July 10, 2000

London SE1 Queen Elizabeth Hall

A sick fuck in sophisticate's clothing.

A sick fuck in sophisticate's clothing, Jim O'Rourke sits hunched intently over his guitar. Around him, his hotshot band are all self-consciously reading magazines, but Jim's still singing. "As I lay you down on my bed", he's cooing, "it don't matter that you're brain dead". Mmm. Classy.

This bit of delicate melancholia is 'Halfway To A Threeway', a paean to sex with those of the vegetative persuasion that's extravagantly tasteless enough to be the work of the Bloodhound Gang. Not really what you'd expect of O'Rourke and the allegedly po-faced world in which he operates. After all, he's spent the past decade breezing through music's more extreme sects, veering from modern classical composition to free jazz to Powerbook electronica, from producing Superchunk and Stereolab to his current day job sitting in on bass with Sonic Youth.

Last time he visited Britain, in May, his set mainly consisted of cacophonous guitar improvisations with the worryingly prog-inclined Loren Mazzacane Connors. Tonight, O'Rourke's in much more demure company; a troupe of players from the still flourishing Chicago avant-jazzbo scene led by ace, Miles-inflected cornettist Rob Mazurek and featuring High Llama Sean O'Hagan on piano.

The deal, then, is understated chamber pop, the accent on gentle swells and the prettiness that made his 'Eureka' album from last year such an artful pleasure. The twist, though, is that the crystal acoustics make it so much easier to hear what he's singing about.

And they make quite a contrast. As the magnificent 'Ghost Ship In A Storm' proves, Jim O'Rourke's an affable misanthrope with a powerfully warped sense of humour whose closest contemporary is his sometime collaborator Bill Callahan. He charms the pants off you, then goes in with the surgical instruments. A messy business, for sure, but all wrapped up in the finest quality linen.

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