Opening proceedings was Matt Bailey, ex-bassist for Taswegian veterans The Paradise Motel, and now a fully-fledged, bearded, ex-bush-hermit-cum-troubadour – or so the rumour goes.
So. Jaymz couldn’t make it down to this gig; too many responsibilities and all. I feel for you mate, I really do. As soon as the door was open for a substitute reviewer, my foot was jammed firmly in it. FIRMLY. And as an added bonus to the already delectable prospect of checking out Vancouver’s coolest social workers, I get to see the freaking Night Terrors, who are going from strength to strength so fast now, it’s as exciting as a monkey with a flamethrower. Yowzah.
Opening proceedings was Matt Bailey, ex-bassist for Taswegian veterans The Paradise Motel, and now a fully-fledged, bearded, ex-bush-hermit-cum-troubadour – or so the rumour goes. In his solo guise, he pulls a mean gritty sound from a Fender Jag (well, he did tonight, anyway), belying the understated swells in his slow-burning and personal numbers, with a patience which in turn belies his expression (read: restless). A gentle and unassuming opener for a bill on which remains two bands with, ah, mammoth sounds.
Instrumental innovators The Night Terrors have been chugging along (figuratively) through various line-ups for around ten years now, but the one constant throughout has been figurehead and fuck-me-those-hands-are-magical theremin player Miles Brown. His control is, to boil it down, unfathomable. A flick of the finger can produce a refrain of operatic proportions. Balanced against his balls-out distorted bass, which is then balanced against beastly beats and a two-pronged synth avalanche (was that Augie March’s Adam Donovan on second synth? Triple bonus!), it’s easy to see why Black Mountain were all too happy to have these electro-gloom-punk wizards traverse the country with them. Good to see a relatively empty floor turn into a rippling sea of appreciation by the end of the set. They’re supporting Hawkwind soon; exclamation point multiplied by awesome.
And then came the sweet, sweet riffage. Black Mountain ripped into it with Wilderness Heart, the stomping title track off their new album, and the smell of Mary Jane was instantly penetrating everyone’s nostrils. No smoking inside, hipsters, it’s an OH&S thing. I will give it to the crowd though; you couldn’t get a more respectful and appreciative bunch of guys and gals together in the same room, right down to the feller responding to the band’s earnest ‘thank you’s’ halfway through the set noting: ‘I’d like to thank YOU!’
We were treated to about a half-half mix of numbers from Wilderness Heart and previous album In The Future, which provided some of the groovier moments of the night. The one-two punch of Wucan and Tyrants from In The Future was just monumental: the former a slow-building groove of a thing with a winding, ascending lick that just swirls the head in directions it shouldn’t swirl (also for safety reasons); and the latter a monument to dynamic command, jumping from stoner-march intro to softly unsettling respite, back to a heaving, militant riff-scendo which would have Tony Iommi cowering in a corner, back to a folk-ballad coda. I know, I know! Gasp.
The set was brilliantly broken up by two of WH‘s more subdued songs: Buried By The Blues and The Space In Your Mind, which let the divine intermingling of vocalists Stephen McBean and Amber Webber really come to the fore. Then the crew treated us to another one-two gift of Set Us Free and Druganaut from their first album, which cane so much flesh compared to their recorded versions – there is no use translating just how much fun my hips had. Ask me to show you some time.
Miles Brown returned to the stage for a pelting theremin solo on Let Spirits Ride at the end of the set proper, returning the favour from earlier in the night where Black Mountain’s organ/synth whiz, Jeremy Schmidt, served up some tasty blips with the Terrors.
And then, the obligatory encore. My two cents: whatever. Let the poor sods rest for a bit. I don’t care. By the time the closer of the night came around (a fucking scorching rendition of Don’t Run Our Hearts Around), I would have excused them for anything short of punching me in the teeth.
Loved: Tyrants . The new material was divine, but this song fucks minds on record; live, it suspends time and takes them on a three-month B&B fuckfest tour of the countryside.
Hated: That bloody pillar in the middle of the standing room. Don’t expect me to hate anything else if I’m at The Corner.
Drank: Mountain Goat – thanks Ashy.
MATT PANAG
