Deerhoof could have been massive; if they’d have wanted to I’m certain they could have been a top ten juggernaut, spewing out hit after hit of giddy J- pop like the bastard cousins of McFly. But of course, they’re not, they have eschewed a potentially lucrative future to splice their pop nuggets with chaotic dissonance and nonsensical ramblings. Journeying through their earlier albums you will be confronted for mere seconds by a sweet and captivating ditty, before being thrown into a scatological whirlwind of atonal whimsy. While they have softened with age, theirs is a sound that has self-consciously remained the preserve of the few. In short, listening to Deerhoof can sometimes be a challenge, but it makes the pay off of discovering those acquiescences to accessibility all the more sweet. They deserve to be in this list by sheer dint of always providing startlingly original moments throughout this decade; they have been unfailingly ready to baffle and charm in equal measure.
The song I’ve chosen to demonstrate the group’s almost schizophrenic personality can be found midway through the band’s 2005 album, The Runners Four, and in some ways equips itself well to sit alongside some of the more chart-friendly tracks on this list. It will never be deemed the most immediate of songs, nor will it be the most cherished, but I am willing to stake my reputation on the fact that, of these 50 tunes of the decade, it has the hook that is most likely to lodge itself in your head and burrow like some sort of benevolent rodent into your brain.
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Did anyone hear that Deerhoof played the Scala last night? Apparently not, judging by the (initially) half-full venue. I say half-full because after witnessing a breathless set bursting with such giddy, whimsical pop, my glass could only ever be so. The show barely lasted an hour, but those who stayed through the forgettable support acts were rewarded with a bravura performance of irrepressible energy, Flowers, Pandas and Basketballs.
The band began in atypical style, with Greg Saunier’s usually flailing limbs remaining conspicuously, well, un-flailing behind the kit, and Satomi Matsuzaki’s vocals scarcely reaching above a whisper. Allied to this was the novelty of a palpable break in between each song. Could it be that Deerhoof had gone all accessible on us? Where were the breakneck tangents, the feedback-drenched freakouts?
While we didn’t have to wait long for their calling cards, the band’s approach has changed from the days when schizophrenic 15 minute medleys dominated their sets. The addition of guitarist Ed Rodriguez seems to have galvanised the group, adding a texture and intricacy hitherto absent from their records. Tracks such as ‘Offend Maggie’ and ‘Twin Killers’ effervesced with life as the venue started to fill out, and an eye-wateringly tight version of ‘Snoopy Waves’ was crowned with the four’s musical paths criss-crossing in a virtuosic display of rhythmic interplay. The band’s genius lies in a musical paradox that can only be understood by watching them live; organised chaos is something that few do better, herein lies not only their astounding originality but also their charm.
Once up to full pace, and with Saunier’s limbs in full flight, the ‘hoof climbed into some of the more scattergun moments from Milkman and The Runners Four, including sparkling renditions of ‘Giga Dance’ and ‘Spirit Ditties of No Tone’. Satomi gave us some of her patented ‘Panda’ dance moves, while the peerless Ed Dietrich snaked his way about the stage, lurching from irresistible hook-laden pop to his inimitable brand of cacophony like a man possessed.
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