Duo not quite ready for prime time

By Althea Legaspi | Special to the Tribune

May 5, 2008

Since 2003, Ghostland Observatory has been building a steady DIY buzz. Synth/knob twiddler/drummer/producer Thomas Turner and singer/guitarist Aaron Behrens have made their way from small club appearances to packed festival stages, backed with blogosphere cred.

In Chicago alone, the Austin, Texas-based duo has gone from selling out Schubas to a well-attended daytime slot at Lollapalooza last year, and on Friday night it performed to a full house at Metro. And though that's pretty impressive for a band that has released three full-length albums on its own Trashy Moped label, its musical direction leaves something to be desired.

In a live setting, Ghostland Observatory's strengths are based on an intriguing chemistry between the two members. Behrens, wearing large sunglasses and two long braids, danced a hybrid of hip-hop and tribal that could make you think he'll conjure rain, while the cape-sporting Turner provided the beats Behrens rode throughout the set.

This style, which has been their trademark at shows, gave an element of whimsy to crowd favorites such as the danceable "Sad Sad City" and "Stranger Lover." With new material from the recently released "Robotique Majestique," however, the band has taken a turn away from its original playfulness—perhaps as a stab at being taken more seriously—but in its seriousness, it lost appeal. As it is, Behrens' metallic vocal atop Turner's non-computerized beats thinly rides an over-the-top line. But on songs such as the overwrought "Dancing on My Grave" and "Heavy Heart," with its dark Broadway lead-in, the melodrama clashed with what made them interesting in the first place.

Add to this the self-indulgent instrumental overkill in an apparent attempt to show off Behrens' guitar skills, and whatever fun might have been present vaporized. The band's hour-and-a-half Metro set required more than its previous performances at short-set festival circuits and smaller clubs, and the drawn-out instrumentals emphasized that the group has grown bigger than its material thus far can support.

Perhaps the band was aware it needed something extra—on this outing it added an arena-worthy light show and smoke machine, which gave off colors and strobes that flitted through the dense smoke. It wasn't enough to disguise the band's shortcomings.

ctc-tempo@tribune.com