Remember the old adage that dogs look like their owners? You could apply that to the festival crowds that gather in The Grey Space in the Middle – a forward-thinking enterprise that regularly flies the flag of marginal culture in the city. The weekend’s collective look – bedroom meets binman – is carefully cultivated, with not a thread, not an ounce, of colour anywhere. Regardless, the Grey Space’s music programme on Saturday was a brilliant response to the hordes descending on the Paard van Troje for Godspeed! You Black Emperor.
First up was Goldblum, the brilliant Frisian duo of Michiel Klein and Marijn Verbiessen. They make what could be described as romantic electronic bricolage. Albeit with a sharp sonic snap thrown in now and again, just to keep you on your toes: “enige defecten” which manifested via Verbiessen’s slow Qigong-like movements and her micing up a metal tape measure that she used like a riding crop, striking it across the stage floor. Their sound often harked back to traditions long revered in certain circles in the Netherlands: Fluxus, ULTRA and Provo. Both melancholy and menacing, they proved they are at the top of their game. Then two wonderful shows that made us realise what a woefully inappropriate term “dance music” is. Dale Cornish seemed to be busy making new rhythmic patterns on the spot: his supercharged spirit brought a sense of wonderment to the no-nonsense concrete bunker. Later Elvin Brandhi from Yeah You unleashed a clatter of restless beat-laden noises that, collectively, could be said to sound like a giant truck crashing down a mountainside.
It would be churlish not to talk about Godspeed! You Black Emperor. Playing a packed main hall in the Paard they laid down the law with all the nous and power they have accumulated over these two decades. The band trades in grandeur and melancholy, with the contrasting passages of noise and melodic introspection being almost tidal in the way they swept in and out. The backdrops reminded the audience that they were here to soak up the big, existential themes: at one point the word ‘Hope’ flickered, frail and white on a black backdrop, at another we saw old footage of a shot up biplane spiralling towards the ground. The experience was not unlike a Mahler symphony, with the amps set to 11.
If you haven’t seen Horse Lords in action, now is a good time as their music seems to be taking on a spirit and shape of its own. In the beautiful Concordia, the band’s playing felt instinctive, the interlocking rhythms with emphasis on the backbeat contrasted brilliantly with the tessellate intricacies of guitar and intermittent sax. This wasn’t aimless or artless drone rock. Presented in a line, and lit by a backdrop of pale blues and pinks, the sight reminded me of Heaven up Here era Bunnymen. 1981-Bunnymen comparisons could maybe also be found in the Horse Lords’ instinctive and spiritual handling of power and dynamics. A monumental show.
There was still colour to be found in all of this elegiac seriousness. Alongside the aforementioned Dale Cornish we could point to the hypercharged world conjured up by Amsterdam-based producer Himera in Paard van Troje, where his last LP, Sharing Secrets came to life as an A/V show with visuals from designer and artist Otso Reitala. In the increasingly giddy and sweaty space, it felt as if this highly processed pop music would rot your teeth: enervating and brilliant. Best of all was Argentina’s Morita Vargas, who channelled the rich and complex musical heritage of her home country to make a shifting hybrid of chanson, package holiday clubbing, (gothic) rave and dream pop. Romance was on the menu as Vargas, in a glam rag doll outfit, prowled the stage and beckoned to us, a mix of romance and “look but don’t touch” powerplay. There was something of the Cocteau Twins about Vargas, too; maybe it was the fact her lyrics sounded as if they were beamed from another planet.
Photo – the author
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