Bands often look to their lead singers to provide energy and dynamism to their live shows. This is most definitely the case with Future Islands, whose lead singer Samuel T. Herring is a visceral force onstage. His antics conjure an animalistic mixture of Tom Waits, Iggy Pop and Pavarotti. Herring’s presence monumentally contrasts with the stoic, focused appearances of keyboardist Gerrit Welmers and bassist/guitarist William Cashion. Welmers provides sweeping synth-beats, driving all the heady poetic lyrics towards pop euphoria while Cashion anchors the ship with steady bass lines. They are certainly the more reserved members of the group — Cashion remains unassuming behind his strawberry blonde mustache, even when he gets to tear through guitar solos.
Chicago’s Lincoln Hall was the perfect intimate venue for hosting the three-member outfit from North Carolina, whose songs are a mix of somber poetry, anguished screaming and danceable synth beats. The band is currently touring to promote its most recent album, On the Water, released by Thrill Jockey. The set was a blisteringly fast hour and 15 minutes, during which they mixed new and old songs. While the audience was small — Future Islands doesn’t have the most expansive fan base — all of the songs were met with enthusiasm varying from subtle head nods to leaps of excitement. Yet the level of energy in Lincoln Hall rose to a fervor when Future Islands ripped through “Tin Man” and “Long Flight,” two cuts from their 2010 LP In Evening Air.
The first act was a bizarre, fit-inducing freak project called "Ed Schrader’s Music Beat." Schrader screamed about gas station attendants and pounded on a drum, all while eerily lit to look like a combination of Peter Lorre and Shrek. Schrader is a music critic, radio host and member of the nebulous artistic Baltimore conglomerate "Wham City," which also includes electronic artist Dan Deacon. Javelin took the reins for the second act, apathetically mixing peppy drumpad beats with Lil' Wayne songs. They did so with such unabashed sleepiness that it was difficult to tell whether it was irony, and if so, whether anyone in the crowd cared enough to catch on to the joke.
The crowd steadily grew inside Lincoln Hall throughout the night before Future Islands appeared close to 10 p.m. The hodgepodge audience was a mixture of college kids in Halloween costumes, belligerent drunks and excitable obese women in the upper levels of the concert space. Despite the soft beauty of Future Islands’ sound, a fight broke out, resulting in shouts of “broken glass on the floor” as the evening wore on. Herring managed to knock over a few glasses of his own as he leapt dangerously close to the edge of the stage.
Herring seemed to be a humble everyman, talking to the crowd about both the heartfelt origins of his songs and his plans to be a pumpkin for Halloween. But when each song began he became something between a pseudo-screamo Gospel preacher and a husky, downtrodden poet. Initially his antics caught the crowd off guard, as he aggressively crouched, pounded his head and even dribbled spit into the sea of people in front of him. Yet there was something endearing about his selflessness and masochistic tendencies. His range includes a soulful, prophetic baritone, gruff, pinched wheezing and violent screaming, and he fluctuates the levels in accordance with the emotional weight of every lyric.
Future Islands is a band that sounds fascinating and challenging on record, gently moving back in forth between rage, longing, hope and loss. Yet the physical presence of Herring, coupled with his extreme performance makes their live shows something to rave about.