I’m not going to review the My Bloody Valentine show, at least in the traditional sense. Any show review more than a couple of paragraphs long while taking itself very seriously is innately stupid. At that juncture, such writing is fodder-saturated music critic masturbation, an attempt at trying to connect multiple points together and relate them to a particular concert or band when all you’re really doing is trying to show the world how smart you are. Fuck that. Unless it’s the Concert for Bangledesh, a live show is nothing more than a band who wants to rock it out in front of other people besides themselves and their recording engineer. It’s as simple as that. A long review also, statistically speaking, permits the phrase “rocked the [insert venue name]” to rear its ugly dome at some point, which I will not stand for.
So instead, I’d like to stave off the pretense and simply construct a grocery list of thoughts, then provide you with a couple of videos to czech out. First, I want to talk about my day today. How was yours? Well, great, that’s good to hear. Well, mine’s been busy. Besides uploading videos and returning missed calls, I’ve been taking time to learn American Sign Language.
I did something bad, you see. I took my earplugs out during the Holocaust Section. I did this for these reasons three. First, I wanted to experience it as it was meant to be heard. Secondly, the curiosity began to overtake me. It’s like when you have a friend, right, who says “hey man, take a whiff of this, it smells like shit.” You proceed to inhale the pungent, odiferous substance despite the disclaimer that you may not want to take a whiff of said substance or object. We all have this friend, and all do these things because we’re stupid and we do what our friends tell us. Kenny Bloggins has demonstrated time and time again that he is not a bright person, and proceeds to do things just like that. Third, I was feeling brave as I was rather drunk. We enjoyed a steady stream of screwdrivers at Bloggins Base Camp, the decided pre-game rendezvous nay two L stops from the Aragon, and preceded to continue with shitty domestic beer throughout the evening. So by the time the Holocaust Section rolled around, I was feelin’ groovy and ready and willing to do something dumb.
I now can’t hear a goddamn thing. Friends on the west coast attending this week’s shows – do not do this. This is a very bad idea. I now have severe tinnitus. This frequency buzzing in my ear right now… it’s loud, and it’s dying a slow death. I’ll miss not hearing this frequency ever again. It’s a good one. Now, the grocery list of thoughts on last night’s show:
1) One word: Biblical. Beautiful and unseasonably warm (78 degrees, breezy) day in Chicago, perfect for a religious experience.
2) Hopewell opened the show. They are a terrible band. If Incubus decided to experiment with dream pop, they would sound like Hopewell. The drummer rocked a mean faux-hawk. Not to be superficial, but if you’re in charge of finding support for the first appearance in over 17 years of a musically revolutionary/culturally vital group, conventional wisdom tells you to steer away from bands who elect, on their own volition, to sport a faux-hawk, ironically or otherwise. Hopewell pissed me off. I tried to think of a clever “1997 called and they want their radio-ready unit-pushin’ band back,” but nothing came to fruition. I can’t believe they’re on Tee Pee Records, who boasts an impressive roster of like-minded bands like Entrance, Brian Jonestown Massacre, and Earthless, since those groups rule and Hopewell does a lot of other things that don’t include “ruling.” Also, unless you’re a rhythmically complex, percussively intriguing band (Caribou and Warmer Milks come to mind, for example), you don’t need two drummers. Most listeners can’t even tell that you have two drummers. All you do is give the show’s sound engineer a big fuckin’ headache.
3) The live show demonstrates that MBV is not just an aural representation of what’s in Kevin Shields’ head. They are a rock band. Colm O’ Ciosig is a visually engaging, technically mind-blowing drummer. Debbie Googe’s low-end hellride is fluid and gravitational. I have no idea where the “shoegaze” term came from. Sure, Kev just sort drifts to the back and hangs out, but Debbie is straight Headbangers Ball. She rocked out on a very handsome Gibson Thunderbird bass, and danced like no one was watching. Sure, MBV is a concept, but they’re also an incredibly tight and monolithic live act – a formidable force.
4) If your girlfriend’s retarded, please don’t bring her to a watershed event such as the MBV reunion. This inconvenient bitch in front of us was, I believe, aboard the X-press train and bumping into us throughout the entire show, flailing her arms around and epically boogying. She kept trying to, I think, grind dance with my girlfriend and I despite the fact that a) we obviously weren’t interested, and b) you can’t dance to “Cigarette in Your Bed.” Seriously, cut it out. If you can’t control your shit, don’t leave the Grotto. This giggly little hoop-earringed, fluffy red blouse broad almost got knocked the fuck out by L-Dog, who is about a foot taller, a wicked ol’ dame, and was halfway to livid. Heads almost rolled, so luckily, Scottie 2 Hottie valiantly escorted his inamorata out of there before she was abruptly ended… or at least forcibly launched across the room. So here’s your Decibel Tolls public service announcement: most reasonable people, like L-Dog, have a rather low bullshit threshold. Guys, before you bring your shorty out, consider – does my girlfriend act like a shockingly stupid asshole when she drinks/does drugs? If the answer is yes, then either keep her from consuming the finer things in life, or let her hang out at the frat house or somethin’ where that behavior is more tolerated than a concert of this variety, one where people are trying to have a profound experience. MBV is my church. How would you like it if I crashed your youth group gathering to act like a fucking dick?
