Review: Subcurrent 06, first night Thursday 13th April 06

Astral Social Club crack open Subcurrent 06. Neil Campbel,.Richard Youngs and Tirath Singh Nirmala comprise the tristar line up. Kind of like Paul Klee, Willem de Kooning, and Gerhard Richter stepping up to the canvas simultaneously. Buzzes and blasts from home made electronics, kids keyboards and penny whistles cut us loose and delayed vocals zoom in and out of the swells… a lull midway and a wholly unlikely piped instrument appears that looks sort of like Tatlins Tower... then the clatter, wail, and blast continues ..beats manifest , some of this wouldn’t sound out of place booming from the bass bins of a customised car culture freak… a violin squeals and moans and the stratocaster noise sheets swirl into hypno-zone drones. There is a thrill in watching the performers too, Youngs jolts and twists the sound from his machines, body rocking to the shocks , TSN a balanced meditative presence centre stage and Campbell, all grins and frenetic energy, constantly realigning his tabletop trickshop. They sign off and NC lets us know the performance will be on sale later. An instant energy memory to take home.

Inca Ore, tall, dark in a short cotton dress, use song as incantation, as protective magic. Building up the tracks harmonies are created and collapsed. Tones float and revolve and return. Between songs she wears a sweet ecstatic expression as if she sees and feels a little more after each performance. Midway through the set she drops in a straight, non fx number and her voice, untreated, has hints of the blues and a fragile warmth. She walks the spacious stage as she sings. It is as if she is lost in a forest, surrounded by the spirits and voices. Rather than looking to escape, she is seeking communion with the sprites and shades. At the close, she apologises for not finding a scream tonight, however, the audience has been charmed and do not complain.

Wearing a Grand Canyon T shirt, Axolotl take us down to the riverbed where folk hits psych. The set opens with the spluttering crunch of misfiring technology but the artist skilfully uses the found sound as a base for his zither dream beams, he then turns to percussive playing and primitive gamelan melodies and rhthmyms bounce around the wooden walled room. The set closes with a thick, pulsing violin and pedal lurch. Though he cuts out earlier than scheduled due to equipment failures, his sound succeeds and reveals another facet of the current American folk form reinvention.

Word from on high has it that skaters soundcheck was a killer. Audience and performers cluster round the stage as the duo squat over their mics and kit. I can see a couple of drums and a ceremonial necklace laid out beside the super tall guy stage right. Within minutes a cyclone is whirling in the CCA. I swear you can see a dirt brown dust tower emanating from between the musicians, swaying to the corners and the heights of the hall. The sound fills every angle of the space, it is a wholly elevating experience. I guess everybody hears something different when the sound is this dense, this combustible, but for me there was something religious about the moaning vocal. Like a séance in a Midwest unchurch or a funeral dirge for someone dying a second time. This is revival music.
They end and it’s hard to say how long it’s been, you could even say it was short, but walking out in to the street you feel that the energy they channelled is really all around us, you just need to be the right kind conductor.
Simon Ross