1235 Washington Ave., Miami Beach
There really isn't much to say about two French men hunched over turntables and other complex audio equipment - performing the tedious chore of disk jockey - that would otherwise go unnoticed - if it weren't for the fact that Justice rides on their own fabricated appeal and baseless "buzz"; sited themselves in the eyes of critics everywhere - who always like to marvel at the latest electro-pop hybrid. In the tiny, yet congested world of house, or neo-disco, or any such like genre Justice has taken too lately, something truly different must stand out for one to take notice. In the case of Justice, it may have been the slight crossover song "D.A.N.C.E," or a thin attempt at incisiveness with the video "Stress," which I can't say much on other than it was a competent effort (filmmaking wise).
As for the performance value of Justice, I'm left frustrated. I guess for argument's sake, I tend to limit my music tastes to select acts with clear intentions, or purpose - seeing as we have not existed in the age of disco for quite some time now, I find it way too insincere to embrace a pseudo-band like Justice so simply - without question - just because they have nifty songs. Unlike the age of the Bourgeois or New Wave, when it was appropriate to blatantly expose, and appreciate trivial things and be comforted by the fact you are aware of this - Justice believes that there is more to their pretense - when in fact there is so much less. Justice forsakes ingenuity, or cleverness, for bits and bytes; technicalities; music samples - cut and pasted with the swift motion of a cursor. It's just seems too easy.
I attended the "performance" with an open mind - just about convinced that I was in for a treat - and certain to enjoy myself. In truth, I sort of did. The club environment was dramatic and exciting, and the stirring anticipation for Justice outside the club's doors contests my argument that this was anything but an occasion to be seen (or heard). It most definitely was. Yet the set list itself seemed like basically any run of the mill electronic act. The subtlety off the Cross album was lost in the delivery - everything coalesced into one big hodgepodge of thumping bass (really, just a mess of very loud noise). I'll reiterate - maybe my imagination betrays me - but there really isn't all that much to say about a two French men turning knobs for the sake of bestowing upon us some temporary stimulation for a Friday night on South Beach.