Gareth Liddiard has probably been to some bad pubs, full of drunk, aggressive men spitting out close-minded contempt amid clouds of bad breath. He’d have driven some lonely, never-ending roads, only to have his car break down and be too skint to fix it. He’s eaten a few bad tacos, maybe even wound up with food poisoning. Hangovers? Yeah those too. The unbelievably painful, call the booking agent, the tour’s off, kind of hangovers.
But none of these upsets is anywhere near as bad as the everyday circumstances of a significant percentage of the world’s population – those living in poverty, starved or suffering from a malignant virus; those trapped under the rule of an oppressive dictator, overcome by fear and denied basic freedoms or opportunities for self growth; those whose day-to-day agenda merely consists of trying to survive, with no grasp of what it means to feel bored.
Liddiard and his band The Drones know that the disappointments of our privileged existence are never equivalent to the sufferings of people in the aforementioned situations. Liddiard isn’t a human rights activist or a political marshal. Tonight, like most nights, he was the frontman of a rock band. A guy playing a very loud guitar and letting out mangled, disturbed screams and shrieks. But he didn’t look away from the vast disparities of our world – the laziness and self-indulgence that regularly makes a mockery of our species’ purportedly advanced evolution.
The Drones’ new album, Feelin Kinda Free, dominated the setlist. The record depicts a band having a lot of fun – inclusive fun, too, which we saw that tonight. From the histrionic synth explosions of Private Execution to the primitive rhythms and cynical barks of Taman Shud and the militant groove of Boredom, there was plenty to make this feel like a party. But that’s not to say The Drones’ performance allowed us to forget our cares and insecurities and bask in the brilliance of it all.
Yeah, sure, there were plenty of awe-inspiring moments. When Liddiard and Dan Luscombe stomped the ground in front of them, making their guitars sound like disgusted, hungry lions, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp of sublime appreciation. And when Liddiard tore into the second chorus of I See Seaweed, vomiting out the loaded resignation “Ain’t that just the way things are,” you were urged to sign whatever bill he was presenting, join the cult.
But really, if you were paying close attention – and it’d have been very difficult not to be – you couldn’t avoid asking yourself, “Why aren’t I doing more? Why do I take my privilege for granted, and encourage distractions? Why do I play along with social structures that directly fuel greed?”
It was a shock to the system. A violence in sound and thought. A change is as good as a holiday. A Drones show is far more significant.
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
LOVED: The Harmony choir.
HATED: Perspective.
DRANK: Bitter.
