Saturday, April 18, 2015

Lava Thief Presents - Deej Dhariwal, The Brackish, Vena Cava and Repo Man

10th April - The Scary Canary Stourbridge

I’ve really loved Deej’s solo appearances in the past and the devotional moaning of this new material (soon to be released by Zam Zam so I hear) was certainly hitting the spot. Revolving the ear in tonal overwrites, looping shadows roasted on antsy spans of stretched guitar. A canvas that excavated some lovely intensity, as sticky keystrokes were added and things became symphonically templed. A contemplative vibe, banked in some beautiful chordage that in turn incubated the return of noisier climbs, the Walkman additions clawing nicely at the pick-ups, full of swamping swirling creatures dying to a refrain of fading guitar energies.

The Brackish were the surprise of the evening, having never heard them before. Essentially a battle of two guitars, with bass and drums stretching the improvised tangle, they exerted some lovely tight knots of intrigue. A union of bouncing multiples that bled almost seamlessly with the on screen Patrick McGoohan trampoline fighting his opponent. Weird chemistry indeed, cubist thrown, shapeshifting fragments of jazzy rawness, Arto curves caught in the lock groove twang of Reich and Can wriggling with bouts of three-fingered lightning - bloody superb.

An action packed night and there were still two bands to go.

Loved the way Vena Cava’s melodies seemed to dangle on the promise of explosive noise, the bass ploughing the leaping percussions, a furrow buzzing with gliding chord and a hazing of light caught crystal. Tightly wound atmospheres steeped in Eastern promises and released in wholesome MBV grit, a post-gothic sensibility crawling in deliciously dirty wah monkeys that burned all sacrificial in your lugholes. A persuasive force to be reckoned with!

The chaotic love of Repo Man ended the night superbly with everything converging, chewing at its figure head vocalist. His vocal nails scratching poetic visions, panoramic dystopias, and spittle rich comedies between belches of queasy saxophone. The two guitarists veering like drunkards, dishing out a barrage of jarring energies that filled you head with delicious tangles whilst the drummer attempted to hold majesty over a salvo coloured sky.