of anticipation.
Everyone there was obviously in love with Coco
Rosie. They’re simply too much of a fad to draw
anyone but the most appreciative and most devoted
fans. The people trying to appear hip by listening to
them would never go as far as to see the show; actually
paying money to see the concert would be a waste of
unemployment benefits better spent on Naked Ape
sweaters or paying the rent for their fashionably situ-
ated 101 Reykjavík basement apartments.
What this inevitably meant was that no matter
how pretentious the people onstage might be, the
crowd were honest and well-intentioned. When the
band finally stepped forth, they too were deeply ap-
preciative of the peripheral social nook who had come
to see them, and although they couldn’t resist a little
theatricality (trying to be a weird and spontaneous art-
ist is one thing, but Coco Rosie took contrivance to a
new level with their bludgeoningly over-the-top Native
American headdress), they eventually became so enam-
oured with their viewers that it simply became one big
party... well, maybe not big, but my point is that by the
end of the night, the only way to tell the band from the
audience was whether they were on a stage or not.
Live, Coco Rosie are completely without their
trademark haphazard production and meticulously
engineered quirkiness, which works as a sort of double-
edged sword for them: It makes listening to them a lot
less irritating, for without their fad-making produc-
tion, the songwriting and emotion shone pure, giving
them a vitality that could never be captured on record,
but in the process exposed that same songwriting for
being little more than the work of the latest in a long
line of flavours-of-the-month in the world of indie
pop.
I had always dismissed their style as being too
reaching, too pretentious to convey any meaning
to their music, but their performance that night
showed me that the music is in fact very traditional
and straightforward, it just isn’t presented as such: a
winning formula by any standards, as evidenced by
the crowd, who remained diligently entertained by
even the tamest numbers. At one point, I even heard
someone shushing a particularly talkative individual so
as to better hear the vocal work, some of which was,
admittedly, stunning. Make no mistake, Coco Rosie
are a talented band, and well-deserving of the niche
they’ve carved out for themselves, but no amount of
careful niche-carving will save them from disappearing
into the annals of forgotten indie fads, and any concert
where someone gets shushed at simply has to suck,
simple as that.

The Private Show
By Sindri Eldon | Photo by Skari
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