DJ Psyche |
|
Setlists:
|
Attrition Maybe it’s because it’s Friday, but the gods of showbiz seem to be in a good mood. The Verge PA, which habitually emits noises more no-fi than low-fi, actually sounds clear and powerful for once. The lighting rig is also fully functional - yep, all three lights are working. Verily we are blessed. Tonight, we are to be entertained by a bizarrely varied bill in which two fairly traditional goth acts support those long-established practitioners of left-field electronica, Attrition. An odd mix, but odd mixes sometimes work. Excession, I’m startled to note, have been around for six or seven years now, have several CDs on release, and a gig-history that’s taken them all over Europe. Which makes their appearance in the opening slot tonight a bit of a mystery, especially as the band above them on the bill, Voices Of Masada, are very much a new outfit, with only twelve months of gigging under their belts. Surely Excession should have moved up a bit by now? Perhaps the reason for this apparently topsy-turvy billing lies in Excession’s performance style, which is downbeat and introspective, the band running through their songs with a self-absorbed contemplation that barely takes account of the audience. On guitar, Dave (him out of Vendemmian) plays most of his parts in traditional head-down-over-the-fretboard style, while on bass, Greg (him out of Womb) spends quite a lot of time turned away, staring at the side wall of the stage as he plonks his plank, not even acknowledging the rest of the band. Meanwhile, on vocals, Yasmin (her out of...erm, Excession) clasps her hands over the mic and closes her eyes as she sings, an effective eye-of-the-storm stance - except that there is no storm. It’s a shame Excession have no real show, because their brand of stripped-down Xmal Deutschland-ish churning and wailing could potentially hit paydirt, but the overall feel of tonight’s set is that the band don’t have a huge amount of interest in what they’re doing. There’s a revealing moment during the cover of ‘I Wanna Be Your Dog’, a song which surely should be delivered with a certain gritty passion; let’s face it, it’s hardly a ballad. The song features an instrumental break in which Yasmin retires to the back of the stage to grab a drink, while the boys in the band carry on playing...as if to themselves. At this point, with Excession’s only focal point suddenly absent, the show, such as it is, simply dies. Nobody on stage seems to have the slightest interest in pushing the performance out beyond the monitors: it’s like being present at a rather half-hearted rehearsal. I confess I’m disappointed. I had high hopes of Excession when they first came along, but they really need to get on the whoopee pills or something. There’s good potential in the material, but this kind of trundle-through-the-songs performance is not the stuff upon which great careers are built. Now, Voices of Masada, the new kids on the goth block, the latest in a long line of London based trad-goth outfits. And, as it happens, that’s exactly how the band appear on stage. A long line. The four members of the band array themselves across the front of the stage like chorus girls at the Moulin Rouge (but without the flouncy skirts, alas). Two guitarists, a bassist, and a singer. A traditional Brit-goth drum machine clitter-clatters into action, those ticka-ticka-ticka hi-hats that so many bands of this type seem to like dutifully whirring away in the mix, and off they go. It’s grandly dramatic stuff, portentous vocals boomed out over a big gothic rock guitar sound, and while we’ve heard this kind of music many times before from many bands that have walked this particular musical path in the past, Voices Of Masada do it convincingly. Well, up to a point. The tick and clonk of the drum machine sounds frustratingly weedy, the beats hiding behind the wall of guitar as if frightened to come out and play, and the singer’s amiable quips between the songs - delivered in light, friendly tones a world away from his prophet-of-the-apocalypse singing voice - sit rather oddly with the big rock doom machine persona of the band as a whole. But if it’s that ol’ Brit-goth drum-machine driven sound you’re after, Voices Of Masada will hit the spot. The show belongs to the singer. He’s the focal point, the essential identity of the band, while the other members keep themselves in the background and do their thing. I’m entertained by the way the two guitarists, over on stage left, have a ‘serious muso’ thing going on - facing each other, nodding knowledgeably at each other’s playing, more interested in their own musicianship than the show. Which prompts me to strike a note of caution: in this, Voices Of Masada risk falling into the same trap as Excession, by failing to create a real *performance*. Come now, gentlemen, you can keep your muso navel-gazing for the rehearsal room. There’s an audience