Hundred Waters’ two albums – their self-titled debut and The Moon Rang Like A Bell – have both been received warmly by fans and critics alike.
The band’s second album was even named ‘Best New Music’ by Pitchfork. Not bad for a band that only officially formed two years ago.
So it was surprising that the Deaf Institute was only two-thirds full at best for their Manchester show. Those who missed it, missed out.
The Gainesville quartet played a sublime set, demonstrating why they get such glowing reviews.
Critics have cited many influences to the band’s music – Bjork, Dirty Projectors, Múm, Julia Holter to name just a few – but they stand as more than merely the sum of reference points.
Reviews of Hundred Waters’ albums frequently use the term ‘digital folk’ – an apt catch-all descriptor for the juxtaposing presence in their largely synthesised approach to earthly tones.
It is the latter that is most exaggerated in the live setting – their pillowy synths sound more defined than on record, while the glitchy, fractured electronic beats are rendered more visceral by taut live drums.
The opening song Murmurs sees splintered piano chords build to a warm climax of guitars, synths and crashing cymbals. It is the set’s least nuanced moment, but it is no less affecting.
Heads are nodding, bodies are gently swaying, and as the song flows into its crescendo it enraptures the small crowd in preparation for the rest of the set.
The front half of their short set could have seemed like one long piece, were it not for brief breaks between pieces. The songs aired are hazily wraith-like – one trance after another – as synths swell and murmur short, sharp refrains.
The guitar-led opener aside, the set mostly revolved around synthesised reverb, electronic crackle and imitations of drum machines. Despite the digitalism of Hundred Waters’ sound, the human warmth of their music becomes even more apparent in a live setting.
On a cold, rainy Thursday night in Manchester, this warmth was exactly what everyone in attendance needed.
This gently lulling foundation was the perfect platform for frontwoman Nicole Miglis’ remarkable layered vocals.
People often compare her voice to Bjork or Kate Bush and I could not agree more. While Miglis’ vocal range is narrower than those two art-pop/post-everything luminaries, it is certainly as haunting and as powerful.
It is often not what she is saying, but rather how she is saying it. Composed, colourful and reassuring, she brought her band’s music closer to the audience.
The coexistence of billowing chords and the lean-in intimacy of her vocals made Hundred Waters’ music simultaneously distant and close.
A fragile rendition of The Moon’s acapella opener, Show Me Love pleas to an unnamed power: “Don’t let me show cruelty though I may make mistakes/ don’t let me show ugliness though I know I can hate.”
It has a curious gospel tone, such is her voice’s reverence and enduring power.
Show Me Love also acted as a turning point in the set: from there onwards, Hundred Waters became more tactile, more precise, and even more impressive.
Down From The Rafters saw Miglis’ flute and fluttering, birdsong vocal lines rise above the insistent throbbing of the rhythm section, while the closer Seven White Horses tilted into a fuzzy implosion of rolling snares and starry-eyed synths.
It was a fitting end to an awe-inducing set. It’s just a shame there weren’t more people there to see it.
Never mind though. Given Hundred Waters’ abundant talent live and on record they’ll no doubt be playing to larger, fuller rooms soon enough.
Image courtesy Pitchfork, via YouTube, with thanks
