It was time that I was no longer entered the small hall of the Ancienne Belgique Club, at least three years I would say. Is it because my tastes have become more mainstream and the artists that interest me are now playing in larger venues, or more generally because the experience of live tempt me less than before? A bit of both probably. Yet, although I felt a little door at odds with the public already present, the case that I have been obliged to return from work did not help, I found some fun with this confined atmosphere, which reminds me of some concerts of Godspeed You Black Emperor, The Kills, Patrick Wolf or Sunn O ))).
The reason for my presence is Big Pink, London duo carried by a buzz that does not weaken (Google queries leading daily on this blog attest) and whose first two singles me everything both recalled an entire segment of the indie music of the 90s (somewhere between trip-hop, shoegaze of Slowdive and indie tinged crapoteux Electro of The Wolfgang Press ) and seemed totally original. This enthusiasm had initially been amplified by their signatures on my favorite label 4AD before falling back somewhat to listen to the album, not entirely convincing to the length.
But first things first is to say the first part provided by The Germans, Dutch-Belgian group, whose post-rock based on repetition and stacking layers of sound to me quite frankly in 2009 seemed a little anachronistic (or blows me parachronique Webster). There are a few ideas here and intriguing in including the use of voices, and the drummer is doing pretty well, but overall I thought it was pretty feeble. Yet I thought for a moment that would take the last piece on the wire my membership, with its icy synth line on which a monotone chant came a few desperate words. Alas, soon enough, the song falls into the shortcomings of the above. The tempo racing, bassist surbouge and the public goes back to sleep. Worse, we dig up the keyboard as a symbolic gesture of a rogue its ultra-low falling like a hair in the soup and return to very nearly the stomachs of all the public, which was undoubtedly the goal continued but hey, is not Sunn O))) which means I have to admit that the end of the set appeared to me as a deliverance.
then begins the ballet of the roadies setting up the gear, including racks of pedals to LF, while the smoke is injected into continuous streams into the room, so much so that one ends up wondering if the room will still contain enough oxygen for the survival of the public during the concert. Spot tests, ostentatiously aimed directly at the faces of the public also seem to indicate that the effect sought by technicians is a sunrise in the fog, which would not be so bad if this foggy had also presided over the sound balance.
Indeed, when the group enters, it immediately to erect a wall of guitars and bass that even the blows of the threshing machine, will never break down. The voice was at times covered so that it became difficult to recognize songs played. Too bad because, like listening to the album confirms, their best songs are chiefly for the way the singer's plaintive voice combines with blips, electronic effects and changes of atmosphere that dot the songs. If we add a communication with the public for close to absolute zero the very small hours of the concert, it is difficult not to come to the conclusion that the group has absolutely nothing to offer live. A missed opportunity.
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