In a middling review of the latest Of Montreal EP, Pitchfork writer Evan Rytlewski brought up a very valid point: “We all only get so much time on this earth, and we can only devote so much of it listening to Kevin Barnes.” Twenty years and fourteen full-length albums into his career, the loony misanthrope cranks on, with horrendously titled EPs and raucous live shows that are mildly unhinged and a little exhausting. (When he played Boston’s House of Blues a few years ago he finished with a Michael Jackson medley that seemingly went on for hours.) Sometimes electronic, sometimes folky, now vaguely glammy, Barnes usually cherry picks concert material from his whole catalog, the Myspace-era fan favorites mingling with the newer stuff. Showtime Goma and Nancy Feast open.
Of Montreal
