Deniz Kurtel Photo, Deniz Kurtel, Deniz Kurtel Live, Deniz Kurtel Marcy HotelWolf And Lamb’s Marcy Hotel is a weird place. Its website seems completely tongue-in-cheek, with pictures of a place that is certainly not the same Williamsburg, NY apartment that played home to Deniz Kurtel‘s tour pre-party on April 14. You wouldn’t be able to tell from the website, but the walls of the Marcy are papered with the artwork for Wolf And Lamb vinyl releases and its bathroom is home to a book on Chinglish, a stack of New Yorkers and (according to the label) Brandon Wolcott’s mouth guard.
Parties at the venue are typically secretive affairs, most likely because the Marcy Hotel is in fact home to Wolf And Lamb’s head honchos. Until the night of Kurtel’s set, there was no listing for the event online, but by 1:30 the place was crowded anyway. Girls who smelled of freshly flat-ironed hair chattered in French near the laundry machines while partygoers stacked Tecate beer cans in the backyard. “If anyone ever fucked with her, I’d kill them,” one attendee told his friends, before ducking through the hole in the wall that functioned as a door.
The Marcy Hotel party served as what seemed like a taste-tester for what is to come from Crosstown Rebels’ Deniz Kurtel. Now on the brink of a nationwide tour for her upcoming album, The Way We Live, Kurtel brought with her the star of the shows: the Introspectacular. The thing is billed as a “piece of LED art” that “establishes an isolated space where the infinite reflections and layers of depth, achieved through [the] use of mirrors and LEDs, create a stimulus for inner-reflection and introspection.” In real life, that means Wolf And Lamb had parked a small trailer car in its backyard in Brooklyn and allowed people to duck into the weird little box and fiddle with a synth that controls noise and neon lights. It probably also means that Deniz Kurtel has spent a lot of time sitting in this mirror-light-synth box tripping ouuuuuut—I mean, reflecting and introspecting.
Kurtel’s set held its own alongside her trippy light box. She tempered deep vibes with the kind of bubbly, party-friendly beats fellow Wolf And Lamb artist Nicolas Jaar tends to use. Kurtel occupied a sonic space between, say, Sigha’s beatless dance floor palette cleansers and Fort Romeau‘s light-headed, jacking house tunes. No big-room bangers, just the kind of deep vibes that carry the subtext, “Please don’t throw up on our couch and/or break our stuff, and you’re welcome for the party.”