@ Port Mahon Oxford Wednesday 22nd August
Skitanja hit the stage looking like a trans-gender terror duo, in scary face masks and blond wigs – not dissimilar to Autons in the red lighting. The sound was hi-energy beatbox traffic jam, with a stuttering step malfunction awash with evil guitar monsters. A schizoid dance hall, mutated lounge / ballroom, where fast rhythms stumble over pounding drums and rolling keyboards, attacked in right angles by cornet blasts, like a glam ‘Teenage Jesus’ with Lydia replaced by an Italian soprano. Unpredictable and a bloody marvel to behold, don’t split guys the world needs you.
BotBorg were a migraine inducing audio/vision fest of raw data clash collision, working their magic from a darkened corner of the room. Quick flicker pixels, digital interference illuminated the room as Mr Olivetti exclaimed it was just like travelling on the central line – LOL. I was waiting for somebody in the audience to go into a spasm free-fall of convulsive saliva.
Agripon’s show was an insane ‘free for all’ where the objective was to make as much noise as humanly possible. The things they were doing to their instruments brought tears to my eyes. Smashing, scraping, pounding whilst their naked torsos twisted around, attempting to coax every last bastard sound out of their bruised n battered arsenal.
At one point, the drummer gaffa taped his kit plus guitar round his head continuing to bash the hell out of it regardless, resorting to shouting from inside his kettle drum when the whole shebang finally split.
This was an impressive display of anti-music that was strangely musical. At it’s conclusion one of them thrust a tape in the air shouting ‘one pound for a tape of tonight’, couldn’t get my fist into my pocket fast enough, damn!.
Skitanja hit the stage looking like a trans-gender terror duo, in scary face masks and blond wigs – not dissimilar to Autons in the red lighting. The sound was hi-energy beatbox traffic jam, with a stuttering step malfunction awash with evil guitar monsters. A schizoid dance hall, mutated lounge / ballroom, where fast rhythms stumble over pounding drums and rolling keyboards, attacked in right angles by cornet blasts, like a glam ‘Teenage Jesus’ with Lydia replaced by an Italian soprano. Unpredictable and a bloody marvel to behold, don’t split guys the world needs you.
BotBorg were a migraine inducing audio/vision fest of raw data clash collision, working their magic from a darkened corner of the room. Quick flicker pixels, digital interference illuminated the room as Mr Olivetti exclaimed it was just like travelling on the central line – LOL. I was waiting for somebody in the audience to go into a spasm free-fall of convulsive saliva.
Agripon’s show was an insane ‘free for all’ where the objective was to make as much noise as humanly possible. The things they were doing to their instruments brought tears to my eyes. Smashing, scraping, pounding whilst their naked torsos twisted around, attempting to coax every last bastard sound out of their bruised n battered arsenal.
At one point, the drummer gaffa taped his kit plus guitar round his head continuing to bash the hell out of it regardless, resorting to shouting from inside his kettle drum when the whole shebang finally split.
This was an impressive display of anti-music that was strangely musical. At it’s conclusion one of them thrust a tape in the air shouting ‘one pound for a tape of tonight’, couldn’t get my fist into my pocket fast enough, damn!.
Comments
I hope this doesn't get us in trouble for parking on the double yellow!
Thanks for coming along and thanks for the encouraging words.
xx
long live Skitanja!!!
I've never seen Botborg but Scotty is a lovely bloke.