Boards
Midnight The Dog: review
Kurt Vonnegut said "Music is proof of the existence of God."
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury I present Exibit A: Midnight The Dog.
I arrive to catch the arse end of a band called "Rainwater". Their quirky, volatile style left me uninspired. However, I can't write them off until I've heard a full set, so the jury is out. Though I have a feeling that the judge might overrule.
"Eric" were next onstage. As I sat at my table near the bar at Brighton's intimate Freebutt, a new friend turned to me and said " this is what they call post-rock" (ironic quote-fingers and all). That they were. But they were good. Good enough to get me out of my seat in order to see what they looked like. Why would that matter - what they looked like? But I was intrigued. When I sat back down another friend said "are they big and hairy?". No they weren't. They were fresh faced 19 year olds, with talent. I think they could mature into something great. Think iLikeTrains.
I miss the end of Eric's set to capitalise on the cheap drinks upstairs. Afterall, I'm here to see Midnight The Dogs on a friends recommendation.
I wander back into the Freebutt to find no crowd and save myself a spot at the back where I can rest my beer. What the hell is this? A white sheet dangling from the ceiling. Clearly it will be the proud recipient of some clever projections to accompany the music. Only. It's hanging at the front of the stage. I'm not gonna be able to see the band. Okay, okay...this is okay. I turn to my new friend quizically and he says "I've seen them twice - once with the sheet, once without - I fucking hate the sheet". Simultaenously, telepathically we say "pretentious". Okay, okay...this is okay. More people arrive and sit cross legged on the floor.
The band take the stage (I know because I can see their feet shuffling around behind the gap at the bottom of the sheet). Images start to ficker upon the sheet and they begin to play. I can't remember how the first song started as I was trying to work out what the projections on the make-shift screen might be. Is that? Yes. It's Watership Down.
The driving piano, stunning percussion (Johnny Truant's Paul) and melodious carving of the violin instantly become a live sountrack. A soundtrack to scared, resiliant, brave, defiant rabbits. This is really quite good. I feel an idiot for calling them pretentious. It was like calling Eienstein a boffin.
I like post-rock but I really love vocals and they are not always prevelant in this kind of music. I won't be complacent though, music this affecting is rare. Cue the pianist's vocals (I don't know his name - you try googling this band!). Like they are piped in from some cave futher down the coast they are haunting and beautiful.
Halfway through the set I'm overly impressed and content, but my interest in the projection starts to wane. I need more. I look around at the people sat cross legged on the floor. I look at my friends. Then I look over my right shoulder at the sound engineer. He is closed-eyed and dreamy. I want some of that. I turn back to the stage and close my eyes. Fuck me, there it is. Hairs on end and teeth clenched I find it. The glockenspiel plays icy off the chiming piano (afterthought: Has Keane cheapend the piano as an instrument?...shit I should've kept up those lessons when I was too busy playing sports at school). The synth chords underpinning the melody. And the violin. Christ that violin.
The last track has a beat that is so kinetic it makes me want to snap my neck in two. Wasn't hip-hop this good once?
As I'm leaving I hear a guy telling someone he is speechless. That's perfect irony for you.
Anyway, this is not music to put in your car stereo when you are winding down your windows for the Indian summer. But winter is coming, it's on the horizon. And I think I might just need this band to keep me brave, resiliant and defiant.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury I present Exibit A: Midnight The Dog.
I arrive to catch the arse end of a band called "Rainwater". Their quirky, volatile style left me uninspired. However, I can't write them off until I've heard a full set, so the jury is out. Though I have a feeling that the judge might overrule.
"Eric" were next onstage. As I sat at my table near the bar at Brighton's intimate Freebutt, a new friend turned to me and said " this is what they call post-rock" (ironic quote-fingers and all). That they were. But they were good. Good enough to get me out of my seat in order to see what they looked like. Why would that matter - what they looked like? But I was intrigued. When I sat back down another friend said "are they big and hairy?". No they weren't. They were fresh faced 19 year olds, with talent. I think they could mature into something great. Think iLikeTrains.
I miss the end of Eric's set to capitalise on the cheap drinks upstairs. Afterall, I'm here to see Midnight The Dogs on a friends recommendation.
I wander back into the Freebutt to find no crowd and save myself a spot at the back where I can rest my beer. What the hell is this? A white sheet dangling from the ceiling. Clearly it will be the proud recipient of some clever projections to accompany the music. Only. It's hanging at the front of the stage. I'm not gonna be able to see the band. Okay, okay...this is okay. I turn to my new friend quizically and he says "I've seen them twice - once with the sheet, once without - I fucking hate the sheet". Simultaenously, telepathically we say "pretentious". Okay, okay...this is okay. More people arrive and sit cross legged on the floor.
The band take the stage (I know because I can see their feet shuffling around behind the gap at the bottom of the sheet). Images start to ficker upon the sheet and they begin to play. I can't remember how the first song started as I was trying to work out what the projections on the make-shift screen might be. Is that? Yes. It's Watership Down.
The driving piano, stunning percussion (Johnny Truant's Paul) and melodious carving of the violin instantly become a live sountrack. A soundtrack to scared, resiliant, brave, defiant rabbits. This is really quite good. I feel an idiot for calling them pretentious. It was like calling Eienstein a boffin.
I like post-rock but I really love vocals and they are not always prevelant in this kind of music. I won't be complacent though, music this affecting is rare. Cue the pianist's vocals (I don't know his name - you try googling this band!). Like they are piped in from some cave futher down the coast they are haunting and beautiful.
Halfway through the set I'm overly impressed and content, but my interest in the projection starts to wane. I need more. I look around at the people sat cross legged on the floor. I look at my friends. Then I look over my right shoulder at the sound engineer. He is closed-eyed and dreamy. I want some of that. I turn back to the stage and close my eyes. Fuck me, there it is. Hairs on end and teeth clenched I find it. The glockenspiel plays icy off the chiming piano (afterthought: Has Keane cheapend the piano as an instrument?...shit I should've kept up those lessons when I was too busy playing sports at school). The synth chords underpinning the melody. And the violin. Christ that violin.
The last track has a beat that is so kinetic it makes me want to snap my neck in two. Wasn't hip-hop this good once?
As I'm leaving I hear a guy telling someone he is speechless. That's perfect irony for you.
Anyway, this is not music to put in your car stereo when you are winding down your windows for the Indian summer. But winter is coming, it's on the horizon. And I think I might just need this band to keep me brave, resiliant and defiant.