The
Haunt, Brighton, Sat 13th April
Even
more than Julian Cope, Pere Ubu are the walking, talking
definition of a cult act. David Thomas, front man, arch-contrarian
and only surviving original member, has described them
as “the longest-lasting, most disastrous commercial
outfit to ever appear in rock 'n' roll. No one can come close to
matching our loss to longevity ratio.”
Named
after a notorious
proto-surrealist play, they function as a kind of missing
link between the bohemian art-rock side of American punk (think Patti
Smith or Television) and the Dadadistic, playfully destructive
anti-music of British post-punk (think Josef K or Scritti Politti).
They even embodied this link by moving from their native Cleveland to
London, the better to hook up with Rough Trade records. Thomas now
resides as one of the fair citizens of Hove, and
was last seen on these shores providing a woozy film noir soundtrack
to 'Carnival of Souls'.
Their
sound is described by
their promoter as “a disorienting mix of midwestern
groove rock, 'found' sound, analog synthesizers, falling-apart song
structures and careening vocals.” Their one constant is that
listed last. Thomas' cartoony, whinneying vocals are perhaps the
band's signature sound, simultaneously zany and macabre. Their first
album, 'Modern Dance', surely remains one of the
finest and most original albums released.
Though
they don't place much reliance on back catalogue, and though they
cover a fair amount of musical ground, that's pretty much their sound
tonight. The keyboards are matched by a theramin player, who at one
point brings out a toy plastic ray gun. A clarinettist turns up
unexpectedly, adding what are quite often exquisite melodies.
The
very first thing Thomas tells us is that we have in fact been
dreaming these past years, with only the band to represent the real
world. Which is kind of fitting. They are to rock music like that
dream where you go back to your old school, and it all seems so
familiar and yet not. They're simultaneously a parody of how rock
music should sound and an escape route from it.
They do the wrong things so wrongly that everything becomes right
again.
Thomas
is sharp-witted but prickly, and something during the encore flips
his mood. He stops one song early, announcing he doesn't feel like
playing it, then abandons singing the next one mid-way. Mumbling a
taciturn goodbye, he stalks off. An awkward end to what was otherwise
a great set.
Not
from Brighton, but from New York slightly later...
SWANS
Concorde
2, Brighton, Tues 2nd April
“They
are always different, they are always the same.”
As any
music obsessive knows, John Peel said that about the mighty Fall. But
he could easily have meant Swans. They always hold true to their
path, while never ever standing still.
Last time I saw them, about two-and-a-half years ago, they were
on the back of their first reunion album 'My Father Will
Guide Me On a Rope to the Sky.' Their style was more
ceremonial, with occasional outbreaks of... yes, really... actual
songs, more reminiscent of main man Michael Gira's solo incarnation
as Angels of Light. Exhilarated by the experience, I likened it to
being clubbed to death inside a cathedral.
This
time, accompanying new release 'The Seer' they
seem to have decided all that was a little lightweight. It's much
more a return to the unrelenting sonic brutalism of their early
years. Pounding in it's onslaught, deafeningly loud, it's music as a
means to whack punters in the solar plexus without that
time-consuming business of first having to walk up to them. Last time
I even speculated that years of musically exorcising demons had left
Gira 'happier now.' This time he was much like when I first saw Swans
back in the Eighties. I was seriously considering the possibility
that he was having some kind of psychotic episode on stage, which
everyone else was mistaking for a show.
However
there's none of the patented descending chords of times past,
guaranteed to leave you feel like you were being buried alive by
riffs. Instead things shift between pounding metronomic beats, with
the bassist at one point literally thumping the strings with his
fist, and lengthy drone-outs – pitched somewhere between ethereal
and edgy.
Swans
had their roots in New York's No Wave
scene, which as Simon Reynolds commented employed standard
rock instruments but in the most non-standard way. This is never
truer than with the steel guitar, which sounds alternately like a
theramin, an oscillator and an instrument of torture... in fact,
pretty much anything except for a steel guitar. The second drummer/
percussionist is the one who actually smuggles in the undercurrents
of melody, bringing in tubular bells or even trumpets which merge
with the resonances from the guitars.
Yet No
Wave was a musical short, sharp shock. Only two bands really came out
of it of any longevity. Sonic Youth burst head-first from the top.
Even during their most wig-out free-noise outbursts there was always
the sense that these were aesthetes assaulting their fretboards;
noise, yes, but noise as a contribution to an ongoing history of
noise. Swans, conversely were born in the breach – kicking and
screaming their way out of the bottom of the scene. And yet, in
interviews, Gira is often as erudite and articulate as any Sonic
Youther. All of which is there in the music if you know where to
look.
The
band are especially adept at cornering, one section of music segueing
quite seamlessly into the next. Which gives them the power of
duration; tracks feel compellingly metronomic, building the intensity
up to fever pitch, while never actually getting repetitive enough to
sacrifice your interest. Their other great weapon is a stalking
tempo, a seething unhurriedness that makes the music less the temper
tantrum of teen angst and more a journey to the dark side. It's like
that horror movie trope when you hear the clack of the stalker's
shoes, walking yet inexorably gaining on his running victim. They
played for well over two hours, tracks getting time to stew, handing
misery on to man by deepening like a coastal shelf.
