Pitchfork

Photos by Kathryn Yu; Above: Jesu

New Violators [Mercury Lounge; 7 p.m.]

The New Violators' straightforwardness and honesty of intention-- they are an arena-sized band, in love with Bowie and the Cure and Echo & the Bunnymen and Springsteen and maybe even U2-- has had the paradoxical effect of alienating many who have seen them at South by Southwest, CMJ, and in their own hometown of Trondheim, Norway. Chalk this up, in part, to the band's frontman, Per Borten-- tall, handsome, well dressed, distant, and over the top.

Recently, the New Violators parted ways with their longtime guitarist, and Borten has since assumed double duty, a brilliant idea-- what little they lose in towering stage presence and theatrical appeal, they gain by being tighter, more locked in, less polarizing. Their new songs rely less on Borten's croon and more on his considerable songwriting ability. The material is more ballady; keyboards play more of a role, and the songs are longer and more complex, the influences still there but less obvious. If Springsteen's Americana leanings have come into vogue as an influence and a touchstone for so many new bands, New Violators cop the thing from Springsteen that attracted everyone to him in the first place: huge ambition and blatantly outsized songs.

I will resort to begging: somebody, please, put out this band's record.

Torche [Blender Theatre at Gramercy; 9 p.m.]

The Miami, Fla., quartet Torche-- say "Torch," that's what they do-- emerged from the rubble of Floor, an on-and-off Florida band renowned in some circles for their long-unreleased LP, Dove, recorded in 1994. Floor's legend circulated for some time before the band had a record out-- an oversight they remedied in 2001, when they released a self-titled album and then, eventually, Dove. After their 2004 breakup, those two records came to bookend the existence of a band few outside of Florida were aware of until they were almost finished. Torche formed shortly afterward, filling the void.







At the Gramercy, the band took the stage under the theater's busy light show, pounding away at a deafening single chord. The venue was packed-- a reminder that though certain bands may dominate all discussions of the festival, a journeyman metal group has a much easier time piecing a crowd together than does your average internet phenom. Like Floor, the band vibes Jane's Addiction as much as any other heavy predecessor-- angelic, soaring vocals, mountains of dialed-up guitars, a deliberate pace, and long, ocean-sized songs. Though Jesu was likely the band people had come to see, it was Torche that had most of the crowd bending rhythmically at the waist and neck, swaying as if in prayer.

Jesu [Blender Theatre at Gramercy; 10 p.m.]

Justin Broadrick's obsession with the non-metal aspects of his band's sound-- the suicidal wistfulness, silky drones and muted vocals-- has spilled over into his band's live set: "Turn everything up! It's too fucking quiet," yelled a surprisingly audible audience dude.





Lifeline, Broadrick's latest, suffered a bit from being so straightforward: without multiple layers to sift through, Jesu can sound thin, or underwritten. Live, it's clear that Broadrick is experimenting, seeing how light a touch he can employ and still make crowds feel the weight; still, after Torche's pummeling stand, it was odd to hear people's random chatter crest over the music. Like many other moments at CMJ, the whole thing was a little too transparent-- after seeing so much industry in motion, you begin wish someone would just drop the curtain again.