“He sounds so different live.”
My buddy Sam was dead on. The guy at the turntables did not sound like Bonobo. Before arriving at 60th 6th street, I had always thought of Bonobo’s albums as background noise when studying for finals. His music was slow and meditative. The perfect soundtrack for deep contemplation and an anecdote for too much coffee.
But the guy standing in front of the black and white knobs, beneath a light that looked like an open tanning booth, didn’t sound like slow, contemplative Bonobo. Instead, his beats were electric, sound waves bouncing off the concrete walls like sonar.
The crowd responded with its own electric energy. Probably because the dank basement felt less like a SF bar and more like a scene out of Fight Club – sweaty t-shirts flailed and heaters lit up the crowd.
I had planned on taking videos at the show, but it became clear from the start that my phone belonged in my pocket.
Play this one loud.