Islands has Chicago surrounded in a take-no-prisoners set

July 12, 2010, at Lincoln Hall

By Selena Fragassi
Published: July 16th, 2010 | 12:00pm

From the opening note of “Vapours,” from its most recent album of the same name, Islands had their audience enveloped in a thick fog. Perhaps it was the effect of an over-exhausted smoke machine, or the icing on the drumkit of a cunning band whose illusionary tactics had revelers in a time machine, sound trekking from ‘60s Beach Boys surfer sounds to the darker fringe of ‘80s new wave electro.

In a solid, but too abbreviated set, Brooklyn’s (by way of Montreal) Islands delivered material from their wildly different three releases that spanned four years and at least four genres of music. There were the poptastic numbers (“Creeper”) in which singer Nick Diarnonds brought out his sequined gloves and Lady Gaga–inspired sunglasses; and then there were the more downtrodden tracks (“No You Don’t”) where the frontman symbolically pulled his white hoodie over his head, perhaps mimicking the hilariously genius music video starring Michael Cera.

The one thing missing though was integral and founding member Jamie Thompson whose eternal hemming and hawing about being in a “successful rock band” again led to his departure shortly before this year’s summer tour began. The band’s long understudy drummer Aaron Harris was a prime replacement and nary skipped a beat to the delight of the sparse crowd in this Monday night set.

Although it’s been rumored that Islands will surround itself with new material, coined “Doom Wop,” in the next year—a new subgenre that Thorburn explains is “essentially low frequency, and extremely slowed down music atop traditional doo wop harmonies”—it’s hard to believe the band will change the eclectic style that is working so well for them already. But then again, the name of the band alone mirrors the tendency it has to be on its own plain and carving out new, exotic musical adventures for those lucky enough to come upon it.

Case in point, the gorgeous finale of “Swans,” which was turned into a ten-minute overture so incredibly powerful any encore would have ruined the high Islands left us on in our time machine vacation from the early week doldrums. Better left for a Friday, but so fitting for a manic Monday.

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