Wild Nothing. An interesting name, given that it is a project fronted by a man who is anything but. Jack Tatum is not wild, far from it in fact. But his neon-lit dreamscapes creep closer and closer to that powerful adjective as tonight’s set progresses. Not wild in a crazy, unhinged sense, but in their ability to ensnare the listener, to coax us in and fling our emotions skyward with reckless abandon.
Tatum nursed this project in his Virginia bedroom, singing and playing the tracks all on his lonesome. And it shows. He pours himself, if a little gingerly, into these songs which are, on record plaintive and beautiful and tonight given license to roam.
CAMP Basement is stiflingly hot, the temperature rising without the crowd doing much more than nodding themselves into Tatum’s trance. The heat seems to manipulate the music into a thick fug, seducing us into living Tatum’s memories as his lyrics wash over the crowd.
‘Summer Holiday’ and ‘Drifter’ combine a wistful lament with keys and guitars like the cold rush of standing under a waterfall in the sunshine. Driven by downbeat, sad emotions and experiences, Wild Nothing conjure a dazzling live experience with uplifting beats and melody. Of course, the presence of Tatum’s band augments the noise levels, gurgling bass and 80s percussion rattle through this cellar, by now dripping with condensation, to create an admirable racket.
He is flanked by a second guitarist, bassist and drummer. All look like extras from The OC, chiselled jaws, crisp, striped t-shirts and sensible haircuts. Onstage banter is appropriately low key (“my drummer got a tattoo of a spider today,”), but as they get into their stride, rock’n’roll posturing takes over, ensuring visual as well as aural engagement. By the end, all four are sweating profusely, glugging water as they leave the stage.
Matters of the heart have always been best expressed with simplicity, and Wild Nothing are by no means tearing up the rule book. Lyrically Tatum is transparent, “Where are you going, can I go with you, I don’t feel right when you’re not here,” he sings on ‘Bored Games.’ From odes to love and lovers such as this to the confessions of the outsider, “The music’s too loud and I’m afraid of it,” he quivers later.
He may say he’s afraid of noise, but he gradually eases into his comfort zone on stage, making as much of it as his delicately composed songs will allow. This is a confident performance from a man who, on record, could be categorized as not possessing much of it. Wild Nothing float breezily from stereo and headphones, and transform into a slightly more aggressive live act. The fragile beauty and seductively well, normal subject matter remain constant, and are what really drives CAMP Basement wild.
Words by Ben Homewood
