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We don’t like change. Only when there is none we inevitably
lament its absence, as if the flipside is always worth
aspiring to more. Long gone are times when these bullish
Scottish post-rockers struck you between the eyes like
a spitting Mount Vesuvius jutting crudely into a pastel
mainstream. They got bundled on tour with the Manics
like some credible accessory, threateningly adorned
the covers of the national press and infamously declared
Blur (the symbol of creative Britain to some,
then at least) shite. Enough time has passed in fact
to have them proved right there. 2003 may have seen
them release their most realised work yet in ‘Happy
Songs For Happy People’, but there are no proxy associations
now, no magazine covers, less chances for a band defined
by their erupting instrumental soundscapes to become
characterised by what’s said off the record.
On stage they remain men of impressively few words.
Stuart Braithwaite does say something towards the end
of the set, but it’s a clumsy pile up of Glasweigan
syllables hardly aided by the muggy acoustics, and remains
an utter mystery to us. Only now their mute form of
expression is almost echoed back at them. The clamour
has died down, there’s nobody climbing the walls tonight
or gasping for breath amid oversubscribed expectation.
Some might have you believe that this change is down
to their lack of it, but they’d only be partially right.
They may not have crushed feeble indie to dust, brought
about a revolution or even summoned the apocalypse,
and those with Y2K attention spans might have lost interest,
but they’ve ploughed on regardless and remain every
bit as important, maybe more so. And they can still
fill the Astoria two nights on the trot.
It’s a comforting confirmation that rock music can itself
be rapt, and can be provocative rather than just being
powerful, even without words. And it can allay you fears
by interpreting them and reflecting them back at you
with understanding. It’s a safe haven, and with guarantees
of exorcism to boot. And for this they are rewarded
with an enthralled and participating audience, respectful
of their quiet moments and vocally supportive of their
often complex changes of tack. As over the past two
albums they’ve gained an increased competence in blending
their intricacies, and extending their quiet/loud remit,
they’ve not only emulated this in the live arena but
given it an increased vibrancy too. ‘Ratts Of The Capital’
from ‘Happy Songs…’ builds particularly monumentally
and sounds at the time at least like the most incendiary
thing they’ve ever done, and ‘2 Rights Make 1 Wrong’
from ‘Rock Action’ ends the main set with a deep, satisfying,
multi-layered, electronically-laced, thickly woven blanket
of sound.
But the bursts of sound they’ve been hauling round for
years still do the job too, not letting you down despite
the time passed that could have allowed that to happen,
especially considering their recent strides forward.
‘Mogwai Fear Satan’ and ‘Ithica 27Ø9’, not to mention
the beastly ‘Helicon 1’ and ‘Ex-Cowboy’ still flatten
the ground around them and leave you gratifyingly winded.
They entwine the best from across their career tonight
into frankly the single most satisfying set this scribe
has seen them do. With all the many sides to their solid
musical polygon they’re like Gulliver darning one of
the little people’s socks, such proficient slight of
touch, such omnipresent might. They have all bases covered,
they are the firmest of their ilk and even if they don’t
change their direction they never change their pace.
It’s only those around them that really change, but
if they’re not going to offer up a challenge what else
is a superior musical titan to do?
Relevant Sites:
www.mogwai.co.uk/
www.londonastoria.com/
James Berry for Crud Magazine 2003©
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