Automatic
Rough Trade East
Words & Pics by Captain Stavros
Living-Room Chaos in the Best Way
Not sure if it’s only us that feel this way, but there’s something undeniably special about catching an after-hours gig in a record store. Something about standing between neatly alphabetised vinyl while a band sound-checks feels both naughty and nice, like you’re watching a secret you’re not supposed to see.
This evening, hot off the heels of their latest drop, Is It Now?, L.A. natives Automatic are due to serenade and scribble on a stack of LPs at Rough Trade East. Judging by the swelling crowd, they’ll be signing long past closing; and icing their swollen wrists shortly after.
Doors technically open at seven, but someone clearly missed the memo on “and without further ado,” because there’s no opener and the band doesn’t appear until eight. With time to wander, we take in the details: an electric-orange, see-through drum kit, and a slatted-wood Moog that looks freshly teleported from the late ’60s. Very chic. Very mod. Fingers crossed it isn’t all style and no substance.
When the trio finally saunter onstage, they bring with them a tranquillity you’d be hard-pressed to score from a handful of beta-blockers. Whatever is happening internally is anyone’s guess, but outwardly they embody calm.
A soft tappa tappa tappa from the hi-hat opens ‘Calling It’, a bite-sized amuse-bouche of a song to whet the appetite. The pace is steady, almost meditative; but would the courses ahead offer variety? The bass quickly answers, pulling focus with a thumping insistence, less “Bloc Party punch” or “RHCP slap,” and more like the heavy-footed stalk of something curious in the dark. There’s even a touch of Sean Yseult’s (White Zombie) prowling, hypnotic vibe in the playing. Above it all, Izzy’s hands flutter across the keys with this cat-batting-at-a-candle’s-flame energy, peppering in melodies exactly where they’re needed.
‘Country Song’ follows, leaning into the once-trendy daydream of ditching the concrete for the countryside. But hang on; that’s not Lola on the drums. Who’s the long-haired stand-in? Wig? Doppelgänger? Izzy saves us from our spiralling: “It’s been three years since our last UK tour. We got here yesterday, we’re jetlagged — but happy to be running away from our problems in America, where bad things are happening.” A laugh. A wince. A shrug. And then the rhythm section snaps us back, the drums caffeinated and jittering in that Beck-adjacent way, the bass locking in with a playful, luring steadiness. Together they form a spine that keeps the entire set upright and twitching.
The music dips into influences from all over the indie-punk-electronic map; hints of Le Tigre, Iggy, The Strokes, even a dash of Interpol’s broody precision. Performance-wise, it's not quite garage and not quite basement; more “chaotic living room at 1 a.m.” A tambourine appears briefly, though the gig hardly needed an extra prop; the songs had enough pace and personality to hold attention without any stage distraction. Thirteen tracks, no lull, no drift.
At one point, Izzy introduces ‘MQ9’ with, “This next song’s about war.” Cue awkward laughter, quickly followed by, “Fun war — the song is fun, not war.” The mood recovers.
What begins as a fairly static performance loosens and unravels in the best way. For the finale, ‘Mercury’, Halle and Izzy swap spots so the latter can focus on vocals, a small shift that adds a welcome jolt of energy. No encore, just a crisp finish and a quick dash backstage before returning to face the snaking queue of fans circling the shop, each waiting for their pound of flesh at the signing table.
A solid gig overall, and those who also caught their Lexington show this week were doubly spoiled. Rough Trade got the living-room version of Automatic; warm, weird, steady, and tightly wound, and honestly, we wouldn’t have had it any other way.
