It's one of those 'outside time' nights. ...
It’s one of those ‘outside time’ nights. A chandelier hangs like the pendulum of a stopped clock and beneath it the edgy types from the Mind Horizon label and their [I]Sleaze Nation [/I]artzine friends > have assembled a variety pack of un-themed stimuli under the No Division banner.
Turin Breaks sit down to strum their dusty acoustic guitars, but there are wings on their stoolzone country chording. Reticent bloke duo in appearance, they nevertheless find a compelling plaintive pitch, adding slide guitar to the superboosted harmonies in a way that evokes [a]Neil Young[/a]’s more wistful moments, with [a]Elliott Smith[/a] and I Am Kloot peeking from the fringes.
Schizo DJing from Lazarus and pop connoisseur/saboteur Skylab crashes into quality stoned MCing and hip-hop beats from DJ Skitz and Rodney P. The chandelier is by now quivering with confusion. The freethinker hipster crowd doesn’t know whether to dance or write a thesis.
Then come Lisp, wrapping a blue velvet curtain round their timeslot. Draw a diagram of darkly wrapped floaty rock bands and Lisp would be down the very, very serious end of the spectrum. All intricate guitars and holy flagellant vocals, they stand back from their hyper-emotional songs, turning their set into a kind of sound installation.
Forget Radiohead comparisons, Lisp are way more ghostly. Their music of beautiful dark-night-of-the-soul undercurrents makes way for the jarring presence of final turn Max Tundra, a man seemingly on a mission to push us over the edge of mindboggle. A kind of ultra-Warp, electronic-buffoon-savant, he fist punches through a sample assault approximating The Chemical Brothers on scary free-jazz pills.
Out there on the musical horizon, the water’s definitely warm.