Damo Suzuki
Supported by Tex Perkins conducting the Bumhead Orchestra, Machine Death
Annandale Hotel
22/02/2008
I’ve tried to start this review many times over, this past weekend. I’ve been mulling this gig over in my head for at least 72 hours, and I’m still coming up short for any possible way to describe it with justice- aside from resorting to listing all the different ways to say “What the shit did we just see?”.
It’s a fact – there are some who become uncomfortable in a structureless environment. There are those that crave walls and boundaries in their music. For these (understandably) cautious folks, the name Damo Suzuki perhaps wouldn’t be striking any particular sparks. For the same people, the name Tex Perkins may raise a few half-interested eyebrows and mutterings of “Hey, it’s the guy from Cruel Sea!”. And for the same people, the name Machine Death would conjure images of drone-heavy sets of rumbling, aimless noise.
While most, if not all of these assumptions are vaguely true, there is a much larger reality at play. But first, let’s sort out the facts. Damo Suzuki, now in his late fifties, is perhaps best known for his short-lived stint as vocalist in the Krautrock group Can. Following his departure from this seminal psychedelia outfit, a ten year tenure as a Jehovah’s Witness led to the complete halt in musical output for the decade of 1974-1984.
In 1984, he formed The Damo Suzuki Network- and Suzuki now travels from country to country, performing free form, improvisational verse with whatever local band happens to take his fancy at the time. This has led to some incredibly interesting collaborations over the years, perhaps most notably his recent EP appearance with Omar Rodriguez, eclectic composer/guitarist who makes up one half of The Mars Volta.
The night at The Annandale was a sprawling, unpredictable array of moods, sounds and colours. Seeing Damo Suzuki perform with a new band is akin to watching an open paint tin thrown into the air- your breath is held in suspended panic, waiting to see where the paint inevitably lands and sets. Friday was an evening of formless improvisation and interlocking moods, held together by backing band The Holy Soul (who, by the way, are about as tight as is possible without imploding). Suzuki, hardly a diminutive-looking stage presence, drew us to his world with his beautifully indiscernible words and an unrelenting web of melodies and chaos. Alternating between crystal-sounding words sung with unrivaled passion, and yelling at us in a faux-death metal tones, Suzuki proved to be one of those ridiculously versatile vocalists that most frontmen wish they could touch.
Yes, it’s true- there are some that become uncomfortable in a structureless environment. But this wasn’t the case in the tightly packed Annandale Hotel; where one person seemed just as attuned as another to the unpredictable nature of the slowly unfolding movements of the night.
The band played for about an hour and a half, and took breaks for a few seconds of silence only two or three times. Damo grinned at the crowd and thanked us for coming out, just before they launched into their final, most ambient movement. There were no songs to speak of, just gradually building themes and repetitions- the band jamming themselves into welcoming grooves and uncharted noise-based territories; Damo rising above the intricate instrumentation with his image-conjuring vocals, building the music into peaks and valleys.
This is raw power encapsulated into wavering masses of sound, that sneak and undulate with the rhythm of the ecstatic crowd. This is The DAMO SUZUKI NETWORK, and you can all colour me impressed and still speechless (which explains why I’ve spent much of this review just calling on my stream of consciousness to help me out).
The Holy Soul have a great drummer. This is me, out.
-JG
Josh Gibbs isn’t too impressive, but once completed one of those really large junior jumbles. He cheated.
Suggested Further Listening:
“Future Days” – Can
“Tago Mago” – Can
“Please Heat This Eventually” – Omar Rodriguez Quintet w/Damo Suzuki*
