Your second rate gig reviewer, your small-time hack, will, in his lack of imagination, lean on a couple of hoary old points when constructing a review of a Battles gig in 2011. You can probably have a reasonable stab at what these might be, so I’ll spare you for now, but let’s see how your intrepid reporter fares in avoiding them here:
With Tyondai Braxton departed under a cloud of some mystery (damn it) and taking his nominal frontman status with him, Battles hit The Plug stage presenting a democratic front: drums line up alongside keys which line up level with guitars, with any guest vocal duties taken care of by twin screens behind the band. This lack of a frontman might be a problem elsewhere, but as opener 'Africastle' grinds into life we are reminded that drummer John Stanier is focal point enough. At once backbone of the band, ringmaster of the math-rock carnival, and unfailing showman, it is always a pleasure to see him sweat for us. And sweat he does.
Unlike the period immediately following his departure, Battles are now comfortable enough with Braxton’s absence to enjoy the legacy of their time together. Although the majority of the set is drawn from Gloss Drop, 'Atlas' gets a run-out, while there is also a playful, teasing take on 'Tonto'. 'Atlas' remains their most obvious concession to the dancefloor; syncopation and occasional seriousness give way to unabashed glamrock enjoyment, and the temperature rises accordingly.
Throughout the set, the band teeter between technical aggression and crowd-pleasing playfulness, and it is in this delicate balance - between the offbeat and the utterly precise, between the scowl and the silliness - that their strengths lie. Witness Ian Williams simultaneously finger-tap and keep keyboard parts going on 'Atlas', but then see him give equal gravitas to the altogether more primal concern of tonking the head-level cowbell on the chirpy 'Dominican Fade'.
The set does occasionally dip, reflecting that Gloss Drop is a consistent piece of work rather than one punctuated by the same lunatic high-points as Mirrored. Drop your focus for a moment, allow the attention to drift, and the likes of 'Inchworm' drift towards inconsequence. The balance is briefly lost, leaving you wishing for a little more immediacy amidst all the undoubted technical skill. These, however, are trifling concerns. Few could ever sound like Battles, and even fewer can engage the head and the hips in quite the way they do.