Tame Impala
Webster Hall
New York, NY
November 10

Tame Impala is a cool band. While such a statement might come off as trite, it’s rare to encounter a band that reinforces the meaning of the word with such an unexpected combination of cerebral and “heartthrob” , of both icy stares and passionate performance, of self described “psychedelic hypno-groove melodic rock” and “the slime from a snail journeying across a footpath” to the crowd-deafening cheers that made guitarist and lead vocalist Kevin Parker respond, with a rueful half-grin and consciously yawning syllables, “Fuck you guys are loud.”

With a number of different influences and a simple beach-shirted ensemble that greeted New York, NY’s Webster Hall on November 10th, Tame Impala, consisting of Kevin Parker, Nick Allbrook, Dominic Simper and Jay Watson on bass and guitar respectively, and Julien Barbagallo on drums, is none other than the saint of the indie scene, first popularized by celebrities such as MGMT, Yeasayer, and the Black Lips, and returning the favor to nurture other acts such as Melody’s Echo Chamber. Though Tame Impala is also unquestionably rock, or psychedelic rock. What’s great about their playing is that they sound – and appear – timeless, even if it is an aesthetic the band sometimes adheres to in an endearing lack of self awareness of their own unbeaten path. “Robert Plant” was a phrase bounced around the murmuring crowd, as well as synonyms for just how amazingly comfortable the band seemed onstage for ones so new. And the yhave a right to be inherently confident. Their Lonerism tour in eponymous celebration of their second album is completely sold out throughout the U.S., and there were even a noteworthy amount of loyal Australian accents scattered throughout.

The show started out with a natural lack of pretension, jamming with an onslaught of imperceptibly changing auditory sensation towards a gradual ease into “Be Above It” which echoed off the walls with Parker’s every-so-often repetitive “And I know that I gotta be above it now” which became a haunting grounding point for the intense recoils into a mania of psych-driven flanged guitar, and got the crowd so excited that the floor was shaking. The lights bathed the room thickly in alternating primary colors, supplemented by a video projection that began as a series of the obligatory morphing trippy patterns into interestingly non-sequitur images of people playing the piano and ominously cloudy beaches to finally dot outlines of New York City. The regality of “Endors Toi” was a nice prelude to the contemplative and hypnotic “It Is Not Meant To Be,” where lines like “Doesn’t like sand stuck on her feet, or sitting around smoking weed, I must seem more like a friend in need” are relegated behind the sound so much in concert that the words caught every so often lent an edge of incongruous sentimentality to the performance. However, on some songs it worked. “Elephant” showed off the band’s sense of humor as the lyrics matched the hard drumbeats and mock-serious descending chords along to lines like “here it comes.” The crowd’s energy really picked up towards the latter half of the show, where songs like “Mind Mischief” and “Why Won’t You Make Up Your Mind?” behaved as catalysts for the arabesquing handclaps that Parker initiated before launching into a series of dreamily writhing guitar playing, both vertically and horizontally, and resulting in a single song encore of “Half Full Glass of Wine.” The songs themselves were indistinguishable by break, as the transitions were seamless.

With their plethora of influences and unique relevance, they’re becoming something iconic, a group which would best flourish during one of those hazily hypnotic sold-out-crowd summer festival days, experimenting with new deviations on old songs and just being themselves, the “shoulder bones of a giant striding feline creature.” Catch these Impalas before they grow too big, too graceful, too quick.