Author: Rok Klemše
Venue: Menza pri koritu, Metelkova, Ljubljana
Concert date: October 26, 2010
Attendance: 200
Ticket price: €15 (presale) / €18 (day of show)
A Wednesday evening and gloomy weather, hesitantly tipping into something between rain and a shy drizzle, the whole backdrop of this October day seasoned further by low temperatures. Despite all that, my resolve is firm and my mood positive, because I know tonight will satisfy all my expectations, at least when it comes to the music. After three years away, the American shamans of sound and the universal language of music are once again making their cathartic descent on our parts – Red Sparowes. The rest of the bill was largely unknown and anything but starry. So we were in for a real trip into the unknown, with a few tangible anchor points of the familiar and a sea of total musical avant-garde and mental disconnect.
Draped in grey, Metelkova started showing signs of life shortly after eight. Lone music fanatics streamed toward the venue through the city streets like blood through arteries. All different and all equal. All hungry and thirsty for good music and possible positive peaks. First onto the stage of Ljubljana’s temple of alternative was Paul Labrecque, member of Sunburned Hand Of The Man and Astral Blessing. The solo incarnation of pure experimentation goes by the name Head Of Wantastiquet, and the first act of the night, which you could describe as a total musical disconnect, kicked off with minimalism. One man on stage and such massive layers of acoustic guitar, heavy delays and epic nonconformism. The set, a good half hour or a bit more, threw a kind of mix of neo folk and apocalyptic musical psalms with psychedelic touches into the same bowl. Even though Paul has recorded two albums so far, Mortagne and Dead Seas, the Ljubljana show was pure improvisation, and in the meditation of instrumentally mixing banjo, guitar and effects, the mood of Ljubljana’s here and now was reflected. The pretty empty venue resonated and turned into an extension of the instrument. Beneath the multi-tonal atmospheric layers of rustic flirting with the extreme ecstasy of Popol Vuh, as the sound is aptly described on his website, musical phrases emerge that sit somewhere between the monolithic sound of Europe and the stoned ramblings of the early-nineties alternative underground, and the clumsy motorics have flashes of genius. Head Of Wantastiquet manages to embody and internalize all those elements that make the music along the Mississippi so magical. The magnetism of Memphis and Nashville, the tearing down of taboos and of the sanctity of genre purity, and an unconventional approach to the very idea of sound and guitar were lesson number one. The applause soon faded, and Paul got totally lost in his musical vignettes, winning over only the few, scattered souls in the darkened Menza.
A bit less weighed down and above all in a more playful mood was the quartet that took the stage second. Abe Vigoda, an important piece of the L.A. club scene at The Smell, are a dance-ready blend of tropicalia punk, new wave aesthetics, flirtation with disco-ish choruses and sun-soaked indie rock. Guitarists Michael Vidal and Juan Velazquez, who also tackle the vocals, bassist David Reichardt and drummer Reggie Guerrero came well prepared for the landing, and using the presentation of their new album Crush as an excuse, they pumped life and movement into the slowly waking belly of the sleepy Menza. Surf rock the New Order way and upbeat punk artistry have defined these youngsters since their formation in 2003, and seven years in, oddly enough, this genre conglomerate of musical diversity is still an unknown quantity on our turf. Abe Vigoda are plugged into the scene of the Californian metropolis precisely thanks to the notorious and ever more often mentioned club The Smell, where plenty of other musical hopefuls were forged and tempered (among the names that come up often are Silver Daggers, The Mae Shi and the main attraction of this concert event, No Age). They all have a pretty strong base back home in Los Angeles. So far Abe Vigoda have recorded three records. Skeleton, Reviver and Crush offer room for expanding their musical expression, but this time Abe Vigoda put everything on the ace of the latest record, Crush. On the previous two records you could feel elements of Afro pop in the chemistry of the music, but this time the guys actually sold off all those fragments and swapped them for a stash of disco and Cure records. The song Repeating Angel honestly sounds like a byproduct of The Cure from the late eighties, and screaming guitars and fat synth sounds wrap the cheerful mood up into a monad of repetition and danceable mental disconnect. Abe Vigoda are schizophrenic, and in their manic phase they’re very far from any concept of melancholy or gloom. Crush is a split entity and yes – the band sounds like some bands from twenty years ago, but still: Abe Vigoda are the part of the musical spectrum that defends the colors of indie rock confidently, doggedly and with a smile on its face.
