Aereogramme

I’m really not that familiar with the music of Aereogramme: I’ve always been aware of it, but never devoted much time to getting properly involved in their albums. I have the impression that they’re one of those bands that appear to attract devotees rather than fans, and this thought strikes a chord of trepidation as I prepare to review their one-off show at the newly-refurbished Water Rats Theatre. I manage to feel slightly less like an impostor and a dilettante as I remind myself that this show is to be a preview of their forthcoming album: in theory even the faithful haven’t heard this material before.

The burly Scottish chaps make their way on stage, faces valanced, adorned in black like extras from a production of Hamlet set in a sticky-walled metal club. They proceed to air tracks from their new album, My Heart Has A Wish That You Would Not Go, interspersed with favourites from their back catalogue. The former receive cheers as heady as the familiar material, and to my ears the quality is maintained throughout. The triple-time folk lilt is still present in rhythm and melody, as is the precise command of dynamics and texture. Chiming tones ring out atop churning guitars to create a stratified wall of sound through which wavering, fragile vocals seep. At times everything hovers, poised perfectly between the dichotomy of serenity and violence. The effect is like listening to a tiny music box whilst operating a demolition crane.

The poignant, elegiac 'Black Path' stands out for me, as does a particularly crushing rendition of 'Dreams and Bridges'. Dynamics are further enhanced as various band members move to the front of the stage to punctuate the rhythm with a variety of percussion instruments, notably a huge bass drum which is periodically beaten with abandon. Somehow though, it seems to me as if they are always threatening to explode into fury but continually exercising a degree of restraint, and I start to crave a moment of real catharsis and rage to bring the sensitivity and held-back pace of the material into relief.

Belying their threatening appearance, the band come across as friendly and humble, and one can easily imagine shooting the breeze with them down the local over a pint or two. Hecklers appear to take advantage of this, and patiently-received song requests descend into yobbish bellowing which threatens to ruin the atmosphere. The band takes it in their stride, berating the loudmouths to “shut the fuck up”, and receiving a cheer for doing so.

With an audience this enthusiastic, leaving without an encore is out of the question, and they return to enthusiastic applause. 'Post-Tour, Pre-Judgement' is saved until last, and the chorus lands like a pile of bricks, the sheer density of sound compelling me to involuntarily shout "FUCK!" The crushing riff at the climax of the song is delivered with a degree of vitriol previously absent from the set, and this renders it all the more shocking.

I wander out onto the street in a confused state: as much as I enjoyed the show, I feel like it should have affected me deeper than it did. I can’t help but think that I’ve missed something, the only indicators of which were the glazed eyes, jubilant expressions and hyperbolic praise of others. It sinks in a few days later as I realise that snippets of words, sounds and the feelings they evoked are still bouncing round my head: one can only grasp the emotional impact of Aereogramme’s music after having lived alongside it. I keep on recalling a lyric: “In a way, without hate, I wouldn’t be who I am”.

These are songs to save your soul on that most hungover Sunday; to help you confront the slow march of days with some kind of dignity. The music and seemingly ambiguous lyrics absorb dirt from the shoes and sweat from the skin until personal meaning is ascribed, and listening to them feels like an ultimately redemptive affirmation of all that is right and wrong in one’s life. Nothing is forced or exaggerated; emotions are laid bare with a plaintive directness which I’ve only been able to appreciate over time.