Shift and Shelter
 Moloko
Shift and Shelter
SOMA Live, November 4,
1997
Maybe
it was the ripped-up black curtain that served as a
backdrop. Maybe it was the crowd of teenage boys with
shaved heads and pulled-up white socks. Whatever it was,
one couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't some
high-school kid's garage party.
The music, on the other hand,
was anything but amateurish. New York-based Shift makes
the first impression of sounding like a good '80s rock
band, with just a touch of "hardcore"
influence. Singer/guitarist Joshua Loucka has got the
back-of-the-throat "yea-ahhh!" growl down
perfectly and drummer Samantha Maloney gets big props for
twirling her sticks around with the 'tude of Tommy Lee.
It was either a poorly placed fan or maybe her own energy
that caused her hair to whip around all over the place,
but she jammed relentlessly, hair be damned.
Opener "The Best Song I
Ever Wrote" showed off the band's enthusiasm and
some super-tight bass and guitar playing, after which
Loucka -- a man who knows the value of brevity --
announced, "We're called Shift," and then
quickly launched into the next song. By this time the
crowd was surprisingly sizable and had the
hands-in-the-pockets, head-nodding thing going on. You
just can't help but love a band that helpfully offers
"a free t-shirt to anyone who buys our CD."
Their six-song set -- which,
unfortunately seemed like variations on the same theme
rather than proving the talent evident on their debut CD,
Get In -- ended with a rockin'
"Spacesuit." By this time the volume was set on
"let's make their ears bleed." Shift received
some well-earned applause from the SOMA Sidestage crowd,
and then they were gone.
Shelter, another East Coast band
with an undeniable punk influence, was obviously
expecting a rowdier crowd than SOMA had to offer.
"Hey, man, you guys are so formal," said
the singer. The audience later proved their worth,
contributing their share of vocals on "Civilized
Man." "Free Will" inspired an impromptu
switching of guitar players, one of whom was dressed as a
Hare Krishna, and it quickly became obvious that Shelter
was all about having a good time. Any band that can
couple Rage Against the Machine sensibilities with Spice
Girls karate kicks is worth watching. By the time Shelter
finished with the aptly named "Shelter," most
of the crowd had ditched their formality and were jumping
up and down and singing with the band. Yea-ahhh!
-- Vanessa Vance
Moloko
The Casbah, October 19, 1997
With
nary a word to the audience, and noticeably lacking in
swagger, the duo that is Moloko (named for the Clockwork
Orange beverage) stealthily took the stage and jumped
right into their hour-long set, apparently not troubled
by what can only be called pathetic turnout. While
gaining momentum in the U.K., Moloko is relatively
unknown in the U.S.
The group can best be described
as a curious amalgam of electrofunk, jungle jazz, pop and
(dare I say it) trip-hop. Comparisons to Portishead and
Tricky abound, yet don't really come all that close to
describing this act. Though lacking in sheer numbers, the
small but appreciative Casbah crowd was surprisingly
vocal, with encouraging whistles and cheers, and after a
few songs - including the radio hit "Fun For
Me" from the Batman Forever soundtrack --
made their presence known on the dance floor.
Seems they just needed to warm
up to singer Roisin Murphy's startlingly
deep-down-seductive and wickedly powerful voice. She may
look like a timid schoolgirl, but don't let that fool ya
-- Murphy belts out equal parts jazz singer, rapper, and
warbling songbird. Despite her lack of eye contact with
the audience and the fact that the majority of her lyrics
were not quite discernable, Murphy clearly had something
going on and danced around happily on stage as the brave
dancers on the floor did their own bumping and grinding
to the funk beats.
After a ten-song set, including
"Where Is the What If the What Is in Why?", one
of the better tracks on their album, Do You Like My
Tight Sweater?, Moloko quickly scuttled out the door.
Sufficient audience noise propelled them back in for
"Uncle C," mixmaster-wizard Mark Brydon's fast
techno instrumental, during which Murphy boogied with the
crowd, and a final, funky, fuzz-bass, hip-hop number.
Murphy breathed a shy goodnight and the duo was gone
again. Moloko, we hardly knew ye.
-- Vanessa Vance
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