Sunday 27th May - Mothers Ruin
One of the hottest days of the year, baking!... The lack of air conditioning turning the car into a sweaty slow cooker, eating into my sleep deprivation... The M4 'curated' wind through the narrow slits of window making demon voices... something I was trying hard not to listen to... the barely audible stereo not helping matters...Sometimes I'm really glad Bristol is only 45mins away...
Essentially a big old fashioned pub locked away on the fringes of St Nicholas's market, the Mothers Ruin's dark interior was really inviting, devoid of that corporate tack that passes for a pub these days. Felt perfectly happy with its tumble down Dickensian charms and dirt encrusted chandelier... sort of suited the evening's line up perfectly...
Cementimental was a brilliant opening act … harsh realities with lots of revelatory diversions… his assembled devices a crumbled crisp bag of angles, plying some tasty contrast to the ear violence… letting the lambs gambol in the picturesque eddies before slaughtering them in a flamethrower of howling banshee… The girl behind the bar stuffing paper tissues into her ears, thumbs up for the camera… A real quick fire set, that couldn’t have lasted more than 15mins, a randomised glare of crawling, scraping and screeching that periodically retracted in tape fed déjà vu and looped suckle…
We were a bag of frazzled nerve endings, having not played live since last August… but as our vague plan of action unfolded things seemed to fall nicely together in an improvised soup of lilting melody , scarring feedback and happy accidentals, the aural evidence of which will be put out as a limited DIY release in the near future... whilst clearing away the sprawling wares, Mardt took a snapshot of me basking in post-playing relief and exclaimed 'the aftermath’...
Next up was Failed NASA Experiment , a solo operation from Cardiff , the releases I have of his certainly prove him to have a real ear for cultivating the unusual, and the swirling cumulus of bowed guitar and cymbal shiver he was building up was just the ticket. A rich and heady tapestry, to which he later introduced a backbone of celebratory riffs … suitably washed through numerous pedals, going stratospheric, then all fluttering come down … The laptop vapours clinging round the chords similar to that of early Rothko, full of spacey imaginings and soothing energies…
These mellow vibes contrasted nicely with fellow Cardiff dwellers His Naked Torso who brought on an exhilarating 16min assault of barraging drums, mad guitar angles and plenty of screaming kandy... like a gristled Boredoms, chewing redeye chillies... totally in your face goodness of the highest order. Happily snagged one of those tasty 50p postcard cd’s from the lads too...
The headliner MXLX seemed to have became a troupe since I last saw him in action.... Matt on his usual electronic devices, dressed like a extra from Fame... Throwing out a heat haze of dronic action to which a trio of drummers ascended in a tribal fervour... Matt bowing cymbal thunders... lassoing the metallic tints and thumping skin into a hypnotically shingled tide... a swaying snake of hissing tempo dips, dissipating on a chant of voices...
Great night, fantastic people... rode all the way back home on a high, with Siouxsie’s ‘Scream’ blaring out at full tilt as if I was thirteen once more... 'Looking through your x-ray eyes a see thro’ scene, just something conjured from a dream...'
One of the hottest days of the year, baking!... The lack of air conditioning turning the car into a sweaty slow cooker, eating into my sleep deprivation... The M4 'curated' wind through the narrow slits of window making demon voices... something I was trying hard not to listen to... the barely audible stereo not helping matters...Sometimes I'm really glad Bristol is only 45mins away...
Essentially a big old fashioned pub locked away on the fringes of St Nicholas's market, the Mothers Ruin's dark interior was really inviting, devoid of that corporate tack that passes for a pub these days. Felt perfectly happy with its tumble down Dickensian charms and dirt encrusted chandelier... sort of suited the evening's line up perfectly...
Cementimental was a brilliant opening act … harsh realities with lots of revelatory diversions… his assembled devices a crumbled crisp bag of angles, plying some tasty contrast to the ear violence… letting the lambs gambol in the picturesque eddies before slaughtering them in a flamethrower of howling banshee… The girl behind the bar stuffing paper tissues into her ears, thumbs up for the camera… A real quick fire set, that couldn’t have lasted more than 15mins, a randomised glare of crawling, scraping and screeching that periodically retracted in tape fed déjà vu and looped suckle…
We were a bag of frazzled nerve endings, having not played live since last August… but as our vague plan of action unfolded things seemed to fall nicely together in an improvised soup of lilting melody , scarring feedback and happy accidentals, the aural evidence of which will be put out as a limited DIY release in the near future... whilst clearing away the sprawling wares, Mardt took a snapshot of me basking in post-playing relief and exclaimed 'the aftermath’...
Next up was Failed NASA Experiment , a solo operation from Cardiff , the releases I have of his certainly prove him to have a real ear for cultivating the unusual, and the swirling cumulus of bowed guitar and cymbal shiver he was building up was just the ticket. A rich and heady tapestry, to which he later introduced a backbone of celebratory riffs … suitably washed through numerous pedals, going stratospheric, then all fluttering come down … The laptop vapours clinging round the chords similar to that of early Rothko, full of spacey imaginings and soothing energies…
These mellow vibes contrasted nicely with fellow Cardiff dwellers His Naked Torso who brought on an exhilarating 16min assault of barraging drums, mad guitar angles and plenty of screaming kandy... like a gristled Boredoms, chewing redeye chillies... totally in your face goodness of the highest order. Happily snagged one of those tasty 50p postcard cd’s from the lads too...
The headliner MXLX seemed to have became a troupe since I last saw him in action.... Matt on his usual electronic devices, dressed like a extra from Fame... Throwing out a heat haze of dronic action to which a trio of drummers ascended in a tribal fervour... Matt bowing cymbal thunders... lassoing the metallic tints and thumping skin into a hypnotically shingled tide... a swaying snake of hissing tempo dips, dissipating on a chant of voices...
Great night, fantastic people... rode all the way back home on a high, with Siouxsie’s ‘Scream’ blaring out at full tilt as if I was thirteen once more... 'Looking through your x-ray eyes a see thro’ scene, just something conjured from a dream...'
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