Future Islands are the quintessential 21st-century internet band. Frankly it’s unfair. Any band so strongly associated with a single viral televised performance, shared relentlessly with the type of unhinged hyperbole we’ve come to expect as the norm, is liable to fall out of favour quickly. The peaks and troughs of sudden internet fame are staggeringly unsentimental. Things can only be “amazing” or “mindblowing” or otherwise negligible. At the moment, Future Islands are safely in the former category.
What is the non-virtual Future Islands story, though? Certainly, they did not appear out of nowhere in the early months of 2014. In the parlance of rock criticism, this Baltimore group has done the hard yards, releasing four albums since 2006 and even touring Australia back in 2012. Nowhere is success better demonstrated than in a full-to-capacity venue, and that is where the band finds itself in Sydney. If musicians are expected to prove themselves, this is the best arena in which to do so.
Vocalist Samuel Herring is basically Future Islands. There are three other musicians accompanying him, but they’re silent and barely move. By contrast, Herring can often be seen staring meaningfully into the distance while holding one hand skyward, punching his breasts intensely and dancing with a rigid grace reminiscent of David Byrne. He sweats profusely and proudly. At one point during A Dream of You and Me, he even tries to rip his own face off. The crowd loves this. Indeed, the crowd cheers every time Herring does something strange.
Bands of this ilk are usually too serious and uptight to show anything of themselves on stage. It is relieving to see someone so moved, and it is nice to be invited to join. Future Islands are not too cool for us. Herring’s habit of breaking from smooth soul-influenced vocals into guttural howls verges on lycanthropic, and his eyes are often fixed and intense, in deep concentration, pondering. Or else he’s smiling serenely, with an air that seems to contain some deep spiritual devotion. At one point he even motions the sign of the cross on his chest.
It’s a shame what he’s pondering isn’t very interesting. Herring often delivers little pep talks between his songs. “Life is pretty fucked up sometimes but you’ve gotta push through,” he advises at one point. One song is about “dark times in our life and the people who bring us back”. These feel like Tony Robbins-level platitudes, and sound a bit trite during one of the most apocalyptic months in recent memory.
But you definitely can’t claim Herring doesn’t mean it. It’s difficult not to respect this band. Future Islands offer very adult catharsis: polished smooth synths, immaculately tight groove and the lightest touch of weirdness to make it all feel new. It’s hard to predict how enduring Future Islands will be once the viral fame has subsided, but as far as bright, collegiate and affirmative pop music goes, this is better deserving of an audience than most other offerings.
