Pitchfork Music Festival Paris kicked off on Monday night, November 3, with a show from Blood Orange before a packed house at L’Olympia. Against a backdrop of screens, Devonté Hynes, Eva Tolkin, and the especially magnetic Ian Isiah played from the new album Essex Honey, to go along with older favorites, and a minimalist string version of the Smiths’ “How Soon Is Now?” It was a winning way to start the week.
Shows from Saya Gray, Erika de Casier, and others followed, as did Pitchfork Avant-Garde, the annual three-day showcase for up-and-coming acts. It’s a smaller-scale, more informal affair, set across a relatively small geographic radius to make sure it’s easy enough to zip between venues and catch sets from different bands. Voici the notable performances from Pitchfork Avant-Garde.
Saint Clair – La Mécanique Ondulatoire, Thursday, November 6
In the tiny bandshell in the underbelly of La Mécanique Ondulatoire, vocalist and guitarist Toby Bardsley was wearing a Blondie T-shirt—the iconic Debbie Harry’s sly gaze radiated outward from his chest out to the crowd. Meanwhile, drummer Beth Diana was wearing a Deftones T-shirt behind her kit. The members of the London quartet—rounded out by guitarist Lawrence Bordean and bassist Adam Anderson—had just-right messy hair and fringes hitting at the eyebrows, but, luckily, they weren’t merely looking the part of indie darlings. With laidback confidence and youthful verve, they delivered a wholehearted set that was appealingly shaggy and ’90s-inspired. “If you wanna have a move, have a move,” Bardsley encouraged. The band marked its first French show with “Warm,” a romantic/masochist hybrid released that day, and the more ballad-like number “Dreams.” The last song, “Nevermind,” was not a nod to Nirvana, but the reference could not have escaped a band so proudly sporting heritage T-shirts.
Body Meat – Badaboum, Friday, November 7
Bathed in red lighting, two dudes in all-black and baseball caps graced the stage at Badaboum. Since 2016, Body Meat has been the alter ego of Christopher Taylor—stage left—who creates jittery electro and also programs video games. (He developed one specifically for his 2024 song “North Side.”) He was joined—stage right—by drummer Grant Chapman. Endearingly, Taylor’s pull toward music is part of a familial legacy: His parents played on the side of their full-time gigs as scientists (mom on vocals and piano; dad on the bass and congas). Taylor’s own twitchy musical energy—a bedlam of plinking, clacking, whooshing, thumping—was offset by his calmly Auto-Tuned voice and Chapman’s hypercaffeinated drumming.
Boko Yout – Supersonic, Friday, November 7
The moment the four-piece came out dressed like boy scouts (dark shorts, beige shirts with epaulets, neckerchiefs, beige socks pulled nearly to the knees), it was clear this was a band committed to the bit in the best way possible. Boko Yout, with a fully entrenched physicality and generous, giving presence, truly make music to perform it live. Bloc Party and Fugazi have been mentioned as forebears to the band’s vibe, but Paul Adamah, the Swedish band’s frontman, is a formidable force to be reckoned with completely on his own terms. The amped-up carnality of his performance was infectious, sweaty, raw, and also witty, as Adamah recounted, between songs, how he miserably used to sell beds at Ikea and how a teacher made the ill-advised suggestion he join afterschool sports. “This place is very hot, just like you,” he said, glistening with exertion and manifesting a moshpit. Strutting, showboating, writhing, he played tunes from the album Gusto with—obviously—gusto. “It’s been absolutely diabolical,” he declared before leaving everyone fully exhilarated in his wake.
Isaiah Hull – PopUp!, Friday, November 7
Rap and spoken word poetry yield an unnerving hybrid on Manchester-born Isaiah Hull’s debut album, Pocomania. Alone onstage, he was all loose body language: bent at the knees, windmilling his arms in a noodly fashion, veiling his head with a kerchief, occasionally wandering into the crowd. But if his gestures were free-floating, his linguistic prowess remained dense and dexterous. In the alphabet-forward “A Is for Africa,” he whizzed through 26 letters (e.g., “M is for melanin, murder and millions/Media, masculinity, and mirrors”). In the grievous “Union Jack,” he rapped about an entrance fee to the afterlife, while, in the syncopated “Fishcaels,” Hull boasted, “I don’t pay taxes/I tip taxis.”
Wombo – Supersonic, Saturday, November 8
Sydney Chadwick’s softly streamlined vocals are the crux of Wombo, a three piece outfit from Louisville, Kentucky, completed by guitarist Cameron Lowe and drummer Joel Taylor. Within the Paris setting, Chadwick felt aptly French with her gamine pixie cut, and her mellifluous voice was impressively restrained. She showcased her breathiness on “Danger in Fives”—the eponymous track off Wombo’s latest record—and gave a more crooked delivery with “Snakey,” from 2022’s Fairy Rust.