Marvin/ Crevecoeur/ Venus Bogardus
 marvin
08 May 2008
An evening of Gallic sounds tonight as the Porter plays host to a variety of gangly young Frenchmen with beards. Locals and last-minute guests, Venus Bogardus, with their erudite literary skronk and songs dedicated to dead French Dadaists, fit the bill nicely. James whips through a variety of very beautiful Fender guitars all detuned just so and applies post-punk shards of Andy Gill spiked sheet metal while bassist Hannah gives good Texas drawl. A screwdriver is inserted into the guitar neck for some Sonic Youth harmonic riffage and it all sounds very fine.
Crevecoeur are really rather special. Their drummer squeezes in shakers, guitar and some glorious trumpet all within the opening number. Violin from a haughty femme fatale, stand-up bass, theremin and mini-glockenspiels weave sleepy mariachi rhythms and Morricone spaghetti western soundtracks. The guitarist provides a whistling solo. If Calexico smoked Gauloise, they would sound like this. The tempo rarely stirs above walking pace and the band conclude charmingly with a walkabout as everyone plays their tiny woodblocks. Lovely.
Marvin are a power trio somewhere between Deep Purple and Ten Benson. Only the drum kit is on the stage, everyone else has liberated the little dancefloor out front. In a startling display of continental informality, the drummer strips down to his underpants and then beats his drum kit to death. Very soon hi is sweating like a candle stub. Their sheer attack is staggering. They play a thunderous version of Led Zeppelin's ‘Immigrant Song' while their delectable Korg synth bassist applies heavily vocoded singing, like Daft Punk gone heavy metal. The audience watch rapt, stunned and admiring. As they blast past the curfew, the soundman attempts to end the show. No chance. The band grin shyly at each other and power on to a glorious finale. Magnifique.
Kid Pensioner (Venue Magazine)
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