Christopher Nosnibor
If ever I needed a reminder of just how badly live music – and life in general – was affected by the successive lockdowns and restrictions over the last couple of years (and I really didn’t), then the realisation that my last live music at The Brudenell was Shellac in December 2019 brings in home with a thump.
The car park’s now pay and display and there are more tables outside than I remember, but otherwise, it’s a relief to discover that not much has changed. There are new toilets, meaning fresh toles and no stickers on the wall. The bars are behind Perspex. But it’s the same venue, the same vibe, and the beer is still astonishingly cheap. I soon run into some familiar faces, and it’s like I’ve never been away.
There’s a tangible air of anticipation for tonight’s show, and it’s heightened by the chewy taste of thick smoke shrouding the state. The taste and smell takes me back to early 90s goth gigs, and it’s something I’ve missed. Did they change the formula of the fluid? Or maybe most bands simply don’t use this much smoke. It’s certainly pretty smoggy in the build up to the start of the show, and Årabrot certainly aren’t any run-off-the-mill support act. With a substantial back catalogue, they’ve no shortage of fans in the house, but that’s not all: there’s simply nothing ordinary or run-of-the mill about any aspect of this band.
Årabrot
Samples herald their arrival onstage before they launch into an intense set built around minimal arrangements honed to yield maximum noise, and they rock out hard. Their Frontier schtick image is at odds with grungy noise rock sound, but they’ve got range and even slip into more Bowie-influenced glam. They’re not just tight but exhilarating. The vocal harmonies are strong throughout a set that draws heavily on their last album, the rabid Who Do You Love, from which ‘Maldoror’s Love’ drops early in the set. They dispense rollicking riffs throughout, interspersed with the trappings of evangelism, nevermore pronounced on the frothing howl of ‘Sinnerman’.
It’s a proper pea-souper that’s billowing through the venue for Nordic Giants’ arrival after a seriously fist-pumping 80s soundtrack over the PA. It’s so, so incongruous that it’s absolutely perfect. For the majority of the set, which showcases substantial portions of their new album, Symbiosis, released just last month, they’re practically invisible behind the smoke and strobes, and then there are the extravagant visuals. In their feathered headdresses, the duo are merely shadows on either side of the stage and positioned right at the back for the first song, and only venture forward occasionally when switching instruments. The drums are switched for bowed guitar, and there’s suddenly brass in the mix, too, and it’s powerful. These guys get drama and tension and infuse every moment of the set with both.
Nordic Giants
They must spend as long devising and sequencing the visuals and performance aspect as rehearsing the songs, and there is a lot going on. Rolling piano, all live keyboards, strobes and exploding heads, it’s so much to take in. Immersive is an understatement: the experience borders on the bewildering, but in a good way: everything sits together, and it feels incredibly co-ordinated and immaculately choreographed.
I tend to watch gigs from right down the front, because I want to connect with the energy and immediacy of the stage, to be as close to the action as possible, but sometimes, panning back reveals other aspects, and The Brudenell is one of those venues that means wherever you are, you’re always in the room. From further back, it looked and sounded even more spectacular, the band even more invisible as the smoke and strobes exploded at the climax of a stellar performance.
Aural Aggravation 