NORDIC GIANTS AT THEKLA

NOVEMBER 2015

​

Tuesday, mid-November: another miserable bout of weather and another Thekla gig. But you know what? Forget the weather. Forget the banality of a dreary autumn weekday. Because that evening I watched a band that made me and pretty much everything else that has ever existed, pale into trivial inconsequence and materialist inadequacy.

However, before we jump into the Giants’ set, we must firstly pay homage to Alright the Captain and ALMA; both of whom provided the perfect lead up to the post-apocalyptic meltdown that would be the headlining set.

Alright the Captain, Derby-based math rock band, who were more or less one with their audience - especially an enthusiastic blue, waterproof who was so close he probably could have taken up residence in Marty’s guitar case - played their tumultuous infusion of jazz-math rock. Avalanching waves of pedalled exuberance: with croaking, sprawling guitar and drums so epic they splintered time itself.

 

Thereafter, ALMA were up, teetering on the edge of the over-crowded stage, they combined yearning vocals with the plangent ring of folky blues. Contrary to their predecessors, the duo affected a resonating and solitary incandescence. Supposing Chris Martin decided to join forces with James Bay’s guitar and sing some Racing Glaciers tracks, this would probably be the ensuing result; but, with that provoking, elevated feeling that Sigur Rós evokes.

 

And this Sigur Rós comparison leads me perfectly onto those feather-clad geniuses of experimental post-rock - how coincidental, you say: No, I meant for that. They were showcasing their 7 Depths of Consciousness tour which promotes short films from acclaimed directors; and variations of their previous material, mostly from their album, A Séance of Dark Delusions. It was all reworked into these dark and cumbersome pieces; achieving that overwhelming combination of dominating instrumentation and illusory cinematic installations which entirely consume you.

 

Donning feathered headdresses and marked with smeared tribal artwork, they stood poised on the stage; their dystopian visions of corruption and engorged humanity reflected behind them amidst a blanket of suspended fog.

 

‘Evolve and Perish’, ‘Rapture’, ‘Elysian Skies’ and ‘Illuminate’ all floated by with such ambience, you’d think your eyes might have melted in to the back of your head. ‘Black Folds’ and ‘A Thousand Lost Dreams’ - with their crackles of spoken heroism and cautionary messages filtered over the top - rang out like clanging prophecies; these pieces, along with their videos, irreparably chilling and brutal. Indeed, even the more ebullient ones were somehow brought crashing down with frightening undertones thanks to those beautifully eerie visuals.

They played all nine tracks of their debut, melding them with the aptly staggering and suffocating videos. The blend of dynamic turbulence and filmography wove together to convey these glaring messages of social, political and moral consciousness.

As their kaleidoscopic eruptions continued to hypnotise and confound; looking around, it was clear that the same furrowed brow and slightly perturbed countenance had fallen across the many attentive faces of the crowd.

 

They left the stage before the floods of sound had stopped rushing around the room. Then, almost as if they had planned it (they had), they paced back on. With an encore that bought the cliff-hanging hostage clip to a spirit-shattering end (we’ll say no more on that account), and onto their accompaniment to ‘The Continuing & Lamentable Death of The Suicide Brothers’, a jarring exhibition of unyielding sentimentality and unnerving decadence; and then they played their final number.

And then they were gone.

And if you didn’t get to see it; well I’m afraid I don’t have any more words to console you with.

​