Having returned reinvigorated and with a reinvented Earth following some years in the wilderness, Dylan Carlson’s megalithic musical venture continues to go from strength to strength, and recent years have seem them reach a hitherto unseen level of prolificness. Their second album in a year sees them back on tour and back in Leeds, and with the venue close to being sold out it’s clearly a welcome return.
Ô Paon isn’t just another loop-pedal soloist: her music is quiet, ponderous and mesmerising. Despite the language barrier (she’s a French-speaking Canadian who sings in French), the soft and intimate yet rich and intense layers of harmony that build over simple guitar motifs transcend geography to strike the very soul. Mere moments into her set,it’s possible not only to hear a pin drop, but also the buzz of her guitar frets and the distant mains hum. This dishevelled and understated performer leaves the crowd spellbound and wanting more.
For tonight’s show, Mount Eerie is Phil Elverum flying solo, armed with just a 12-string and a small selection of effects pedals. His music is tranquil, occasionally building to a blurring avalanche of noise, but somehow fails to ignite. Sometimes it’s all about context: on any other night I’d have probably been reasonably impressed, but he’s got a tough act to follow and people – none more than myself – are getting fidgety for the main event.
Dylan Carlson leads his troops on stage and they launch – or perhaps more accurately, trundle – into a hypnotic groove disturbed with discord and dissonance. Thus the difference between the new album and its predecessors – in particular its counterpart – and consequently this tour and those in the band’s recent history is immediately apparent. Whereas it was possible to get lost in the slowly coiling guitar-lines before, there’s a jarring aspect to the new set that prevents the crowd from getting too comfortable. Of course, the same elements are all firmly in place: Adrienne Davis’ slow, rolling percussion is the backbone of the music, and provides an anchor for the almost subliminal bass. Lori Goldston’s sonorous cello shifts function, veering – very slowly – between a deep, organic drone and a scraping jolt against the grain on the new material. All the while, Carlson’s warm, dense guitar floats this way and that, rich and resonant.
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Since he last trod the boards in Leeds, Carlson’s distinctive facial hair has evolved into a long, whispy white beard, and he himself is far leaner than I’ve seen him before. He looks older, yes, but more enervated and more focussed, resembling as he does some ancient sage. The music, too, is both timeless and ancient-sounding, and has a strange capacity to slow time itself. There may be a loose rocking country vibe buried beep in ‘His Teeth Did Brightly Shine’ tonight, but it still sounds like a 45rpm single being played at 33rpm.
They really mix things up by dredging ‘Tallahassee’ from the ‘Pentastar: In the Style of Demons’ album and delivering a short burst of something resembling straight rock, before tuning right back down to the crawling splendour of ‘Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull’. Each chord could be a false ending as the notes hang in the air in infinite sustain, and a lunar cycle elapses between each drumbeat. The experience is little short of transcendental.
Without leaving the stage, they elect to treat us to an encore in the form of a new song called ‘Badger’ that’s still in its developmental stages yet flows perfectly, like a river meandering inexorably toward the ocean. They then leave us, with the promise of another album – and another tour – in the Autumn. Oh yes.
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