Unfortunately this event, part of the MFA's "Concerts in the Courtyard" series, was moved inside due to the freaking torrential downpours that hit Boston on Wednesday July 6th. Playing out of doors might have lent a certain atmosphere to Sunburned Hand of the Man's ramshackle faux-disorganization, which came off as childish, though not necessarily immature. Starting things off by dumping a couple of crates of random objects all over the stage, SHofM supported their seemingly improvised meanderings through large-scale (eight members) guitar-and-electronics drone and primitive percussion with decent sense of humor. They destroyed a crude portrait, poking out the mouth and an eye, giving it a voice, dropping the microphone through the holes, and so on; the drummer seemed fascinated by his helicopter-like creation made from drumsticks and a cymbal, and elected at one point to bash on his kit with rubber snake. The set was also what the folks like to call “indulgent,” (someone behind me later called it "not music") and no one really seemed to have the chops to back up their antics. I appreciated their willingness to explore new forms, but what SHotM came up with wasn't so captivating.

After clearing off the debris, Four Tet's dual-laptop setup was moved into place, and following a curiously overlong delay, Kieran Hebden took center stage all by his lonesome. His selections leaned toward his newer work--tracks from Everything Estatic were prominently featured, and his warped-to-shit versions of favorites from Rounds (“Hands,” “Spirit Fingers”) were given overhauls very much in line with his pummeling new approach. If this wasn't obvious already, this set was loud. Multiple people plugging their ears loud, and the better for it, actually—people would start cheering when they heard something familiar (i.e. pastoral or "folktronic," if you will), and he’d almost immediately shred it to bits. (See especially the closer, “My Angel Rocks Back and Forth”--a gorgeous tune he left untouched just long enough to remind the crowd of its gorgeousness before attacking it with digital hacksaws.) Again, it's unfortunate the show took place inside--the auditorium setting really discouraged any sort of crowd feedback, aside from those who couldn't handle the punishment getting up and leaving. Someone needs to hook Mr. Hebden up with some video projection—having big fuzzy hair ain’t enough. I have big fuzzy hair. I’m not that interesting. Kidding aside, the music was sufficiently entertaining--the horror stories I'd heard of tedious Four Tet shows were quite exaggerated, crushed to bits, in fact, by those big, big beats and swathes of crunchy noise.