Recently i’ve been doing promotions for a company that, in addition to putting on some of London’s most well-known festivals, owns venues in almo
st every corner of this here musically inclined city. Obviously this excludes my corner due to the fact that yummy mummies and tweed-wearing gramps aren’t the most frequent of gig-goers, but that my friends is what you call an audio monopoly. The work, despite in its very nature being of the soul-sucking variety (yes promotions is the profesh way of saying flyering), has been extremely rewarding. This is mostly in part to my boss telling me to just have fun and ignore the shit bits and thus far, i’ve developed a rock hard tolerance to intolerant Londoners and an in-body temperature gauge that sits at arctic levels – winning all round!
However, the most rewarding experience took place last Tuesday, whilst flyering at The War on Drugs at the Brixton Academy. A gig-goer clearly spasmed out at being accosted by the very rare sight of a smiling pamphleteer and offered me the extra plus one on his guestlist. Said gig-goer was the busine
ss manager at a big playa record company that is also a big playa movie production company, having dipped its toes in many other big playa pools of cultural production. I could harp on about musical commodification and all that but lets just say I sucked up my pride (more like tossed the dam thing aside) and wandered backstage feeling like one hell of a big playa. Conveniently, my phone battery died and to the left is my only photographic evidence of the evening. So whilst not putting quill to parchment, I am going to be astutely traditional and use words to describe the show (and some Google images of course).
After my eyeballs had returned to their normal width and breadth, I took in the logistics of the show. To be frank I don’t like the O2 venues. In my mind, seats and music venues ended their union at the turn of the 20th century and in this day and age exist solely in opera houses and as oil and water, i.e. not mixing for shit. O2 venues have them, the Brixton Academy didn’t. Instead the stage was framed by a proscenium arch, Greek theatre statues and neon lighting, making for one theatrical magpie’s nest where the magpies had taken all manner of psychedelic substances. The ground floor was a sloping skate ramp-like bowl slanting down to the stage, garnering everyone with the ability to see the stage – a definite plus for the seat-disliking, vertically challenged folk.
Then it was time to watch the boys who had christened themselves as knights forging war against the narcotics trade, a hilariously ironic anomaly considering the herby fumes wafting amongst the queues outside. Gigs are the best man. I’d only heard a couple of songs off their critically acclaimed recent album Lost in a Dream, which had a reserved spot on almost every Best of 2014 list, (See The Year Music Critics Surrendered to The War on Drugs) but established that their chilled electric folk-rock is not really for me. For some reason, their locomotive like percussion and synthy guitar always reminded me of Springsteen, which is my own misdoing considering how big a fan I am of the Boss. However, the sextet, which makes sense considering how richly textured their sound is, launched into their opening track and produced a set of such ethereal yet vibey quality, you couldn’t help but bob along to the trip.
The set was arguably led and held together by the tripartite alliance of; the theatrical percussion of Charlie Hall who provides the engine and driving force. Then the dual playing keyboardist (they have three, so I can’t tell his name – but he was playing two keyboards) gave the set a synthy reverb and expansive effect. This was topped off by the elongated guitar riffs and gentle yet tortured vocals of Adam Granduciel. They were undoubtedly let down by the sound quality of the venue, producing a stadium quality set that couldn’t reach its visceral proportions (soundcheck an optional extra?). I’m not sure that I would buy the album aside to serve as soundtrack to some epic 11-hour roadtrip, which would only be possible here if I was looking to do a full circumnavigation of the UK. Unsurprisingly, I’m not. But, I would see them live again, if only for their sound to be performed with the quality a six person orchestral rock outfit deserves. My final thought is, and an utter mystery -much like the case of the earplugs at the Barfly, which self-serving shitty artist decided they should soundproof the backstage bar at a gig? The mind does wander.
Step into The War on Drugs’ world here (and buy their album, follow their tour etc.)
Earshooting 