Maybe
it’s my age – although in this instance I seriously don’t think so – but I’m
pretty sure this represented the first ever gig I’ve left early because it was too
loud. Dull, yup (Drive By Truckers and Band Of Horses spring to mind), crap
mix, oh yeah (Redd Kross recently), but sheer overwhelming volume? Hmmm…
Anyway, I leap forward… I ummed and ahhed about this one anyway; 80’s Shoegaze pioneers and bleeding edge sonic experimenters My Bloody Valentine frankly didn’t land with me back in the day. I only saw them once, in their nascent pre-first album days, as Soup Dragons Bierkeller support in 1987 (gig 69, dudes..), and in my drunken, pool-table hogging state, I didn’t think much of them, an opinion that remained awhile. I however latterly gave them another listen, mainly due to the oft-devotional enthusiasm of rock musician buddies (e.g. Boston rock friend Dave Wanamaker, who saw fit to name his excellent 2000’s power-pop band after MBV’s sophomore “Loveless” album!), appreciating their textural sonic approach whilst still slightly bemoaning the absence of brain-hugging tuneage. Given the eccentric nature of MBV’s main man Kevin Shields, their “Brian Wilson” in more ways than one, it seemed however that a “live” show was unlikely at best, so when a Wembley Arena date was announced completely out of the blue, it prompted much internal debate. Ultimately (and despite the rather steep ticket price), I thought, why the fuck not?
I
hit the road at ¼ to 4, trying somewhere new to park for Wembley; Rayners Lane
tube, which was fairly straightforward despite a last half-hour rush hour crawl.
I’d not been able to locate my noise-cancelling earplugs before setting off, so
was happy to see, on arrival, that the stewards were handing out packets of the
squashy ones! Hit the vast expanse of Wembley Arena about 20 to 7, running into
Bristol friend Keeley, plus her bandmate Lukey and his partner, for a chat
before I popped down the front-ish, house left. An added attraction tonight was
the inclusion of pre-grunge guitar-abusing legendary noisenik J Mascis of
Dinosaur Jr. on the undercard, and he duly joined us at 8 with a laconic, “alright
then, how’s it going…”. Something different from the man tonight; a solo
performance with acoustic guitars rather than the full-on amped-up noise! So, opener
“Thumb”, shorn of the usual wall of noise onslaught, revealed itself to be introspective
and melancholy, setting the tone for the early numbers. By “Little Fury Things”,
a smattering of comparatively startling fuzz pedal was being deployed, along
with some occasional tape loops, and “Out There”’s lengthy acoustic intro and
outro gave me a hazy late Summer dappled light vibe similar to War On Drugs! “The
Wagon”, was nonetheless brilliant, an undulating gallop even in this setting
and ultimately the best number of the night overall for me, and the parched desert
stoner vibe of closer “Alone”, again featuring some lengthy virtuoso riffing on
the outro from J, rounded off a welcome opening vignette from an alt-rock
legend.
A quick wander around the arena and another chat with Keeley in her spot in front of the central mixing desk, then I ventured back to my forward spot, chatting with some young fans. At 9, the lights dimmed, and a twinkling backing track saw MBV take the stage, be-hatted and grey-maned main man Kevin Shields last with a soft “hello” and into the undulating riff of “I Only Said”. And it was OVERPOWERINGLY LOUD from the off, prompting me to immediately reach for the earplugs. “When You Sleep”, next up, was great; a tremulous, tremendous groovy beast recalling TFC’s “Everything Flows”. Best already… surely not?
‘Fraid
so. On record, My Bloody Valentine’s overall sonic template, for me, falls into
3 distinct camps: firstly, the early-doors hurtling and often thrilling cacophonies
of slashing guitar noise redolent of (unsurprisingly) MBV acolyte Bob Mould; secondly,
the textural, atmospheric and shimmering “sonic cathedrals” of cliché, often
touching heights of widescreen transcendence; and thirdly, and unfortunately, occasional
borderline-unlistenable tuneless muddied dirges. And tonight, with the
overwhelming noise on full blast – I kid you not, it was like an aircraft
taking off at close range – much of the subsequent set was either a painful cacophonous
noise without the earplugs, or an indistinct muffled bore with them. Also,
there seemed to be some friction or miscommunication between Shields and
hard-hitting drummer Colm O’Ciosoig, a couple of numbers needing multiple
starts before getting going, prompting Shields to murmur, “fucking hell, it’s
an age thing…” whilst their bandmates seemingly watched on, slightly bemused…
A mid-set “Only Shallow” was better, more absorbing in a Pale Saints “Sight Of You” way, but again, vibe rather than tune, and it was evident why I was disinclined towards MBV back in the day, enjoying as I did such prosaic things as verses, choruses, melodies and singers that “performed” and that I could hear singing. The taciturn static mumble just wasn’t cutting it for me, so a couple of plodding numbers later I took a break, then back in for one last noisy blast before I cried “enough”, heading off with half an hour left, and with the likes of “Soon” and “You Made Me Realise” (frequently and excellently butchered by my live faves Midway Still) yet to come. Home via a circuitous diversion through Maidenhead (!) at half past midnight. In all honesty, I really shouldn’t have expected anything else from this fabled band of wall-of-noise makers, and I’m a bit disappointed with myself that I didn’t see it coming…
No comments:
Post a Comment