White Lies/Friendly Fires @ Black Cat

With their single, “Death” they were able to break through the ennui of the aforementioned formula to inspire the hips and asses of the audience. As the song began, singer Harry McVeigh, mouthed the first verse tenuously before approaching the mic. The song builds toward a crescendo that never quite arrives. “Unfinished Business,” did a better job, as McVeigh teased behind an ominous church organ, “So get off your low, let’s dance like we used to,” and when the beat finally dropped the crowd was ready.

Reflecting on their set, the word blinding springs to mind. Stationed immediately in front of the stage, it was hard to find a viewing angle where our retinas weren’t hollowed out by white-hot backlights, floor lamps, and strobes. The band wore black pants and faded white t-shirts, save the keyboardist, who perched like a vulture over corpses of keys, adorned in all black and a pair of silver witch shoes. In back, a fan constantly plumed the drummer’s hair. And though occasionally too bright, it was a simple yet effective staging that worked well for the Cat, and could be tailored for a much larger venue. On each of the nine cuts they played, diminutive singer McVeigh flashed his teeth and howled until the veins pulsed in his neck. The crowd nodded their approval and many sang along.

But most people I spoke with at the show were more familiar with the Fires than the Lies. Perhaps this has something to do with the popularity of Aeroplane’s remix of their song “Paris,” which features Au Revoir Simone. (Grab it here.) The original version of “Paris,” released as a single more than a year ago, is one of the Fires' weaker songs, which isn’t really a bad thing considering the strength of the rest of their stuff. Almost every track completes the unfulfilled promise of Bloc Party’s lone stunner, “Banquet.”

In attendance, a diverse crowd, but maybe one too tame for the Fires’ music. Two 40-somethings spoke Russian behind me. A few people still wore their business casual best. And when the flailing ax of guitarist Edd Gibson toppled a microphone stand, a girl from George Mason reached out a blackened X of a hand to catch it. Gibson smiled appreciatively. Their set-up was simple and their lightshow unsophisticated. They used the White Lies drum kit and the bassist stood behind a smaller tom and cowbell station, a hint about the percussive core to many of their songs.

New single,“Skeleton Boy,” was a clear crowd favorite, as were “Strobe” and “White Diamonds.” Lead singer Ed Macfarlane’s voice was powerful and faithful to the quality achieved on their eponymous album. He danced erratically and pelvically throughout the set. Macfarlane set the tone and soon the whole band was jerking along to the beat; the audience tried to keep up.

The Fires’ music is all about the build up and the pay off. Their choruses are impossibly catchy, while their verses are rhythmic, discordant and amelodic. The dichotomy makes for powerful songwriting. For “On Board,” the band huddled around two microphones with maracas and unironic cowbells. The jarring song has a full two minutes of bass and percussion build before it spirals out of control in a squall of dancy beats and stabbing guitar noise. When the drummer stood at the end of the set, he was drenched with sweat from head to crotch, and we all knew the Fires had stolen the show.