I first encountered these high-falutin’ gothic-bluegrass maniacs opening for Menomena a few months back, and was so impressed that when they announced their show at the capital’s premier live venue, I didn’t hesitate giving my Animal Collective ticket away in order to see them. It proved to be a sensible decision; if their show in June was excellent, then Thursday's was phenomenal. If O’ Death lack the variety or emotional range to threaten the premier echelon of live bands I’ve seen (AF, Flaming Lips, Sigur Ros, Joanna Newsom, Bjork), in terms of pure energy they’re up there with the very best. 
Musically, they adopt a sinister Appalachian country-blues sound, complimented by Greg Jamie’s evocative rasping screech but its how they deliver it that’s the real draw; the drummer brutally smashing his kit with metal chains, the often-sedate banjo player suddenly leaping out of his chair to unleash a frenzied string-based assault, the lanky, haunted violinist viciously attacking his instrument with such staccato intensity that you think he’s going to explode. The pace never flags throughout an hour long set (it was supposed to be 40 minutes, but the Luminaire’s owner was so impressed he let them go over curfew), reaching its zenith with an utterly unhinged, full-throttle Only Daughter that made me wistfully reminisce about the days of Funeral-era AF. The only downer was the corporate-heavy audience, which precluded the atmosphere being as mad as it should have been, but even so, there’s been few performances this year I’ve enjoyed so much. The very definition of what a live act should be, O’ Death are the kind of band worth killing for.
(Photos courtesy of: Chiara Meattelli)
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