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10th April 1997, UCLA Daily Bruin
Female-fronted band skips charismatic concerns, plays spectrum of dark-natured songs before crowd of fans
The Cranes' music is better suited to a bleak, black-and-white Ingmar Bergman film than a steamy nightclub on the Sunset strip. But you'd never know it by the band's impressive show at the Roxy on Tuesday. They not only packed the crowd, but they also made them forget they were sweltering in their black, trendy gothic or Hollywood get-ups.
The band, knowing better, dressed for the occasion, with Allison Shaw in a colorful sundress and Princess Leia pigtails. Their conspicuously un-gothic outfits and lack of pre-show chit-chat proved the show was not about image or charisma, but pure music. They dove right into the first song within seconds of taking the stage and did not stop until the encore.
The Cranes covered every corner of their catalog, including most of the current album, "Population Four." Every single song, especially those from their 1993 album, "Forever," was met with enthusiastic cheers from an audience clearly composed of dedicated fans.
The band and the crowd were unusually still and sedate - either due to the heat or to the dark nature of the music - but every eye was aimed right at Shaw, who captivated them nonetheless. Often it is her lack of drama that is most intriguing or disquieting; her only sign of emphasis is a feeble swing of her left arm.
Yet, she and the boys (yet another female fronted band) did not disappoint. Their sound was consistently strong and balanced, though at times Shaw got drowned a bit in the mix. The lower guitars, bass and drums, which are the heart of their music, dominated, producing a rich sound and driving rhythm. Even the pre-recorded keyboard sounds, like the violin and piano on "Far Away," sounded even fuller and more real than on the album.
But the toned-down, acoustic songs were equally enjoyable. Shaw duetted with a guitar in the despairing "Tangled Up," arguably the highlight of the show. Without the competition of electric guitars, her voice rang clear and childlike, as is her trademark. That made it all the more bizarre to hear her cry, "Oh no, not again - did I really fuck it up again?" If the song weren't so poignant, you'd want to wash her mouth out with soap and send her to bed.
Her angelic voice, which you either love or hate, is a strange companion to the dour, often heartbreaking, music. Her high notes, while they can be tinny at times, are the epitome of innocence. Her lower notes are resonant and powerful. Even when you can't understand the lyrics - which is most of the time - her tone is a contrast to the heavy minor chords and eerie, yellow fog that envelops her. She spent much of the show in silhouette, shrouding the quieter songs in mystery.
As the songs grew louder and more chaotic, she stood at the center of the flaring strobe lights and scraping guitars, like an amused child at the eye of a tornado, unaware of the danger around her. The dirge-like pounding of "Sixth of May" and the siren wails of "Angel" worked themselves into frenzies of noise and confusion. Some songs incorporated both moods, starting slowly, then winding themselves tighter and faster, like "To Be."
Two of the most beautiful, emotional songs, both off of "Forever," covered opposite ends of the spectrum. "Far Away," with simplistic piano as its backbone and a lonely descending violin, was the very sound of tragedy. It built to a lush arrangement that included guitars and drums, then receded again to the bare essentials.
"Adrift," however, was like walking dazed through a thunder storm, a feeling aided by the strobe lights. The bass and drums made the floor shake like a cheap hotel bed when you put a quarter in it. Layers of scraping, howling guitars crashed into each other as the guitarists slid their hands up the neck. There was a violin in there somewhere, and even Shaw managed to get a few words in edgewise.
She closed the show with the band's hit from their 1994 album, "Loved," saying, "Here comes a noisy one." And indeed it was. "Lilies" is their loudest song to date, though the live version failed to muster the decibels of the album version. And when it ended, they scampered off the stage with only a "Thanks, bye!"
This evening, though, there wasn't much more they could have said. Their music spoke for itself.
Reviewed by Kristin Fiore, Daily Bruin Senior Staff
© Daily Bruin 1997
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