Live
< Murder By Death @ The Barfly
words by Kate Hutchinson
pics by
™This song's about going home for Christmas and drinking with a friend who just got out of jail, but he’s gotta go back ‘cause he’s a shitty friend,” murmurs front man Adam Turla before he jumps straight into forthcoming single ‘Brother’. Its introduction characterises what to expect from quartet Murder by Death: their dark and moving experiments glimmer briefly with hope, but are eventually dashed by Turla’s Bukowski-esque realism and brutal guitar thrashes that reek of desperation.
You’d be forgiven for thinking that the band’s tales of whisky guzzling and falling on the wrong side of the law – a tone reminiscent of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – were straight out of the Wild West. They in fact hail from America’s more suburban Midwest. The mutton chops cascading down Turla’s face and his checked shirt may be misleading, but his elaborate stories are only loosely, if at all, autobiographical. The intensity in Turla’s lyrical executions - eyes snapped shut and voice trembling deeply - and the way cellist Sarah moves with her instrument - convulsing with the rhythm - is mesmerizing. Her cello provides a melancholy element, but she’s capable of ranging from classical to chunky chordal attacks with her sassy skill. Like Johnny Cash fronting a demure Muse, Turla’s voice is as if fed through an ancient radio, supported by bouts of twinkly, noodling electro-acoustic guitar one minute, bouncy, swinging alt-country the next and is unfaltering during a brooding solo number. And just when their epic, bluesy rock ‘n’ roll hooks you in with its sensual rhythms, they suddenly burst into a passionate 65 Days of Static-esque instrumental.
Unfortunately, the PA at the Barfly doesn’t do the group justice, but they soldier on, and in doing so prove that although it has become ever-more rare in 2007 to witness a band that owns something more than cookie cutter melodies, there is still magic there if you’re willing to invent it.
Originally appeared in volume 1, issue 19 of Loud & Quiet magazine
