Experimental rock group Mutemath performed Friday, January 27, at Stubb's. Having debuted with their self-titled full-length back in 2006, the group has since created a following for themselves, gaining notoriety for their impeccable musicianship and powerful live performances. What is most captivating about Mutemath is their desire to push the boundaries of their live performances. I remember seeing a picture in SPIN Magazine of a younger Mutemath, drummer Darren King standing over his bass drum, being held by a congregation of fans. Everything and everyone were veiled in darkness, the only light shining over a smiling King.

This is where the band comes to life, and where the unpredictable and chaotic come together, resulting in a performance that will be replayed in the minds of members for many years to come. The Stubb's amphitheater loomed ominously over the audience as all eyes transfixed on the stage. The audience was surprised by a joyous cacophony coming from the back of the theater. Cymbals crashed; a bass drum could be heard booming in the distance; a snare drum with militaristic cadences pierced the crowd, parting it in the middle, making way for the band as they marched confidently to the front. Each member went to their instrument and immediately kicked into the funk-rock hit, "Odd Soul."

"I'm an odd soul, just trying to find a place call home," sang lead singer Paul Meany, his soulful delivery backed by punchy guitars and drums. Darren King could very well be a Keith Moon incarnate; he moved his arms in a frenetic, octopus-like manner, hitting anything and everything in sight. As crimson, red lights shone over him, a sinister smile appeared on his face, large headphones duck-taped to his skull, preventing him from possibly using his head a striking device.

Applause filled the amphitheater as Mutemath went on with their performance. Behind the performance a large backdrop displayed the group from various angles, each one providing a close-up of the band members. From their latest hits "Blood Pressure" and "Cavaliers," to classics "Chaos" and "Reset," the band's raw energy could not be subdued. Even when the band would go off into psychedelic voyages such as "Clipping," the intensity would still be present, crescendoing with waves of luscious chord strums and jangling keyboards. Suddenly, the large backdrop splashed onto the audience, layers upon layers of color painted people blue, green and red. One girl moved her hands sensually in the air, the music possessing her as she cast spells on surrounding attendees, each one following in suit.

Ending with "Typical", the band's encore could not have ended any better. An inflatable mattress was thrown into the crowd, with Meany following behind. Roaring with approval the crowd caught Meany as he fell off the mattress, never missing a note. Onstage the rest of the group were having their own party; guitarist Todd Gummerman jumped off of Meany's organ, while bassist Roy-Mitchell-Cardenas swayed back in forth, his shaggy hair moving wildly.

Mutemath, like the New Orleans city that raised them, is definitive and distinguishable. The group functions like that of a nineteenth century New Orleans marching band, boisterous and unyielding, marching on with a statement that leaves resonance. Although Mutemath has endured hardship, they tread courageously through shallow waters, coming out stronger than before, and their performance is proof of that.

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