MV&EE play folk for when you can't feel your face in Atlanta

January 26, 2009, at the Earl

By Beverly Bryan
Published: January 29th, 2009 | 10:10am

Lyonnais opened the Monday night show MV & EE played at the Earl in Atlanta. You could call the group experimental, except it was clear the musicians knew very well what they were doing with all their toys, a collection that included an Ebow, Omnichord (kind of like an electronic autoharp), and a force field of vocal distortion. The band’s tribal shoegaze was more sound-y than noisy and, strangely, there wasn't a discordant moment in its entire droning set.

In between, Atlanta's Meeks Family provided a gentle transition with its standard-issue alt-county. A bit of a crowd gathered for the Meeks, but only about 18 in all stayed on for the psych-folk idyll that was to come. A few of those who stayed sat Indian-style on the floor.

Matt Valentine, one half of MV & EE, broke a string Ray Davies–style on his muted electric guitar during the first song. "It's unheard of for me," he said over a harmonica mounted around his neck. Erika Elder alternated between lap steel and an electric mandolin with only four strings. (Valentine also used an electrified banjo on one song.) Playing seated, the duo mirrored each other with flowing locks and flared blue jeans.

They started in a rambling space-blues vein, generating their own nimbus of vocal distortion and soft reverb. Everyone says it, and it's true: Valentine sings just like Neil Young. But all the effects pedals take your mind off it. Elder's dry, gruff voice complemented Valentine’s lilting one as her delicate counterpoint so often complemented his meandering ragas.

By the end of the second song, MV & EE were deep into the wah-wah woods and it was easy to lose track of where one disembodied folk duet ended and another began. Sometimes they got into a kind of downer’s bluegrass and sometimes their take on the electric blues strayed into grunge territory. Overall, their method owed more to jazz improvisation than anything else. Finally, they released the tension and disintegrated the shimmering trackless waste into a vibrant disaster of bright echoes and machine noise.

The only other interruption was an occasional story from Valentine. "We end up on these experimental bills," he said, explaining that audiences are always curious as to whether they do drugs or eat meat. "I don't know where you're going with this," Elder broke in. At one point they both stopped to remember which baseball player it was that once threw a no-hitter on acid. They agreed it was Bill Lee.

For more photos from this show visit Venus Zine's Flickr page.

Review of Green Blues