There’s a scene in Justice’s 2008 North American tour documentary, A Cross the Universe, where one half of the DJ duo smashes a glass bottle over the head of a fan who gets too close for comfort. It’s an apt visual for what it’s like to be under the thumb of Justice’s sonic assault: at times, the bass in the 9:30 Club last night was so intense it was hard to take a breath, or to swallow.
There’s a valley of oddity that lies between a beloved DJ spinning for a small but energetic crowd, and a global phenomenon spinning for a crowd of 50,000. In either case, no one is necessarily focused on the stage; they are focused on each other: bodies, and how those bodies respond to the bass. DJs do not sing, they do not dance: they command.
Last night, no one could look away. The towering walls of Marshall amplifiers, the likes of which I’ve only seen in Sleigh Bells’ performances, appeared to be hollowed out, retrofitted with screens that blended seamlessly into the floor to ceiling LEDs behind Xavier de Rosnay and Gaspard Augé. At times the 9:30 Club was so bright it was as if the roof had been blown off at high noon. Seemingly devoid of instruments, the sound board facade and signature electric-white cross parted to reveal a keyboard that Augé took to during the chorus of their 2007 breakout hit “D-A-N-C-E.” I use the term “chorus” loosely, as there were no microphones on stage, just a sample of singing children.
On paper, their stage show should not work. For a sold-out crowd of just over 1,000, it always seems off to have everyone facing in the same direction when there aren’t actual instruments present. Justice have taken this into consideration, and overcompensated with technology and theatrics (such as minutes-long frozen posturing that drove the crowd wild the more creepy it became).
I’ve seen artists who rely on knobs and levers over guitars do this effectively, like Matthew Dear and members of Cut Copy. After enigmatic, electronics-based performances, they can get behind the turntables and remain engaged with a crowd, observing, responding. Then again, I also saw James Murphy put on the greatest show of his life with LCD Soundsystem’s final performance, and I’ve seen him lift a record from a crate, put it on a turntable, and toddle offstage, as if he were entertaining house guests on a weeknight.
In this age of “Oh, didn’t see you there” stage banter contrivance, it’s odd but refreshing to see two musicians who take themselves a little too seriously for that pap, and have too much pride to actually not care, and turn a simple stage performance into performance art.