After the last chords of the song To Tears faded, the energy levels climbed to boiling point. I actually realized that the next act would be the complete climax of the night. A total musical ejaculation of emotion and quality music, embodied by what I think is one of the most important post-rock organisms of the present: Red Sparowes. They’ve been to Slovenia three times now, and the pedigree of this outstanding band is made up of members of prominent groups such as Isis, Neurosis, Halifax Pier, Angel Hair and Pleasure Forever. They’ve so far sown three records among listeners, and after the apocalyptic musical images of the world on At Te Soundless Dawn and Every Heart Shines Toward The Red Sun they took time out to air out their thoughts, ideas and lineup. This time they stepped onto the Ljubljana stage with a reborn conceptual missile, the record The Fear Is Excruciating, But Therein Lies The Answer. Old and new shake hands, and part of what’s new is that the band has expanded: Red Sparowes, until recently a purely “male” lineup, got a new female member, a guitarist and the new bearer of sensuality: Emma Ruth Rundle. The polyphony of pleasure began with the song Buildings Began to Stretch Wide Across the Sky, and the Air Filled with a Reddish Glow, which fills the vaults of the debut. Red Sparowes sound full and quite a bit more aggressive and harder than on their previous two visits. The musical dialogue of three guitars, Bryant Clifford Meyer, the entranced dreamer Andy Arahood, and Emma armed with a Gibson SG, plus the rhythmic sequences of the tattooed, outstanding bassist Greg Burns, who besides bass also sits down at the pedal steel guitar and melts into a cohesively solid mix with Dave Clifford’s drum excursions, put a spell on Metelkova right off the bat. The harmony of musical vignettes conjures up, with the help of projections, an illusion of otherworldliness, and cataclysm as a thematic field is a fitting way to move closer to the human essence. Salvation is in the hands of the individual, in their feeling and their active participation in shaping the world. In their vow of silence, with no spoken word, Red Sparowes delivered heavy and very demanding themes. The mission to convince the listeners was accomplished instantly, first shot. In the belly of Metelkova, old and young, Slovenes and foreigners stood side by side and, regardless of religious, sexual or political affiliation, experienced a complete meditation of sound and fractal images. Red Sparowes took us out of our bodies and, in the unwound tangle of our own thoughts and dreams, wove us into the stucco of their gospel. The infinite universe trembled to the orchestration of sensual and deep-diving poems, and behind half-closed eyes time could, at least for a moment, actually be measured in eons. The ecstasy of the moment ended too soon, with the last song We Left the Apes to Rot, But Find the Fang Still Grows Within, and after the last gasps of music came a standing ovation and a sincere thank-you for this truly otherworldly moment of surrender to the universals of colossal melodies.
Last in line, the night was supposed to be crowned by L.A. lo-fi punkers or noise-poppers, the band No Age. Currently one of the hottest names in indie, they revolve around a duo made up of guitarist Randy Randall and drummer-vocalist Dean Allen Spunt. This year’s album Everything In Between adds to the already rich catalog of the legendary label Sub Pop, and with the singles collection Weirdo Rippers and the album Nouns, No Age are returning to pure punk experiments. Dean and Randy are former members of the hardcore band Wives, and the Ljubljana show does no injustice to their records and performances so far. The contrast of noise and melody, artistry and pure gut-level rawness are in balance, and No Age have complete control over their delivery. Spunt’s lyrics are personal and confessional, giving a full look into his private daily notes, and those diary entries are sung sincerely and without pretense. Americans would say: “There’s no tongue in cheek!” The frequent hidden irony flirts with the compendium of sound and lyrics of Sonic Youth. This isn’t about copying and cloning what’s already been heard, but more of a formal resemblance, since instead of falling back on the monotony of pretty sounds and clean lines, No Age consciously prefer unconventional and noisier solutions, and the message still has balls and doesn’t sound fake. The untamed, rebellious cry of revolt is the perfect opposite of the aimless, idea-hollow self-proclaimed artists of contemporary indie rock, and No Age defend the front lines of alternative convincingly and doggedly. In the manner in which the fathers and godfathers of punk once defended their reputation. The younger generation has a spine too, right? Energy is one of the ingredients of a No Age show. The other adjective that could describe the ecstasy down by the stage is complete airlessness and a brutal crush, which left more than a few people wobbling and looking for shelter in the space outside the doors of Menza.
The concert ended on a high note. There were almost no unsatisfied people, though there would certainly be room for fulfilling a few more quiet wishes in the future, with bigger names and, hopefully, a swift return of those who won us over the most. Every ear has its painter and every soul vibrates to its own musical tones. My soul was oscillating completely to the sounds of Red Sparowes this time. Someone else longingly gave in to the rebelliousness of lo-fi punk or to the uncompromising delivery of artistic sequences of mental disconnect. To each their own. In any case, a truly sincere thank-you and kudos to the organizers for taking care of us, the music-hungry rabble, in style, with the only measure of it all being feelings and not-too-spicy prices of tickets, records and shirts. After all this, what’s left is just the wish for more concerts like this one, and for the will to throw yourselves into the unknown every once in a while, without knowing where the flow of events will carry you. Whoever lets themselves be surprised can only profit, and the road into the unknown can be more fun than following dry recipes and well-worn poses. Personally, after what I saw and heard, I can hardly wish for anything more. How about you?
Photos: Nina Grad
Setlist
HEAD OF WANTASTIQUET
– improvisation
ABE VIGODA:
1. Crush
2. Sequins
3. Dream Of My Love
4. Throwing Shade
5. Pure Violence
6. Repeating angel
7. November
8. To Tears
RED SPAROWES:
1. Buildings Began to Stretch Wide Across the Sky, and the Air Filled with a
Reddish Glow
2. A Hail of Bombs
3. The Soundless Dawn Came Alive as Cities Began to Mark the Horizon
4. A Swarm
5. Error Has Turned Animals Into Men, and to Each the Fold Repeats
6. The Great Leap Forward Poured Down Upon Us One Day Like a Mighty Storm,
Suddenly and Furiously Blinding Our Senses
7. Giving Birth to Imagined Saviors
8. In Illusions of Order
— ENCORE —
9. Alone and Unaware, the Landscape was transformed in Front of Our Eyes
10. We Left the Apes to Rot, But Find the Fang Still Grows Within
NO AGE:
– no setlist
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