My Best Fiend, Bikini, and Hundred in the Hands in Brooklyn, New York (1/27).

Last Friday was an (unexpectedly long) night of Brooklyn indie in Glasslands, a DIY venue that may have oversold its 275 person capacity for My Best Fiend, Bikini, and Hundred In The Hands. Having arrived early enough to catch headliner Hundred In The Hands going through their first soundcheck and talking to My Best Fiend after that, I expected a smooth show of limited theatrics and with focus on the material and gaining converts, and was becoming fast-aware that the sound at Glasslands is among the better of DIY venues in Brooklyn (and there are a lot of them).

When I saw My Best Fiend setting up, I knew that most of what I thought had already been confirmed. With five members cramming onto a stage that can comfortably fit two or three people, My Best Fiend was out trying to win some converts for their debut, In Ghostlike Fading, before it drops on February 21. They opened the song with the already-available Higher Palms, a showcase of the band’s knack for versatile guitar work and unique keyboard accompaniment. For the first couple songs, vocals were shoddy, and it seemed like the production on the two released songs (the aforementioned Higher Palms and the bold, beautiful Cracking Eggs) was a cover-up for live shortcomings. Thankfully, by the time the third song had started, the vocalist had shaken off whatever nervousness had briefly become him, and the band launched into the highlight of the night, Odvip. The unreleased highlight was complete with the best that My Best Fiend has to offer. The lead guitarist’s control and versatility shone through on the flowing, melodic riffs and the shredding passages in the chorus, which was complete with dazzling synth lines and an emotive howl that was enhanced by the keyboardist’s constantly impressive backing vocals; but perhaps most fulfilling in the song were the bold, melodic basslines, and a flawless execution of a distorted, noisy passage that garnered hollers and cheers after its finish. At 7 minutes plus, it was the first time the audience seemed truly captivated, and My Best Fiend certainly earned it.

My Best Fiend churned through the rest of the set, maintaining the audience’s full attention for the next few songs before losing it slightly on the closer. Cracking Eggs sounded just as full live as it does on whatever site you've been streaming it on (or should be, if you haven't been), and One Velvet Day’s guitar lines are among the best on the debut. While some songs were too similar and the band occasionally struggled to stay together, My Best Fiend was certainly the most potent band of the night, even if they also were the messiest.

Bikini, an electronica duo who played what felt like the shortest set of the night, was the least consistent of the three bands. The first two songs were essentially club songs, with regular kick drum that got the audience to dance, but had meandering, pointless keyboard lines that made me quickly lose interest before the crisp, strong vocals kicked in about halfway through the second song. But something even more unexpected happened with Bikini’s third song, On the Ocean. Vocals rose to the front of the mix, keyboard lines suddenly became melodic, and the band’s easy groove was kept while still conveying a real emotion, realizing the hint of melancholy that the first two had hinted at. On the Ocean was complete, enjoyable, and left me wanting more. It felt like a real electronica song instead of an easy cash-in by the DJ at the local night club. Unfortunately, even with the maintaining structure on the following song, the vocals were saturated with so much reverb that the falsetto hurt, and the synth lines lacked the melodic feeling of On The Ocean. The vocalist could really sing, but you could barely tell throughout the set.

The venue, which had been full for a while, seemed to get even more full as people flocked to see what was evidently the draw of the night, The Hundred In The Hands, whose self-titled debut was praised by the likes of Q, Uncut and Drowned In Sound. Still, after about 20 minutes it became clear something was up. It took no more than 15 minutes for Bikini to get started after My Best Fiend’s set, but 30 minutes after Bikini, there was no sign of the show starting back up, and so the audience got drunker and drunker, and the photo-booth (yes, Glasslands has a photo-booth) always seemed to be occupied as people waited for the band and sound crew to fix whatever was going wrong. After about an hour, the lights went down, and vocalist/keyboardist Eleanore Everdell took to the microphone to tell us that they were having problems before being interrupted by a man who dropped his beer bottle. Luckily, Everdell put some humor into the night by offering to buy him one, and sure enough, a beer was handed up to the stage and delivered personally to the fan by the charismatic songstress. Unfortunately, she then said to stay with them, and the patient but annoyed crowd waited for about 20 minutes for the post-punk influenced electropop duo to take the stage.

Guitarist/programmer Jason Friedman took to the bass for the first song, which got the rowdy audience to start unleashing their pent up drunken energy to the well-constructed bass lines. This was, unfortunately, the only song where Friedman did not opt for the guitar, and I can’t help but think that perhaps the show could have been paced better by placing this distinct song elsewhere in the set (which, despite being delayed for almost an hour and a half, saw the band play their full set). The rest of the songs were showcases of jagged, aggressive guitar lines and Everdell’s haunting vocals, which were reminiscent of Zola Jesus without the range. Her echo was enhanced by the moody lighting (the only band to take full-advantage of the visual aspect of a show, though My Best Fiend had their own lights and didn’t have room to physically move). The band’s set leaned slightly toward already released songs, with a few peaks toward the end of the set of new material (to be released “probably in May” according to Friedman). The newer songs were a bit slower than the older stuff, with more focus on Everdell than Friedman. One memorable song had a beautifully sung, eerily accompanied chorus, “You’re always breaking my heart, whoa-oh-oh, whoa-oh-oh” that recaptured the audience’s attention toward the end of a waning set that had overused what felt like the band’s signature breakdown, which consisted of nothing more than a kick drum on every beat and sing-speak vocals.

Friedman and Everdell had frequent chances to shine: The former regularly kicked out solid, screeching guitar parts after programming drum tracks and percussion before every song, while the latter’s voice had its fair shot at the spotlight. Friedman is not the best programmer in the world, and Everdell’s range does not compare to her influences, but the duo’s brand of Young Marble Giants meets LCD Soundsystem is a captivating listen, if only in appropriate doses.