On an impulse, I accepted a free Wild Belle poster before the band took the stage. I didn’t know I would actually want to keep it. Both the band’s outfits and its sound revealed a heavy 1970s influence, but its eclectic songs incorporated a broad scope of styles. The reggae and afro-beats set a mellow mood in the 40 Watt, while Natalie Bergman’s voice crooned the crowd into a rhythmic sway.
Although it wasn’t apparent from their pictures on the poster, Natalie and Elliot Bergman, the saxophonist and keyboardist, are siblings. Maybe this is why Elliot stopped mid-set to chastise a man in the front row for taking flash photography and shining light in his sister’s eyes.
Before commencing “Backslider,†Natalie Bergman invited the crowd to come closer, smoothing over the uncomfortable fuss her brother made.
I was unsure whether the audience could be moved out of reggae comatose to show the proper energy for Tennis. Little did I know we wouldn’t have to. From the moment the members of Tennis took the stage, they were unassuming. They diligently set up without acknowledging the growing hoard crowding in anticipation. Their quiet demeanor didn’t seem to stem from a lack of showmanship, but rather from genuine humility.
Opening with “It All Feels the Same,†Tennis was surprisingly less bubbly in person than in recording. While nothing about the band’s music would qualify as particularly dark, there was an unmistakable air of melancholy. Perhaps it was that lead singer Alaina Moore’s voice seemed slightly deeper, or that the band smiled only in between songs. Either way, the shortage of over-the-top pop was welcomed, if unexpected.
Moore’s tiny frame was matched by the fragility of her demeanor. Her mannerisms and dance moves were delicate and graceful—she stroked the keys of her keyboard as if they would respond to a gentler touch. She moved seamlessly to center stage to dance during “My Better Self.†All signs of slumber were shaken off when Tennis finally played, “Marathon,†as every voice in the crowd chimed in.
Several songs and an encore set later, I left, Wild Belle poster in hand and newfound respect for Tennis in tow.
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