here tonight - play to *us*, not to yourselves! As it is, the guitarist on the extreme end of the stage - cuddling his semi-acoustic as if it were a teddy bear - keeps his head resolutely down all through the set, only occasionally raising his eyes apprehensively to the audience, like Princess Diana doing one of her nervous-but-coquettish looks. I think there’s something the band need to work on here - everybody on stage needs to contribute to the performance, rather than leaving it all up to the singer to carry the set. Voices Of Masada reveal their ‘new band’ state of development in these areas, but there are the makings of an effective gothic rock unit here. Attrition fit into the traditional goth style of this gig like a brick in an omlette. But then, Attrition have always seemed a little out of place, off on a planet of their own. Their out-on-a-limb electronic squiggles and atmospheres would surely win fans among the artronica-heads who dig the likes of Throbbing Gristle and Coil, Autechre and Aphex Twin, but Attrition, curiously, have never sought out that crowd. They’ve always stuck faithfully with the goth ‘n’ related audience, even though, over the years, it must have become apparent that the goth ‘n’ related audience is only marginally interested in sticking with Attrition. But even though the band’s presence at this gig seems a touch incongruous, the fact remains that Attrition are a bizarrely cut diamond, alive with flashes of their own peculiar light. It’s good to see them in any circumstances. It’s worth noting that Attrition live are a very different beast to Attrition on CD. The operatic vocal swoops of Julia Waller on the recorded material are here interpreted in a rather more, erm, ‘punk rock’ style by Christine Reid. The controlled, precise, violin interjections which make every Attrition CD a somewhat cerebral experience are replaced in the live set by gleefully boisterous gurgles and sweeps of phat analogue electronic sounds. In short, Attrition as a live band are a rather more gritty and visceral experience compared to the precision and restraint of their studio incarnation. The mysterious DJ Psyche, in her on-stage introduction, assures us that ‘Attrition are gonna kick ass!’, which to anyone who only knows Attrition on CD might seem a rather contrary description of what the band do. But, let me tell you, as a live band Attrition do indeed apply boot to botty in no uncertain terms. Martin Bowes - he who *is* Attrition - wanders on stage with joss sticks a-smoulder, gazing quizzically about him as if appraising his surroundings with a view to presenting a scientific paper on the thermodynamics of The Gig. An electronic groove rolls out of the PA, high and low frequencies, clicks and hums, beats and bass locking horns and knocking heads in a manner which must severely tax the limitations of The Verge’s technology. The rhythms roll and rattle, the electro-sweeps fling themselves past our heads like angry wasps, and Christine, waving a large fan in a vaguely threatening manner, lets rip. The set features a smattering of old favourites - ‘Acid Tounge’ stomps all over the set list as if it owns it - but there are also plenty of new songs tonight, from the just-released album ‘Dante’s Kitchen’. ‘Head Of Gabriel’ revs itself up on a rattletrap rhythm, while ‘Dante’s Kitchen’ itself is a whacked-out slice of electro-funk, somewhere between Yello and Brian Eno in its art-collides-with-the-dancefloor hi-speed beats and sweeps. Incidentally, some of the advance publicity for the new Attrition album suggests that the band have taken to using ‘breakbeats’, but that isn’t really true. Breakneck beats, yes. The rhythms storm along at quite dangerous tempos on some of the new material. But just because a rhythm is *fast* doesn’t make it a breakbeat! Regardless of the pell-mell rhythms, Martin Bowes maintains his professorial manner, reciting his lyrics with a combination of authority and detatchment, pausing only to demonstrate the finer points of geometry with the mic stand. It’s a classic Attrition show, the essential out-thereness of the band nailed to pounding grooves and that odd but effective collision of two very different voices. It’s frustrating that Attrition have found themselves, not for the first time, pouring out their art to a handful of bemused trad-goths, few of whom seem to ‘get it’. A support slot with, say, Coil (who, as it happens, play London a couple of days after this gig) would place Attrition in front of a far more appropriate crowd, but it is not to be. Not *this* time, anyway. For now, Attrition remain unsung heroes of bizarre art. see all the photos from this concert here Attrition: http://www.attrition.co.uk Voices Of Masada: http://www.voices-of-masada.co.uk Excession: http://www.excessionuk.co.uk DJ Psyche, promoter of the gig: http://www.viciouslondon.com/psyche Reviewed by Uncle Nemesis: http://www.nemesis.to |