Tall Firs (USA) + Worse Things Happen At Sea + A Copse + Mother Joan of the Angels |
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Monday, 01 December 2008 |
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One Big Wellington Boot @ The Turk’s Head
2nd October 2008
Photos & Review by Pete
The OBWB track record is so glittering that it’s simply enough to turn up without having checked out any of the acts beforehand. They have positioned themself at the alt end of the promoting spectrum and
It’s a bit desolate upstairs among the ghosts as Graham, Mother Joan of the Angels knelt on the floor to nervously initiate proceedings with a delicately ominous electronic soundscape. Working nerdily away at small controls or with a home-made scratchy-sound-making box thingie with a speaker, lit only by a bead of lights, it’s about making timely interventions as heavy pre-prepped layers, build up and subside, hinting at other worlds, like for example at one time echoing like sonar. It was a set that was never fully in control but that didn’t matter all that much as it was always tingling with compelling power and often surprising subtletly.
Next up was A Copse with another take on ambient but with some guitar worked in. The opening number was soon looking a bit shaky as the initial loops didn’t add up to anything all that much though it was clever to find them bits re-emerge much later in the piece. It then got vast in scale with stuff sounding sort of like a big diesel generator drowned out by a UFO landing. Throughout there were brief moments suggesting something better was
Mate of the headliners, Alistair, quickly established that he had the wherewithall to emanate more reverb than artillery in the cathedral (or made by the cathedral falling into the Grand Canyon). Reminscent of a 70s North American guitar songsmith there was also excess vibrato in those sincere, feeling-heavy and repeatedly downbeat ballads. He seemed a deeply nice bloke.
Next were headlining three-piece The Tall Firs, all the way from Brooklyn, New York, USA, doing well to hide some of their reasonable disappointment at the turn out. On a UK tour that saw them in Scotland the night before and Bristol the day after it was all probably looking hard work and for not much.
Final act of the night was when the stage area was cleared. To mark the end of OBWB’s year there was a
More pics at www.shine.clara.co.uk/gigs webspace.
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just put on whatever it is they personally want to see. It can be a bit of a luxury when as tonight only twenty or so people show up and they are paying for the privilege. 
coming but it never quite happened. Barely emotional enough - even tone generators can be made to say something real or curious - and just a bit devoid. By the end the guitar was well out of tune and J Kaye was looking frustrated, like he’d badly let himself down. 
Whatever the reason the first few numbers were slow and unconvincing, so slow as to probably match the pace at which actual fir trees grow. It was ambling stuff and as uncommitted as a lightly re-worked jam session. The two lead guitars were clearly musically literate, making confident explorations, well within their limits but not perhaps being the highly accomplished. More imposing was drummer Ryan Sawyer’s enthralling playing, showing plenty of lively unpredictability and contributing more than his fair share. Three songs in and Ryan’s vitality started to warm the other two up and it got more interesting and the modest crowd responded by getting more appreciative, too. These three guys were now like hanging, sharing with us what is evidently a special thing for them it all started to get more exciting as they got stuck in. Yeah, great stuff. By the end I was just about converted to the non-deciduous arboreal cause. 
sacrifice to be made - Worse Things Happen At Sea. A mucky old upright piano was dragged from the shadows and ringed with microphone - as it was about to be battered to bits. This process began delicately, with hands feeling for weaknesses in the structure, touching, stroking and only then did sledgehammers and crowbars appear. As the attack ensued a thin veil of fine dust was released, filling the whole room, traces lit by camera flashes. Thunderous blows echoed back through laptops and looping units, providing a dark wave of aimless noise. Punctuated with brief pauses and renewed hammers sparking off the cracked innards it wasn’t long till the whole building was shuddering and probably much of the Newport area of Lincoln until all that remained after ten minutes was an ex piano, smashed to wires and kindling. It felt like some 1920s Berlin happening. Sordid but cool. I’m telling their mums. This page was last updated Thursday, 09 October 2008
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