Last Night: My Bloody Valentine at the Concourse
My Bloody Valentine
Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2008
The Concourse
Review by Jennifer Maerz
Better than: Cape Canaveral on ecstasy
What kind of fucked up dreams am I going to have after this show? The whole walk to the car after My Bloody Valentine finished, the insides of my ears tickled. My head felt like my brain was still rattling around in my skull. And now that my hearing has dulled to a low ringing noise, I think I can sit down and write. But man, live My Bloody Valentine enters you like a demon that refuses exorcism until the sound guy flips the house music on at the end of the night.
But I'll back up a bit. Last night one of the loudest, most powerful, and most affecting acts of the early '90s took the stage after a 15 or so year hiatus from the music scene. And despite being booked in one of the worst venues in the city (the way the sound works at the Concourse, you may as well be watching your favorite band from inside a giant tunnel), the crowd was more than decent, filling up a good two thirds of the room by the end of the night. Old school fans hung out by the bar discussing where they saw MBV back in 1992, and one dedicated '90s alt music fan proudly sported his Nine Inch Nails Pretty Hate Machine shirt for the occasion.
Spectrum, the recent act from Sonic Boom (of Spacemen 3) warmed up the crowd with the sound of drone, drums, and feedback that peaked, crashed, and swelled again like giant ocean waves. It was good stuff, especially the song that sounded like it a cover of Mudhoney's "When Tomorrow Hits" heard from inside a codeine high. The Spectrum vibe was warm, loud, and enveloping, a perfect display of that whole "shoegazer" sound as it should be performed -- spiked with dark, sharp bits and loud as fuck.
But Spectrum was a lullaby compared to the arsenal My Bloody Valentine had on its setlist. The four-piece came out prepared to puncture the crowd in every format possible. Their strobe lights, pastel lasers, and polka-dotted movies burned corneas. Their voluminous white noise rattled your rib cage. But those intimate female hums and harmonies grabbed your heart, never letting you forget that at the center of this assault was a romanticism beautiful as it is violent.
The brave few attempted their shouted requests ("Only Shallow!" ... followed by "We love you") but their words were quickly buried under the band's handy work. No matter, as MBV went through all their hits... "Only Shallow," "To Here Knows When," "Soon" ... basically a full hour of proof that a decade plus later, these tracks still get in there and affect your bloodstream like no other band.
The physicality of the performance was really unparalleled too. I've have my bones rattled by severely loud acts -- Sunn O))), Black Dice -- but really nothing as fierce as the ending to the MBV show. Between the strobes, the stacks of amps, and all the guitar lines ballooning and backflipping through your brain, plus a drummer whose beats rained down like a hailstorm -- it felt like your organs were getting jigged into your throat. But nothing came close to the finale -- 20 plus minutes of noise upon noise upon noise. I could see the band members playing the whole time, but the sound was like a rocket launch where the spaceship never leaves the vicinity, instead breaking one sound barrier after another ten feet away from you. It was enough to make people uncomfortable (one of my friends even felt nauseous). Just as you thought they'd taken that incredible feedback sprawl as far as it could go, they'd push it further, and even further. An atomic bomb of sound. And light. Blinding white light.
I'm not exaggerating when I say My Bloody Valentine was one of the best shows I've seen all year. Even though it jacked my hearing, my insides, my skull, and probably a lot of other body parts I'll discover have become discombobulated in a bit, I have to give props to a band that simply inhabits you when you see them perform live. And although MBV can be cruel to its admirers (or, I should say to our hearing, even with the free earplugs passed out at the door), that sweet center inside their walls of sound is the drug keeping all of us blissed out -- and making it impossible to ignore the next invitation (if they offer it again) to receive this wonderful punishment once again.





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