Clap Your Hands Say Yeah live at Tripod, Dublin

I think Some Loud Thunder and I are going to make it as a pair. I know we’re still rubbing up against each other and figuring out how best to fit together. And it’s not quite like getting swept of your feet by the debut album from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. But watching the band tonight one is assured of their arse-whipping brilliance.
It’s all good. Even before they take the stage Cold War Kids and Elvis Perkins have insured the joint will hop and then some. Nothing however, not even the fever at last year’s WWO gig, could adequately prepare one for the maniacal surge when Brooklyn’s finest appear.
There are those who find Some Loud Thunder too experimental, too clever by half. There are those who think Ounsworth’s vocals – pitched somewhere between David Byrne and Bob Dylan – are whiny and indie-schmindie. Happily, none of these folks seem to have acquired the eagerly sought after tickets.
Alec Ounsworth understands that he needs to be careful with our feelings (“We’re still deciding how to present the new songs,” he says apologetically). The set list carefully alternates between the freaky sublime pop of last year’s best record – I’ll take on anyone who demurs – and the spiralling plexity of the new material. A rabble rousing rendition of ‘Is This Love’ jumps into the discombobulating minimalism of ‘Satan Says Dance’. The soaring three-guitar Floyd-a-rama of ‘Love Song No. 7’ is paired with a roof raising ‘Upon This Tidal Wave Of Young Blood’.
The effect is schizoid, a bit like watching a stage shared by Can and Haircut One Hundred, but their stage craft is blossoming since their last headline appearance at The Village. Beloved tracks like ‘Skin Of My Yellow Country Teeth’ are now served with added noodly bits. The intricate arrangements now go all the way up to 11. Ounsworth, meanwhile, has perfected an ironic chicken dance and otherwordly cool patter. “This is a song called ‘Some Loud Thunder’,” he says. “It’s on the album called Some Loud Thunder and it’s about some loud thunder.” For the assembled elect, it’s transcendent. You either get Clap Your Hands or you don’t. And tonight I pity the preterite, I truly do.