Swans
gigs are perhaps not for the faint of heart. But the valiant will
find themselves richly rewarded. Really, the time I pass up a chance
to see this band in action – check me for a pulse. Swans
and Pere Ubu within one week...now that's shaking
sixes!
BO
NINGEN
The
Haunt, Brighton, Thurs 28th March
Mention
psychedelic music and people tend to think of blissed-out
pastoralism, the soundtrack for long-haired sons of stockbrokers to
recline in meadows. You know, the stuff punk swept away.
Which
may not be entirely fair. Firstly, while it mostly struggles to
become anything more than aural joss sticks, there can be good
pastoral psychedelic as well as bad. I bow to no arbiter of taste in
my appreciation of Caravan.
But
more to the point, what about the other stuff? The
brown acid stuff, the psychedelia that led to long-haired sons of
stockbrokers losing their minds and being unable to take up the
family business. Bo Ningen, for example, are a young band who trade
in what's quite definitely psychedelic rock. Think Jimi Hendrix
multiplied by Sonic Youth.
I
thought that might make a recipe for a good live band...
...and
I was proved right.
It's
remarkable how much they look like they must have beamed in from
1972, though the most robust teleporter might strain to shift all
that hair. All Japanese by birth and Londoners by origin, they kick
off by announcing they're back from a tour of Japan. Is that meta, or
just confusing?
The
singer... who in police parlance I now know to be called Taipan, has
a habit of throwing shapes with his hands, something which might seem
familiar to any reader of 'Dr. Strange' comics.
Which actually seems quite a good metaphor for the music. While the
rest of the band throw up a wall of sound, the second guitarist plays
not rhythms but creates musical shapes. The sonic equivalent of when
perspective lines come out at you.
My one
complaint would be the brevity of it all. Okay, they're more
rocky than spacey, than someone
like Acid Mothers Temple, their tracks bounce rather than
glide along so there's not the same need for
duration. And proceedings finished, as these things should, with a
crazy wig-out. But it all still came in at under an hour. With two
albums under their belt, they can't be that short of material.
More!
But next time, more of the more.
From
their previous visit to Brighton (missed by me), at the Green Door
Store...
COLOUR
OUT OF SPACE WARM-UP
West
Hill Hall, Brighton, Sat 6th April
Another
warm-up for the celebrated experimental and improvised music
festival, currently pencilled in for a return in November.
(hurrah!) This time the emphasis was on sound poets and vocal
improvisers promising
“accidental objects” and “surprise correlations.”
The
headline was a kind of supergroup from that world, featuring Jaap
Blonk, Phil Minton, Luke Poot and scene organiser Dylan Nyoukis.
People often seem to assume this type of music is extremely
challenging and in deadly earnest, met only by respectfully baffled
audiences and EU Arts grants. And yet there's so much humour,
something particularly evident with the sound poetry. Blonk (above) has
spoken of his “penchent for activities in a Dada vein,” after
“several unsuccessful jobs in offices and other well-run systems.”
Though
I enjoyed the main act, perhaps this isn't the scene for supergroups
and I leaned more to the main support Dogeeseseegod,
with their gutteral wails, deranged cries and use of found objects –
if 'Blue Peter' had formed a band, and they'd all
been psychiatric patients. I was laughing out loud almost the whole
way through. (but not quite as much as when I just clicked on their
MySpace link and saw the advert for “other similar acts including
Nickleback.”)
There
were several more acts, but I had an overdue appointment with my sofa
and some sleep. Maybe next time.
MY
BLOODY VALENTINE
Hammersmith
Apollo, London, Mon 12th March
I've
left it too late to write something properly about this gig, to be
honest. Of course the band are legendary, and of course it's
fantastic that I got a chance to see them again. Whenever I finally
get round to my Top 50 albums series of posts, I'm giving nothing
away by saying 'Loveless' will take it's place
among them. The image of their now-ritualised free-noise set closer,
with the majority of the seated ranks with their hands over their
ears while still nodding along, will stay with me a long time.
...but
I wasn't sure about the sound. Okay, a typical track is like a duet
between a pop song and a passanger jet taking off – hardly the
easiest set of sounds to mix. Even so, all too often the melodic
elements were so far back I realised I was hearing them more through
memory than the PA. There was a keyboard player on stage who I'm not
sure I heard at all.
One of
the comments from this web-link says “they've been having problems
with mixing”, so perhaps I shouldn't blame the venue. Anyone seen
them anywhere else, who can comment?
shouldn't that be York, rather than New York for Pere Ubu (I don't think they cross the pond till August)
ReplyDeleteOops! Corrected now!
ReplyDeleteThis sort of thing would never have happened if they'd stuck with New Amsterdam...