Disclaimer: I’m far from expert in anything musical, and the last thing I bought of Autechre’s was the 1994 “Amber” album. To be frank, I pretty much lost interest as they entered their more indulgently abstract phase. “Incunabula” is still my favourite Autechre album, probably as it’s by far their, um, well, grooviest. As such, I’m the last person who should review their recent gig, but that never stopped a self-proclaimed internet pundit before, and you’re actually reading, aren’t you? so on we go …
It was about a month ago at the Forum nightclub, a shiny new venue on the edge of Fox Studios’ “Entertainment Precinct” (read “Money Hoover”). Shall I begin with the Forum’s complete inappropriateness for the event? The interior looks like someone gave a 90′s designer lots of cocaine and a big budget, all curvy balconies and mezzanines on mezzanines, a dozen little staircases, circled around the open centre space which is, ostensibly, a dancefloor with a stage at the end – albeit a stepped dancefloor, at spaces of about 1.5 metres, alternately dark and glowing with white light (this is an important detail, you’ll understand later). The first noticeable impact this agglomeration of odd, staggered spaces, apart from the difficulty of moving around among a packed crowd, is the awkward sound quality of the room. Evidently no acoustic engineers were consulted during or after the construction of this club, or if they were, their advice was ignored. Rather than a carefully placed and considered array of speakers to fill out the many levelled and faceted room, someone had opted for the basic “wall of sound” approach, with a huge stack of speakers on either side of the stage. The result was a room mostly full of deadspots of varying frequency, with about half a dozen tiny sweetspots scattered, seemingly randomly. The Forum would be a great venue for a corporate Christmas party, or a location for a TV ad selling aftershave …
Aaaanyway, there were three acts, that I noticed, including two unadvertised support acts. The first was unknown to me, and I’m okay with that, I think. I arrived too late to really give a fair assessment, though, so I probably should move on.
Mark Pritchard, best known to me as half of the mid-90′s Jedi Knights, was next. For the first half of his set he reassured me that the Knights’ appeal was not based solely on his partner Mr Middleton’s input, i.e. I danced my booty off to some thumping electrofunk for almost half an hour, happily ensconced in one of the few dancefloor-located sweetspots. The latter part of the set dropped into a more boring 4/4 fast-as-you-can kind of affair, but that was okay because I wanted a cigarette by then. So, I’m actually kind of happy at this point, not too worried that Autechre might turn out shite because I’ve already had this unexpected windfall of funk, and with the dancefloor not-too-full, at that. I’m glad I ate that bit of blotter when I did. Nostalgia reigns.
Intermission: carpark. By far the most socially entertaining area of the evening, as is often the case. Here I met some of the usual suspects, although not as many as I’d have hoped, plus some new and quite jovial freaks, reminding me of times in the carparks of a golden, bygone day. Carparks are the party that runs parallel to the party inside, y’know, as is any space directly outside a noisy, crowded venue.
When Autechre arrive we know it’s them because the room suddenly goes almost completely dark. Bar lights only. No stage lights, no glowing-floor lights … darkness. And Autechre’s signature grinding, sweeping grunts and groans, the over-capacity crowd pressing forward, yet most of them, oddly, managing to stand completely still as they moved closer … I was a bit underwhelmed for a while, frankly, standing way up the back with an old friend, until he told me to switch positions with him, and by moving two paces I stepped out of a deadspot into a sweet one, bass and groove suddenly thump the giblets and tug the tendons. So I decided to brave the dancefloor, the frenzied mass of grooving, sweating hedonists … no, wait, this is an Autechre gig, silly me, I want people to dance? I think I saw a few heads bobbing up and down at the front, but I was one of the few people in my centre-dancefloor location who was foolish enough to try actually physically engaging with the music, for the few periods when Autechre weren’t fucking with anyone who was trying to, erm, dance. But perhaps they were just trying to prevent casualties among the crowd, who were mostly standing on what is, remember, a stepped dancefloor, denied the light which now makes a practical kind of sense – when the floor was lit, you could see each step. Y’see? But our elevated soundsmiths, Autechre, can’t allow base considerations like health and safety to dictate their lighting requests at a gig, it’s clearly better to let the music be, like, pure, man, than it is to allow punters to dance with sure footing. If that means dancing is positively discouraged, so be it.
Since I’d almost fallen down several times just getting onto the dancefloor, I decided to tough it out for a while, and managed to spread some wriggling space around me* to enjoy a few of the more accessible tracks, endure the interludes of head-fuckery**, and even manage to socialise with a few wasted folks sitting against the wall, as they were in a deadspot and it was quiet enough to converse without yelling. After a while, though, enough was enough – the music wasn’t getting any more rhythmic, and the crowd wasn’t getting any more mobile. So I braved the return journey up the dancefloor’s steps, nearly falling again***, and exited for another cigarette. Sad to say, I didn’t return. I tried to, wanting to find a good spot to just sit and listen, but as I neared the front door the blotter in me shouted “Retreat!”, visualising the dark pit and its close, immobile throng. So I phoned a friend who had but a moment before run away with his own blotted ideas, and arranged a rendezvous in the park across the road, to pass the remainder of the evening in a more enjoyable way. It even involved a bit of lying on a hillside and staring at the clouds under a full moon. If he were a girl, it’d have been dead romantic.
Look, don’t get me wrong. I like that Autechre do what they do, even if I don’t listen to most of it – I mean, I don’t listen to most music, full stop. And it’s not their fault I’m a blinkered sentimentalist who wishes every new song stirred him as did “Bass Cadet.” They’ve every right to perform in an environment of their moulding, and to be honest I’d quite like to give them another try sometime … but not at that venue. As it was, I’d have done better by myself and Autechre both, had I spent my $60 on a couple of their latest CDs and turned the lights off in my bedroom.
Oh well.
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* Handy hint: erratic flailing movements are a good way to clear space … just about anywhere, really.
** Too many clashing rhythms, not enough of the signature, cohesive payoff. Was it just sloppy mixing? Or have Autechre branched so far into incomprehensible listener-unfriendliness challenging avant-gardeism?
*** Man, that dancefloor was dangerous. Sure, I was wasted, but I’ve been more so, in far more unpredictable places, and never felt so vulnerable to falling over. I mean, a brand new nightclub should be a sandpit compared to, say, a derelict warehouse, or a cliff-top rave at night. Bah! They don’t make parties like they used to. My knee hurts. Where are my teeth? etc.
