All hail Deerhoof the Redeemer. The San Francisco quartet washes away the sins and outrages of the weekend with pure quirk-pop and the most wholesome stage banter we've appreciated this side of Sesame Street. Strange without being alienating, Deerhoof play earnestly, thoughtfully, and entertainingly.
Every beat is carefully off-kilter, every phrase is spontaneous while controlled. Their show is well-played and appropriately weird, personal, and celebratory, and we feel everything is glowing, everything is good, everything is right in the world.
Their holy aura of good humour teaches us well--even when a nearby spectator stinks up the air with a particularly foul-smelling cigarette in the quite unambiguously indoors venue, he is quick to stamp out the offending fag (albeit into the carpet) at our politely pleading gesticulation. Managing to honour ATP's milestone without making a distracting fuss over it, Deerhoof deftly play covers, switch their instruments, and give awkward dedications in a way that make us all feel special to be there. And it's enough to exorcise from us the hellfire of the early weekend, leaving us with nothing but goodwill to all ATP, its bands, and its fans. Deerhoof bless us, every one.