Monday, 29 September 2008

Secret Chiefs 3/Zu/Skullflower - Cargo 16/09/08

As is fast becoming a regrettable habit for me, I missed the first act - Skullflower - due to arriving at a reasonable time, rather than a ridiculously early one. This is unfortunate for Skullflower, as it means I can't review their performance on here, one of the most reviled blogs on the internet. I mean respected not reviled, thast was a typo. And thast.

So I'll give you an approximation of haute-couture-porn peddler Mike Keelin's review in lieu of my own, because he got there early enough to see it, because he lives thirty seconds walk away. This is what he said: It was alright, droney.

Sounds good to me.

So I arrived, got some wine and took a trip to the Zu and they were dirty heavy. I mean even all of their instruments looked physically heavy. Low slung pendulous bass, brassy mammoth sax and, well, the drums actually just looked like any drums but they sounded bad-ass and it all came together and it all sounded crushing, the rhythm section so weighed down, anchoring your neck to the floor with a cast iron chunky bass choker and embellished chain-link drum riffs, while the sax flew around above you and got tangled in your hair like a god damn jazz pipistrelle. Maddening, but so satisfying. They reminded me of Noxagt, but with a saxaphone, but somehow without reminding me of Ultralyd. What I'm trying to say is that they rocked. Really hard. And they jazzed hard too. It was all in my ears and eyes and all over my face. The jazz. And then I had a cigarette.

So I smoke and drink wine and then it's back for the Secret Chiefs 3 and their so-crazy-how-could-it-not-work approach to genre blending. Heavy meddle psych-reggae from the fiddle east served with a bowl of thick guitar singapore noodles. What the fuck is this music and how does it not sound like nonsense? The fact that all of the musicians in the band are fucking awesome probably helps. Seriously, these guys are tighter than spandex and ten times as fun. They jerk on stage like parodical robots, luxury metal, and launch magnificently into a well lubed irish/arabic mindfuck fiddler on the roofies sound. A staccato flow. It's a thing.

Maybe they'll play again in another twelve years. You should see them if they do. Don't take acid though 'cause it wouldn't make a blind bit of difference.

No comments: