Sunday 13th May - The Cube, Bristol
Sadly only caught the last two tracks from Olan Mill … A shame, as their keystoke/violin driven landscapes had that Harold Budd 'light sensitive' vibe that I simply adore… A strange brew that seemed to be caught in a perpetual mirage of itself, leaving your ear to grasp at a fading patchwork of impressions…
Eric Chenaux turned out to be a bizarre, pedal playing maestro… making his guitar bend, buckle and fizz with inventive zeal. His song style solid, wholesome beaming out the love… all the while imbued with a friendly informality that drew you in closer to his flamboyant excesses... At one point, I swear his guitar sounded like a Rolf Harris wobble board ... left me sitting there in awe and disbelief…
With Esmerine, everything looked so effortless, as their 'post rock' classical vibe surged off with dramatic intensity. A curling of colourful patterns, dispelling any twee misdemeanours... the ukulele giving over its associated chintz for a more mandolined joy... streaking luminosity across the cello's sad sinews with gambling glockenspiel/marimba bones bouncing between... The groups' meanders and gathering storms reflected in the layers of lace, ink, and ivy from Clea Minaker's delicate lightbox arts that accompanied the set.. differing tints of light gliding the scalpeled glaze like a 4AD diffusion of half erased cataracts caught in the music's tempo...
Sadly only caught the last two tracks from Olan Mill … A shame, as their keystoke/violin driven landscapes had that Harold Budd 'light sensitive' vibe that I simply adore… A strange brew that seemed to be caught in a perpetual mirage of itself, leaving your ear to grasp at a fading patchwork of impressions…
Eric Chenaux turned out to be a bizarre, pedal playing maestro… making his guitar bend, buckle and fizz with inventive zeal. His song style solid, wholesome beaming out the love… all the while imbued with a friendly informality that drew you in closer to his flamboyant excesses... At one point, I swear his guitar sounded like a Rolf Harris wobble board ... left me sitting there in awe and disbelief…
With Esmerine, everything looked so effortless, as their 'post rock' classical vibe surged off with dramatic intensity. A curling of colourful patterns, dispelling any twee misdemeanours... the ukulele giving over its associated chintz for a more mandolined joy... streaking luminosity across the cello's sad sinews with gambling glockenspiel/marimba bones bouncing between... The groups' meanders and gathering storms reflected in the layers of lace, ink, and ivy from Clea Minaker's delicate lightbox arts that accompanied the set.. differing tints of light gliding the scalpeled glaze like a 4AD diffusion of half erased cataracts caught in the music's tempo...
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