An hour into their set, the American hip-rockers still have Pete Woolley asking 'why'?
WHY? are the band that took frontman Yoni Wolf’s prior hip-hop direction to a more direct, affirming and arguably conscious leaning through alt-folk and that all-too disingenuous 'indie' branding. They released ‘Alopecia’ in 2008, with lyrics that, delivered in a near spoken-word vocal style, bookmarked the band for special attention. With a coveted spot on radical hip-hop label Anticon, the intrigue derived from their cross-genre association has carved WHY?’s niche more than their own attention to it. In reality, their music doesn’t sit comfortably in one category. Instead they knit together a kind of patchwork of melodrama.
Tonight, over the packed out Heaven floor, under its impressive arches, the reaction is quintessentially divisive. Different groups within the crowd hold on to different lyrics. The trademark dark humoured, off-cutting wordplay of Wolf inspires tidal reactions from the crowd; as one group swells towards the front, another lulls dormant, waiting with baited breath.
With lyrical wordplay that seems so considered and applied, it’s stunning to see Wolf run out to the front of the stage with the crass interjection “get the fuck up!” aimed at the crowd. This abruptness is far removed from the main support, I Might Be Wrong, who seemed anaesthetised to any such outpouring.
The Berlin-based five-piece, who are following WHY? across their European tour, have a decent set, but there’s nothing special to it. They construct good songs – as efficient as you’d imagine from a German band – but past that there’s no persona in their performance, and the songs aren’t compelling enough to forgive it. They’re like a charmless XX. But they provide a decent interlude before the headline slot.
WHY? open with ‘The Hollows’. It’s always a bit disconcerting when a band opens with their best track, and with a hollow sound – shallow against it’s recorded counterpart – it feels empty. Their whole set is quite a turgid performance, and I don’t quite buy it. The crowd swells around me, but I’m not in. Their's is an enormous set that lasts over an hour, but it’s not until their encore when I'm provided with my own episode of appreciation. They come out, under a guise of impromptu gusto, chat in code to the soundman about the tracks they’re going to play, then scuffle chords before starting on ‘Fatalist Palmistry’. Wolf recites it as it is, ignoring the tired high kicks and body contortions that felt overtly gimmicky earlier in the night. I’m glad it captures me, and I finally sway in tune with the captivated crowd, grinning from ear to ear.
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