HTRK, Brighton Freebutt

Ignorance is most definitely not bliss. Not in this case, anyway. To think that HTRK (prononcé Haterock) have been knocking about since 2003 and that I had never heard (of) them ‘till this past week is upsetting, to say the least. But it would appear I was not the only one with my head so fervently foraging in the dark. Since they announced these few diamond dates, their name has been everywhere, appearing in various industry mail-outs and magazines; four black, bold, brute letters, a grid, locked into place. Like the beats themselves.

The Freebutt is empty this time. As empty as a decent show can be. Onlookers dot the room, enough space to lean and still see. At ease. The stage somewhat reflects the spectator spot: three tall statures, immobile, thin. Founding members Yang & Stewart (bassist & guitarist respectively) flank vox and sultry siren, Jonnine Standish. All long legs and short skirt. Her single drum reaches somewhere between the top of her knee and her inner thigh. Brandishing her toughened maracas, she stands upright and stiff, in military style. Her steps and her drumming wreak of army precision, each stance carefully planned. Or so it seems.

The set is like a loud and disconnected lullaby. Standish’s vocals soft and indecipherable in their inarticulacy. The distortion of the machine rules the roost, drowning out the sounds of the live instrumentation. It all works together, the harmony is still there, sunk deep, deep down underneath the watery criss-crossing of the electronics.

Urgent and cutting, tracks such as ‘Rentboy’ and ‘Fascinator’ hypnotize and make one’s toe tap. Desperately keeping the rhythm, the eye never drawn away from Standish’s stature. She does nothing more than play her part, and she plays it beautifully. Some beatnik babe, unwilling to utter a word outside of the lyrics. None of them speak. It’s all very choreographed, but seamlessly.

As the final song comes to its close, awkward shuffling and confused looks spread across the stage. Then, almost as quickly as they came on, they are gone. HTRK, like ghosts, vanish and the room empties. It’s like nothing ever happened, but it’s so hard to forget that something did.