LIVE WIRE: Gizmo caca!

(Martin Bulloch of Mogwai, pictured here, entertaining the legions of Hell at The Purgatory Pit. © 2008 Benjamin Luk.)

Got it wet, fed it after midnight, and this is what you get: atmospheric post-rock that, if you’re not well prepared for it, may make you want to either fall asleep or end it all with a lead cocktail ‘cuz it’s just so damn sad. To the fans who appreciate this sort of thing though, instrumental Scot-rockers Mogwai introduced us to a world of epic sorrow at The Commodore last Saturday, bringing to the table an orchestral majesty of rock music anarchy, though a somewhat depressing one.

Mogwai is a bit like what you’d get if Radiohead and Blonde Redhead joined forces to write an original score for 2009’s “Watchmen” (which would be, to sum it up in a phrase, “fucking awesome” were it to happen) but I think it’s safe to say that bands like Radiohead and Blonde Redhead may have helped shape Mogwai’s sound right from the get-go, with the sudden transition from next-to-nothing to an explosion of sound in “Mogwai Fear Satan” doing more or less what Radiohead did with “Blow Out” on Pablo Honey. It’s not quite the same but close enough, and both bands chose to do just that to wrap up their respective debut studio albums. Coincidence? Not for rock from the UK in the 90’s. (Loveless was released in 1991.)

Anyway, a live show from Mogwai is liable to leave you hot and bothered. Their music is unquestionably best appreciated when heard live surrounded by screaming fans, but after an hour and a half and well after the fans have all stopped screaming, you just kind of end up wishing that they’d… I dunno… do something. Guitarist Braithwaite was once quoted in an interview as saying, “I think most people are not used to having no lyrics to focus on. Lyrics are a real comfort to some people. I guess they like to sing along and when they can't do that with us, they can get a bit upset.”

I’m inclined to believe that less people would be upset if they didn’t just stand and/or sit there the entire time with less audience interaction than I’d give to picking my nose. If I wanted to see five heads, eyes closed, nodding along in unison, I’d pop in my copy of “Deep Throat”.

Mogwai's Vancouver Set List:

• The Precipice
• Friend of the Night
• I'm Jim Morrison, I'm Dead
• Ex-Cowboy
• Thank You Space Expert
• Tracy
• Scotland's Shame
• Hunted By a Freak
• Mogwai Fear Satan
• I Love You, I'm Going to Blow Up Your School
• Helicon 1
• Like Herod
• Batcat

So Mogwai's brilliant, but in large quantities, could leave a bad taste in your mouth. Kind of like how that first shot of Jäger helps keep the party rolling, but the ninth makes you want to go home and sleep the whole thing off.

… Or, y’know, vomit.

Special thanks to Erin at Timbre Productions.

LIVE WIRE: Battles of the band.

(Like any respectable musician who occasionally Hulks out, Tyondai Braxton of Battles starts turning green from the tips of his 'fro. © 2008 Benjamin Luk.)

10:30. Richard’s on Richards. No opener.

That’s the kind of confidence that NYC math rock outfit Battles can afford, now that they’ve spent nearly all of 2008 doing nothing but getting music critics on their side. Coming from a blessed musical background though, who could expect anything different? After all, to those who follow this kind of thing, Battles is almost a bit of a supergroup. Battles’ Ian Williams used to belong to Don Cab back in the 90’s, Tyondai Braxton is the son of legendary sax great Anthony Braxton, and drummer John Stanier used to play for Helmet, the East Coast’s heavy metal answer to the West Coast bleeding-heart alt-rock group Soundgarden in the late 80’s. (No contest, I’m afraid.) Again, Richard’s was packed balls to the wall.

For all that they’re worth, Battles is a sight to behold. Watching the sweat drip from Stanier’s face as he shreds his drumsticks into a fine sawdust, crushing your eardrums with every snare hit at the same time, is a bit like being sexually violated by Hillary Clinton. It’s like years of pent-up passive-agressiveness finally exploding out in bursts of spasmodic energy, and you don’t really have any choice in the matter of being fucking stunned, even though you’re in terrible pain. Or what about Tyondai, with his underwear model looks and fingers so rapidly tapping away on both his frets and his keys that you’re certain he’s never had anything short of his own private harem waiting for him back home? It’s a shame that the sound guys boned themselves as badly as they did on his vocals, because when he started singing the bits from “Atlas”, all we heard was everything else sounding like a Bohemian carnival trapped in a time vortex. You had to be at the far end of the bar to make anything out.

And the crowd! Jesus Christ, Battles fans are violent. Who knew that moshing was still popular for kids out of high school? You can’t blame ‘em though. Short of the asshat sound production, Battles was near goddamn remarkable.

Special thanks to Brock Thiessen of Discorder, and Erin at Timbre Productions.

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As you've probably gathered from this post, I'm finally back from China. My apologies for not being able to update the site throughout most of August. Apparently, China's quite the hard-ass when it comes to unauthorized journalism.

Stay tuned for Mogwai.