Supersweet

Beach House

Bush Hall, London: 17 February 2010

Dripping emotive vocal pangs and guitar licks to rumble any quivering tear duct, Beach House is the soundtrack to pleasure your unsatisfied Ego, and by god, it’s doesn’t hurt that they’re sex-hot. Celebrating hormonal and unrequited urges in new album Teen Dream, Beach House arrives third time lucky, succinct as ever, rewarding our Bacchus wait with a live show of whispering nothings, white fur palm trees and disco ball memories.

After the bright lit set of Laurence of Arabia, hailing dexterous guitar solos and plenty facial fuzz to challenge Alex Egbert, dimming the chandelier beams isn’t nearly enough to soak in the sexual tension from every punter worshipping Victoria Legrand and her guitar lover in crime, Alex Scally. Teetering into the set with rainmaker percussion in ‘Walk In The Park’ to eighties synth drones in ‘Lover of Mine’ we’re left staggered on how these willowy tweaks carry such heavy sentiment and betray your basic motor functions. With Legrand’s effortless siren calls reeling from the effects pedal treatment, it’s enough to make your ticker fail, choke your last breath, before you attempt to hurtle ourselves at her peeking keyboard feet.

Orchestrating a lightshow in tune to their set list, the band transforms Bush Hall into a dream pop kaleidoscope, warping lonely lyrics in ‘Norway’ to vacant spot-white beams, while the multihued fur reveals the despairing vocal tones in ‘Zebra’. Breaking the coordinated lightshow, Legrand’s soft confusion to Scally’s lost guitar slide reduces her conversation to a hoarse whisper, before she proudly determines “It’s time to get sweaty” in “R” Rated portion of the night with ‘Silver Soul’, setting the swaying scene of arm locked punters.

Dark and playful, Beach House unite wistful sanctuary in Legrand’s chorus for ‘Take Care’ to the shimmery prom glitter ball, yet like those disappointing pubescent dates, the band shiver non-committal lyrics “I'd take care of you ...In a year or two”, baring their embrace of sombre realties and all to the careless waves of Legrand’s hair billowing over the keys to play off one screamer of a set.

Words: Gemma Dempster
Photography: Minh Le