KATIE BROWN - 26 JUN 2024

Fascinating: it’s the best word I can think of to describe US-based act Blonde Redhead’s outstanding performance at Tāmaki Makaurau/Auckland’s character-laden Hollywood Avondale venue on Saturday night. And I’m talking about fascination in the snake-charmer kind of sense: bewitching; beguiling. Ipnotizzante.

For the unfamiliar, Blonde Redhead comprises Italian twin brothers Amedeo (lead guitar, keys, vocals, bass) and Simone Pace (drums, keys), along with Japanese Kazu Makino (vocals, keys, rhythm guitar). Stylistically, their work runs the gamut from shoegaze to noise rock to dream pop: it’s an eclectic, intense sound that often leans towards the melancholy, and unsurprisingly, it’s gained them a cult following worldwide. 

Released last year, their 10th studio album Sit Down For Dinner marks an incredible 30 years of the act being together. After forming in New York City in 1993, they released their self-titled debut album in 1995, followed by a suite of nine further studio records over the ensuing years, with standouts including 2000’s Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons, 2004’s Misery Is a Butterfly, and 2007’s 23. The show’s set list is a tight selection from Sit Down For Dinner, Misery Is a Butterfly, and 23. 

We arrive at the Hollywood in light rain — half of the city, seemingly, off on the other side of the town at Spark Arena, the other half off at the Blues game. Punters trickle in slowly: some take a seat down the back of the historic cinema, some upstairs; others idle on the generous open floor, drink in hand; others already stake a claim right up by the stage, elbows on the edge, waiting. 

The opener, Tāmaki Makaurau-based multi-instrumentalist Lucola, is a treat. Sounds reminiscent of Jean-Michel Jarre travel through Sequential Prophet-5 and Roland D-50 synths as the solo artist, clad in a sky-blue suit, long hair wafting around his face from the updraft of a floor fan, rides the waves of his avant-garde modulation and arpeggiated sequences. The audience ride too; it’s a vibe. A couple have a dance party for two, unafraid of taking up space, her blonde hair flying. Gleeful.

A spotlight momentarily lights up behind the empty Blonde Redhead drum kit, backlighting Lucola from below — a synth god in a synthetic sunrise; a sign of what’s to come. 

There’s a pause. “Allow me to change the buttons on my keyboard,” Lucola says. The vocal is robotic. “Thank you for your patience.”

My companion receives an alert on his smart watch: noise levels have exceeded 90db for over half an hour. Watch your ears.

Lucola bows out. He’s looking forward to the main act, too. “Hear they’re quite the spectacle,” the robotic voice comments.

The pair beside us nudge each other as Weyes Blood’s ‘Andromeda’ floods the venue in the break. They’re talking about guitar chords.

A red-orange tinged haze snakes through the stage, caressing the formidable backline. 

The trio slip in: Simone behind the drums, Kazu to our left on guitar, keys in wait, and Amedeo on the right. An eerie intro before suddenly slamming into sound: it’s Misery Is a Butterfly’s ‘Falling Man’. I’m reminded of when I first listened to the album walking through the streets of Newtown in Sydney, enchanted by the vocals. It’s surreal to encounter those voices in real life in what feels like a lifetime later. 

“I know a ghost can walk through the wall,” Amedeo sings, “Yet I’m just a man, still learning how to fall.” 

He’s wearing relaxed pinstripe trousers; a soft white shirt with sleeves rolled up, and a glint of a silver chain shows at his neck. His style is impeccable, and he curls around his guitar with a focus that’s both intense and somehow still casual. 

When he sings, his eyes are closed. A delicacy dances in his voice.

Now it’s ‘Snowman;’ Kazu is the butterfly caught in the bottled chaos of their music, pulsing at her synths, living through her guitar, breathing into her vocals with that endearing and sweet otherworldliness that is her signature. She clearly has a head cold, but she pours all of herself into her sound. Her slouch boots sparkle in the spots; her scarf wends its way from her neck to her mic stand after she shrugs off her jacket.

Their shadows are cast tall onto the walls around us. I think about how it’s a metaphor for the power of music, and then about the sort of alchemy — and friction — required for three people to be so musically complementary; a family. 

We’re pummeled by a wall of noise. Reversed reverb. Chimes: it’s Simone at the drums, a sort of signal; a palate cleanse — that inhalation of coffee beans after testing too many different perfumes. Simone’s all in black: black capri length trousers, a black top; a spectre at his kit, calmly holding everything together with a steady beat.

“It’s not how you speak; it’s what you said,” Amedeo sings in the midst of the frenetic, desperate energy of ‘SW’, and I can feel the grit of the distortion in my chest. It’s a pressure cooker of a song that builds into a wall of noise, gently cut into by Simone’s chimes: and then everything shifts and slows down as Kazu lilts, “Please don’t look away,” in ‘Sit Down For Dinner - Part 1’. 

Now Amedeo’s guitar is a whale song; plaintive. 

A block tick-tock intro before slamming into ‘Maddening Cloud;’ the intoxicating polyphony of Amedeo’s and Kazu’s interwoven melodies — separate, together (the theme of 2020’s lockdowns!).  

Kazu picks up a different guitar for ‘Spring and by Summer Fall’. There’s a lightning bolt on the strap: it matches the electrifying intensity of the massive sound they’re creating. Amedeo crouches over his pedal board, carefully crafting the perfect sound for the perfect moment. Kazu, now standing next to the stacked amps, thumps the body of her guitar and her distorted thuds ricochet through the venue. 

A whirlwind through crowd-pleaser ‘23’ and the enchanting ‘Rest of Her Life,’ with Kazu’s quirky punctuated vocal backdrop bouncing bubble-like out into the audience, and then it’s the encore. 

The trio re-enter the stage after Kazu’s charming kiss-blowing exit.

Simone’s tucked behind his kit. Amedeo stands back from his microphone, guitar slung around his shoulders, serious.

“This one,” Kazu jokes, “He never talks. He says nothing.” 

But all of their songs feel like a conversation between the pair, as Amedeo wanders over to Kazu and she sings to him while his guitar speaks. 

He’s wearing the lightning bolt strap now. 

The audience shout compliments. Remind the trio when it was they last visited (Laneway! 2011!). 

And just like that, it’s over. We eye up the set lists Kazu is brandishing: she relinquishes them into the grasp of waiting hands. Simone joins her, he proffers his too with a shrug.

We’ve peaked at 110db, my companion affirms. Multiple times. My ears ring. 

With a shiver of appreciation, I underline “fascinating” in my notebook. Twice.

Relive the set list via Spotify and view the gallery of images by Sean Harvey from the show below.

Blonde Redhead: Instagram | Facebook | Spotify | Website

Lucola: Instagram

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SEAN HARVEY