Photographs by Sarah Rix.
Just to clarify, that was a cult meeting, right? The signs were all there: Opulent stage hangings, a dynamically charismatic central figure, the audio contract booming over the PA stating “If you do not want to be physically and spiritually touched, please move to the back of the auditorium.” If they’d asked for a tithe, few attendees would’ve blinked twice.
YΔCHT made it clear that fealty would be rewarded. Opening with brand new single Works Like Magic– released mere hours beforehand- the electro-funk vibes and vocoder driven chorus set the scene for something metaphysical. Lead singer Claire Evans stalked the stage with a playful cat-like charm, slinking around pillars, draped around the mic stand. It’d be both reasonable and apt to misconstrue it as interpretive dance, enthralling and engaging to watch. During the vocal break down of The Afterlife she began walking the floor, weaving through attendees, gesturing and touching foreheads like a less stumpy synthpop E.T.
The seed of something magical had been sown and as the performance drew on it started to take root. What had begun as a sparsely inhabited dance floor grew to a festering mass of passionate self-expression through movement. By cultivating an air of positive weirdness, it was as if YΔCHT had created a safe space for fans to let their freak flag fly free. Harnessing this enthusiasm, the band called for a sing-a-long to their 2009 song Psychic City. “The words are pretty simple” remarked lead guitarist and band founder, Jona Bechtolt. Casting a glance around, he was onto something. The crowd, buoyed by the upbeat bouncing bass and peppy percussion sang along with hand-on-heart fervour.
The mood was defined by an amusing, lighthearted spirit. Banter revolved around the intrinsic value of Timbits being set by their status as gifts, and the nature of the soul. “Have we got any questions about the soul?” Asked Jona, “statistically we probably have enough people here to be able to work it out. Are any of you doctors?” A med student admitted that they hadn’t quite covered it yet. Announcing their final song elicited an audible “aw” from the crowd. “Or not. Geez.” Shrugged Claire.
Closing out the set with a twisted, winding performance of You Can Live Anywhere You Want left the crowd on a high note. A dense, aggressive bass thump, distorted rock guitar riffs and machine gun drums caved to syncopated synth beats, gradually moving in and out of time before being reined in by a wailing guitar solo. Driving drums ramped to a rapid pace while the room was gripped by mounting distortion. All of a sudden the sound cut to nothing. Beaming at the audience, Claire announced “thank you for your patronage. We have been YΔCHT.” They were something, alright.
