Not sounding anything like the warped noise of Merzbow himself, the first band on have presumably been plucked out of East London for the volume they create. Their music is noisy, but born out of rock traditions and
instruments, and with no laptops in sight. They come onto the small stage very casually, and start with Shellac-esque atonal riffing that takes a few minutes to grow into something more catchy and conventional. The transition is carried out expertly as they move through noise rock, sludge, stoner and doom and all the way back again. What's even better is the way they strike a consistent tone – the singer's distorted, angry screams do most of the work, and hint ever so slightly at the angst of Harvey Milk's Creston Piers. It's hard hitting but captivating and a lot of fun to watch, and much better than the few recordings available online at this point would suggest.
Next on are Nadja. Aidan Baker is a very busy man, releasing several albums a year under his own name but a finding the time to collaborate with the likes of Tim Hecker and as with Nadja, 'bookbinder' Leah Buckareff. Things start well, fierce guitar and bass drones being processed through a tabletop covered in samplers, effects pedals and mixers, some looping the sounds while others play progressive drum patterns and spoken word samples.
Sadly, the reliance on technology takes its toll when the power shorts, cutting out everything. Obvious frustration from the band is greeted with a we-know-it's-not-your-fault round of applause and calls for an unplugged show, but the sound man comes on and seems to get things back on track. They abandon the loops they'd been building for the past fifteen minutes and try a different song, but this only lasts about five minutes before everything trips again. They soldier on, and move into a haunting piece with murmuring samples and rich stringed harmonies. Again the sound man comes on to sort the next power failure but the recurring problem is really starting to interfere, and after a few more outages Aidan says they'll have one last go until it cuts out for the final time. They don't last thirty seconds and a gutted Nadja leaves with a great and very understanding reception. In better circumstances they'd surely be sublime, but it was hard to get totally involved with the fear that everything could stop at any moment.
In spite of the venue's best efforts, Masami Akita has been recording under the name of Merzbow for over thirty years and it'd take a staggeringly bad set up to stunt him. He senses that a large amp on the left isn't working and sorts it out well before starting, and with that there are no more technical issues. Joining him is Hungarian metal drummer Balázs Pándi, who gives extra bite without laying down too tight a structure over Merzbow's often searching sounds.
And it's an absolute onslaught – Akita rarely pauses, with Pándi spending most of the time pounding away somewhere in the middle of the mix. He plays his strangely assembled guitar-like instrument resembling both a
defibrillator and a dystopian Japanese landscape. It lives up to its looks, producing all the harshness and dissonance you'd expect from someone who sticks so rigidly to a formula of white noise. His interest in BDSM definitely comes across, appearing calm and collected as he does, sat at his office desk while subjecting the entire audience to the most nightmarish aural monsters he's collected and built over the course of his career. When it finally does come to an end there's a sense of relief, especially for the sake of tortured ears, but there's an unsettling desire for it to continue. It's not quite victim's guilt, but a longing for the intense, carefully structured extremes that he conjures up so readily.
Originally posted on Rare FM
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