5) Visuals are important to me. Most of the bands I like to see don’t shred finger-tap solos whilst riding their guitar like a cock out of hell. As such, you better have some sort of visual element to your show. MBV delivered. I love the look of grainy 8mm film, especially when it’s rapidly cut. Lots of bucolic imagery plastered itself across the entire length of the Aragon stage, cultivating a truly psychedelic experience.
6) Bradford Cox likened the Holocaust Section as standing in front of a nuclear reactor, causing his balls to retract. My friend Jerry described it as sitting under a Saturn V rocket during lift-off without being burned. I can’t think of any better way to describe it. You can’t differentiate tones accurately beyond 140 decibels, which is ten above the threshold of pain for human beings. Mogwai clocked in at about 137 decibels, and as I mention in this story, almost completely blew the power for the entire building they were playing in. The structure of the building was constructed sometime around 1910, when the idea of 137 decibels was a nebulous endeavor. The building and adjacent structures actually shook and vibrated. The other insanely loud band I’ve witnessed was delightful noise hip-hop group, Dalek, who’s massive sound and intensity comes from using clean, direct input samples turned at high volume peppered with tones and frequencies whose timbre burrow deep into your ear canal. My Bloody Valentine is a different type of loud. If I had to guess, it had to be around 145 decibels (I’d be interested to know if anyone out there has an exact figure). It’s the type of loud wherein every single frequency in the audible spectrum is filled to capacity. It was thick enough to cut with a knife. During the Holocaust Section, I kept inhaling through my nose because it tickled. My nostrils vibrated in and out as a breathed due to the sheer number of molecules being pushed and pulverized by the sound waves fluttering about. I felt like I was hit in the face. There were reports from last weekend’s ATP that the band actually dislodged pieces of the ceiling during the 25 minute ordeal. I believe it.
7) There were three distinct reactions to the Holocaust Section. You either threw your arms in the air and embraced the Second Coming, you covered ears and mouthed “nooooo,” or you tried to leave the premises. I had the elusive fourth reaction: the feeling that a monk might have when he decides it’s time to dedicate his life to the church. Let me know what Good Works I can do for you, Kevin.
Eight) Yes, the acoustics in the cavernous Aragon do suck, and wipe out a lot of the sonic subtlety that is critical to the texture of MBV. This said, I was expecting to hear a less-than-clear show. The ballroom just isn’t meant for amplification. It was just like seeing Low at the Singletary Center for the Arts at the University of Kentucky – an amplified band in a room meant for acoustic acts. In some ways, though, I love the roar this scenario produces. It becomes disorienting, which I like. You lose yourself. By the way, I had to type out “eight” so Wordpress didn’t turn it into a smiley face. What the fuck?
9) I cannot give you any more insight into the show if you weren’t there, other than MBV did not disappoint. Thinking about that, it would be very hard to not disappoint, considering the length of their absence, the group’s mystique, and the general hype and celebration behind this tour. Kevin and friends had a lot riding on these shows, and they delivered the goods, at least Saturday night in Chicago. I feel lucky to have been there.
10) It is my belief that there will be no professional shots of this show. We saw no press in the barricaded section in front of the stage, presumably the photo pit. I tried to snag a photo pass from Mr. P at Tiny Mix Tapes, who related to me that pretty much nobody was getting a photo pass.
This is the best video of the batch, the show opener “I Only Said,” which I immediately posted here yesterday. I’m impressed by the sound quality considering how small my camera is versus how insanely loud MBV is. You can’t hear the vocals in the video because, well, you can’t hear the vocals in the mix in real life either.
The sound on my video for “When You Wake” is pretty satisfactory. However, I’m disappointed that, for some reason, I decided to constantly pan the camera left and right. I’m really sorry I did this. It’s annoying
And here’s a 30 second clip of the Holocaust Section, about 10 minutes in. That’s all you get, 30 seconds. But I clocked it at approximately 28 minutes, give or take one. I was standing by the beer line on the periphery because, well, you should sip on a man soda whilst your face melts off your skull. Plus, this was best enjoyed from a bit of a distance. I didn’t have a death wish that evening. Also, did you know that there’s drumming in the Holocaust Section? Yeah, me neither… I found that out when I took the earplugs out and the high end appeared in the mix all of the sudden. My good friend J-Rowdy Risner helped me upload this one, and he describes it well: “My Bloody Valentine tests the structural integrity of the Aragon.”
My favorite moments from Saturday’s performance included the B-side “Slow” and the whammy bar plus rhythm section assault of “Nothing Much to Lose.” The MP3s below aren’t from the Chicago show, but sound pretty similar nonetheless. Don’t forget about the soundboard quality vintage bootlegs I have over here.
Chicago – Aragon – 9.27.08 Setlist:
I Only Said
When You Sleep
You Never Should
When You Wake
Cigarette In Your Bed
Come In Alone
Only Shallow
Thorn
Nothing Much To Lose
To Here Knows When
Slow
Soon
Feed Me With Your Kiss
You Made Me Realise / Holocaust Section
MP3 :::
My Bloody Valentine – Slow (Live)
My Bloody Valentine – Nothing Much to Lose (Live)
