Four Tet, Matthew Dear and Jon Hopkins in Chicago

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  • Jon Hopkins' meek "hi!" greeted the few dozen people nursing their beers on the floor of Chicago's Metro, a crowd that was split evenly between stage-edge and bar-edge around 9 PM. In front of a barebones backdrop, he proceeded to lay thirty seconds of bass walls around his setup. Over the course of 45 minutes, he provided a chillingly intimate soundtrack, with the standard venue barricades removed from the front of the stage to allow for total immersion inside Hopkins' graceful and glitchy precision. The set had a delicate, fleeting quality; Hopkins' hands nimbly flicked and swiped through layered symphonic loops, breathy vocals, fluttering synths and starry twinkles that mirrored the drifty air of last year's Insides, yet still alternated with the eerie creaks, explosions and sub-bass pileups that characterized his older work. A revving reverb trailed off to end his performance, and another look towards the back of the venue reaffirmed the secretive nature of what we had just experienced; the floor was not yet one-third full. Photo credit: Ryan Lafferty Matthew Dear and three band members took the stage to a much denser crowd, yet somehow managed even less magnetism than the underappreciated Hopkins. Perhaps it was the anxious anticipation of Four Tet, but people were visibly killing time until he took the stage, including the couple playing iPhone Scrabble in the front row for much of the first two performances. Black City was markedly darker and less dance floor-friendly than his earlier Asa Breed, and the quartet seemed to be an attempt to reclaim that energy. It had its groovy moments, but something was lacking; Dear's deep and warbling vocals, so key to the quality of his records, were drowned out by messier noise and incoherent track progression. His greatest connection was reached when the cowbell made an appearance for two dance-geared tracks. Photo credit: Ryan Lafferty Luckily for the Four Tet diehards—which apparently were 90% of those in attendance—the transition was speedy, as he took the stage with nothing more than a table, laptop, a few sampling toys and speakers. The traditional roles of "audience" and "DJ" were smoothly and curiously reversed—from the outset, Hebden was engaged entirely with his process and didn't look up from his equipment more than a few times. In his shadow, however, all in attendance were energized from the first synth and seemed to sculpt the vibes of the venue much as a highly interactive performer might. This isn't to say that Hebden wasn't in control, though; masterfully winding through "Love Cry," "Angel Echoes," and "Sing," he presented a neatly wrapped package of circular sound and bouncing beats to giddy revelers. Just as quickly as he had come on, he exited the stage, only to be coaxed back out for the encore of "Plastic People"—the now near-capacity venue finally savoring each bit of what laid before them.
RA