Innerspeaker, outer space. That Tame Impala’s sold-out show count in NYC numbered three (not counting the word-of-mouth psilocybic riff-fest at Coco66) was totally appropriate — that’s a triptych of live shows, emphasis on the trip and ticks. Their YoursTruly session set a proper scene for their LP’s aural flush — remote location, pastoral setting, heads slung on slack necks, shoeless, shirtless, bobbing petrified rock necklaces. Most of that (lack of) wardrobe was on display at Glasslands, though shirts-optional would have been the right call for anyone in the sweltering DIY space that night. On record the band is one part Cream, one part John Lennon, one part Dungen, swirling and spaced-out vamps plowed through 12′ deep groove riffs, like a calming harsh toke siphoned up a kaleidoscopic glass bubbler. Live the riffs dig deeper, the vamps pull longer, the slack-necked bob gets infectious. Vocals come in as a vamp breaks — this is no solo section, mind, just one riff chugged for minutes with a liquid mix of limber fills and a taut bass/guitar pulse — the crowd goes apeshit. Sweat, psych, monster jams jammed monstrously. What do you want from a summer show?
Photos by Bek Andersen, including a few of the night’s last act Amazing Baby (now with ex-Apes & Androids triple-decker keyboardist Morgan Z, which is good news). Tame Impala spent their final night in the city DJing the Creator’s Project, though I didn’t listen to a note; I quite like how these shows only enhanced my image of four Aussies holed up in Perth, zoning out the world only to spend hours lost in their own maze of riff malaise. But if you don’t have enough Tame, here’s a session they did while here for Viva Radio: