A week has passed by – another week of work stuff – marking, going to meetings, writing lesson plans and… well… more … stuff. And it occurs to me that scarcely seven days ago I was stood cheeks glowing, eyes glimmering in my Happiest of Places… beer in hand, merch in pocket, before a small stage, watching a bunch of shambling musicians plugging their instruments, checking levels and asking for more bass in their monitor.
Heady times.
The stage was Strange Brew, the musicians Gruff Rhys and chums, the event a serendipitously placed gig, the evening before Bristol’s Simple Things city-festival. For the second time in recent months, I was the grateful beneficiary of a guest-list pass and I don’t mind admitting I was feeling pretty damn good.
Starting at the beginning is rather passé these days, so I’ll start from the middle and dodge backwards and forwards as fancy takes me. I’ll come back to Gruff, I promise, but I think I’ll jump forward to Saturday tea-time. I’m eagerly stood in front of a stage at… well… Strange Brew, beer in hand etc…
L’Rain, Simple Things
One of the chief pleasures of any sort of festival event (apart from the whole do-what-you-will vibe of escapism and half-arsed irresponsibility) is that of tagging along to see an act that someone else said they’d heard was supposed to be good. No expectations, no Mojo reviews, no nothing really…
Accordingly, I knew not the slightest thing about L’Rain up to that point, but I see now they’re Brooklyn-based, that there are, I think, three albums out, the last of which was favourably reviewed by Pitchfork, and they’ve just completed a European tour, one of the last legs of which was here in the West Country.
L’Rain is I think the name of the band but also the singer and it was her, exotically bespectacled who introduced herself with a faintly passive/aggressive declaration that the only thing she asked of us is that we should all “truly be here”. If this is North American for “stop fookin’ chatting at the back!”, I’m completely on board, but otherwise, hmmm…
Actually, on reflection, it was an auspicious introduction to a set of immersive, jazz-tinged compositions that alternately set the nerves jangling and the pulses racing. Backed by a saxophonist/moog player, a quickening, industrious drummer, another guy on bass and fiddly bits and an impressively fidgety guitarist who appeared to be working double-time (at one point he was playing with his guitar upside down, neck on the floor, strings towards us). In the photos I took, L’Rain herself plays guitar and sings, although I think she played bass too.
She opened with the title song from her most recent album, I Killed Your Dog, which at the time I don’t think I really appreciated. Opening with a long wave of dogs howling and closing with another long improvisational surge, it was … challenging. But it’s quite a remarkable song with an unusual progression of chords. I’ve not a clue what she’s done with it, but even I can hear what an ambitious composition it is. In fact the more I hear it since, the weirder and more compelling it becomes:
“It’s OK,” she said afterwards, “I’m an artist, I’m trained in the use of metaphor”.
The rest of the set was similarly atmospheric with swashes of awkward sound making their ungainly way across the stage and out across the floor. It was really impressive and at times beautiful stuff and as a set it’s grown in stature in my mind during these seven days.
There are a couple of decent recordings that I’m happy to share here, but there’s a lot of stuff on YouTube which captures the intricacies of L’Rain just as nicely.
Take a bit of time, this is worth hearing a couple of times…
New Year’s Unresolution (I think… someone will tell me)
Partly Porpoise 