Thursday 06/10/05 Deerhoof, The Drones, Alexander Tucker @ Fiddlers, Bristol

Unannounced Alexander Tucker began bowing an eerie effect on some form of electric mandolin, before laying down loop after loop, layer after layer, of droning chants. He circulated his microphone in front of him, varying the pitch, to create lush swooshes and swirls that were both folky and flaky. This would have been jaw-dropping had we not seen this done several times before - and usually to much better effect. Continuing by adding waves, at first lapping then thunderous, of taunt, fuzzy acoustic guitar to the mix,  the resulting grim, mournful soundscape was just a little too mushed up in the middle and lacking clarity and direction.

His whole set was practically one long uninterrupted piece that would occasionally strip right down to percussive beats before snapping suddenly back into trance inducing ripples. There were songs in there, as his rich voice attempted to break it’s way though the buzzing atmospheric noises he’d created, but the result was more soporific than energising. It all dragged on a bit, without any real variation from the construction of soundscapes that often skirted the edge of pain, and a timely finish narrowly avoided boredom setting in. The Drones, from Australia, were up next. They could play, they could sing, they could stay in time, they had some swagger. They sounded a bit like a beefed up White Stripes. There’s not much else to say about them really. Pretty nondescript: they weren’t bad, but then they weren’t that good either.

So what do you get when you mix a 4ft high oriental singer with a penchant for semaphore with three members of the national academy for autistic musicians? The most 'mentalist', brain melting, eye-popping, goddam glorious, cacophonous, precise, mess. Feeling like they were freshly out of their garage practice packaging, the four members of Deerhoof jerked and whacked themselves and their instruments about the stage indulging in preposterously brilliant time signature changes, Blue Peter style hand signs, intense moments of musical insanity and delicate mini-riffs. At times is was as if the tiny singer was trying to chirrup out some lovely left of centre love songs only to be sabotaged by the others bombarding her chirpy vocals with an artillery of Math. Each was almost totally lost in the own, probably very scary world, playing utterly without inhibitions and yet despite the free spirited, individualistic nature of their playing, the whole effect sounded special. The drummer was an utter maniac, playing with only bass drum, snare and a busted high hat he produced a barrage of blistered, chopped up breaks that three drum n’bass DJs sampling a Metal drummer couldn’t produce if you gave them a week. Out front the bassist and guitarist kept the punk ethic alive, moving as if electrocuted and spanking their instruments as if they’d just caught then cheating with a covers band. It was a set that never dipped or dulled, never stood still and was never less than captivating. Brilliant.

Photo by: Adrian KK Hicks