LOS ANGELES, CA- The air felt heavy as I walked into the Teragram Ballroom—not just from the packed crowd, but from subtle clues that tonight was going to be something more than a standard concert: professional cameras, dressed-up actors, and an atmosphere thick with anticipation. DIIV, the band known for weaving shimmering shoegaze with a darker undercurrent, was showcasing their latest album, Frog in Boiling Water. Released just a year earlier, this record—a batch of disorienting guitar layers—is also a pointed commentary on capitalism and the systems we find ourselves trapped in.
DIIV had already captured me with Frog in Boiling Water. The album is murky and unflinching, with standout tracks like “Soul-net” and “In Amber” pulling no punches in their critique of modern life. It offers no answers. No hope. Instead, it serves as a stark warning—a mirror held up to a world sliding into crisis. The sound on the record is thick with reverb and distortion, at times almost suffocating, but there’s a precision behind the noise. Later in the night, I found out they were recording a live album at these shows. Already enamored with their music, I’m excited for what’s to come with this newest chapter.
The night kicked off with something I hadn’t expected. Ben Newman, DIIV’s drummer, took the stage alone, draped in the hood of a ghillie suit. His setup looked like a post-apocalyptic tech graveyard—wires spilling out of gutted towers, a board with missing keys, and a box of floppy disks. What followed was less an opening act and more a piece of performance art. Through a heavily distorted microphone, he read snippets from declassified government documents while glitchy, disorienting soundscapes looped around him. The sound was so strange and oppressive it made my stomach churn, especially when he started throwing floppy disks into the crowd and hooking jumper cables to bits of hardware, daring us to “feel something.” It was uncomfortable, intense, and completely captivating. I still wonder if this was art meant to provoke or merely unsettle.
As Ben cleared the stage and techs prepped for DIIV, three guys emerged from the wings. They weren’t part of the band—just a few comedians tasked with keeping the crowd entertained. They played off the earlier unease with light banter, asking the audience about their favorite things. “Cheese!” someone yelled from the back, to a wave of laughter. Another shout of “Getting twisted!” had the whole room buzzing. It was a moment of levity that felt almost necessary—a release valve before the night turned heavier. Their playful interruptions reminded me that while DIIV’s message might be serious, the delivery didn’t always have to be somber.
When DIIV finally emerged, the atmosphere shifted immediately. Bathed in deep red lights, the band moved like shadows, almost dissolving into the backdrop as they launched into “In Amber.” The set unfolded as a live rendition of Frog in Boiling Water from start to finish. It was immersive—distortion swirling around me, guitars shimmering just above the thick basslines. Each song bled into the next, the flow seamless, with the band almost hypnotically lost in the layers of their own sound. Between songs, mock “ad breaks” played on a projector, complete with fake sponsor messages for Soul-Net and a cheeky plug for the band’s own merch. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Here we were, part of a spectacle criticizing capitalism, even as the band poked fun at the realities of sustaining a career in music.
At times, the lighting felt like an active participant in the show. Red shadows twisted into stark white beams that illuminated the band and audience alike. The projection screen behind them shifted from static ads to surreal, disjointed images that mirrored the fragmented nature of the music. These visual cues gave the performance a dreamlike, almost cinematic feel, while the band’s precise playing kept us grounded in reality.
As the show progressed, the line between performers and audience blurred. The crowd, already steeped in DIIV’s message, seemed to merge into a collective energy. Even those unfamiliar with the band’s deeper themes found themselves caught up in the moment. DIIV was sparking conversation, pushing the crowd to think beyond the performance.
The encore pushed things even further. DIIV returned with actors dressed as Exxon executives and a military general, who presented them with an oversized $1 million check as a mock sponsorship deal. The room erupted. It was ridiculous, brilliant, and perfectly in tune with the album’s message—a final satirical jab that left us all grinning and shaking our heads. The visual of the band standing there, oversized check in hand, served as a bitterly funny reminder of the compromises and contradictions inherent in making art under capitalism.
As the last notes faded, I found myself thinking about how Frog in Boiling Water had come to life in this space. The music’s layers of distortion, the immersive lighting, the unsettling performance art, and the biting satire all wove together. Hearing the songs live made me appreciate the album’s textures and themes even more, and I can’t wait to hear how it translates to the live recording.
DIIV managed to pull back the curtain just enough for me to glimpse the mechanics underneath. For anyone curious about DIIV’s world, I’d say this: don’t just stream the album. Go see them. Feel the weight of the message, the pull of the music, and the contradictions they’re willing to put on stage.
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LIVE CLIPS
