Skip to main content

Godspeed You! Black Emperor

When Montreal collective Godspeed You! Black Emperor played their second ever UK show in Edinburgh’s tiny Stills Gallery in November 1998, it was a suitably low-key setting for a fiercely private-minded group who, with the rise of pre-millennial tension, sounded as seriously fin de siecle as they came. Arriving on the back of their opaquely titled 1997 album, ‘F♯A♯∞’, a slow-burning chamber-suite urgently soundtracking the apocalypse, these anarchistically-inclined auteurs presented a darkly complex set of arrangements that applied the epic soundtracks of Ennio Morricone to the string-laden mournfulness of Arvo Part. GYBE suggested the worst even as they yearned for something better.

Even the Stills show captured a pervading sense of collapse when, forty-five minutes in, the venue’s speakers blew. Or the sound was pulled after the upstairs neighbours complained. No-one was sure. Everything seemed doomed, Godspeed included. Within a year, however, GYBE graced the cover of the NME and headlined the second stage of Belle and Sebastian’s holiday camp-set Bowlie Weekender. Godspeed toured with Sigur Ros and appeared at the Mogwai-curated ‘All Tomorrow’s Parties’ festival. Three more similarly intense records, and then, after 2003, silence.

The world hasn’t ended, but Godspeed now sound like prophets, curating an ATP of their own before playing Barrowlands. So is this prodigal’s return some kind of big bucks sell-out? Or have an underground cell broken cover to say ‘I told you so’ now we’re dancing through dark times once more? Truth is, no-one knows. Now, as then, GYBE aren’t playing ball. There is no press release or images. Nor are they talking to the press. “The internet is a petty tyrannical monster” declared a band-signed communiqué in April. As the final typed-out words on the blurry-black and ambiguous sleeve of ‘F♯A♯∞’ decreed, ‘no efforts to reconcile have been made’. Embrace the fear.

Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Barrowlands, Glasgow, December 8th

The List, November 2010

ends

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Losing Touch With My Mind - Psychedelia in Britain 1986-1990

DISC 1 1. THE STONE ROSES   -  Don’t Stop 2. SPACEMEN 3   -  Losing Touch With My Mind (Demo) 3. THE MODERN ART   -  Mind Train 4. 14 ICED BEARS   -  Mother Sleep 5. RED CHAIR FADEAWAY  -  Myra 6. BIFF BANG POW!   -  Five Minutes In The Life Of Greenwood Goulding 7. THE STAIRS  -  I Remember A Day 8. THE PRISONERS  -  In From The Cold 9. THE TELESCOPES   -  Everso 10. THE SEERS   -  Psych Out 11. MAGIC MUSHROOM BAND  -  You Can Be My L-S-D 12. THE HONEY SMUGGLERS  - Smokey Ice-Cream 13. THE MOONFLOWERS  -  We Dig Your Earth 14. THE SUGAR BATTLE   -  Colliding Minds 15. GOL GAPPAS   -  Albert Parker 16. PAUL ROLAND  -  In The Opium Den 17. THE THANES  -  Days Go Slowly By 18. THEE HYPNOTICS   -  Justice In Freedom (12" Version) ...

Edinburgh Rocks – The Capital's Music Scene in the 1950s and Early 1960s

Edinburgh has always been a vintage city. Yet, for youngsters growing up in the shadow of World War Two as well as a pervading air of tight-lipped Calvinism, they were dreich times indeed. The founding of the Edinburgh International Festival in 1947 and the subsequent Fringe it spawned may have livened up the city for a couple of weeks in August as long as you were fans of theatre, opera and classical music, but the pubs still shut early, and on Sundays weren't open at all. But Edinburgh too has always had a flipside beyond such official channels, and, in a twitch-hipped expression of the sort of cultural duality Robert Louis Stevenson recognised in his novel, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, a vibrant dance-hall scene grew up across the city. Audiences flocked to emporiums such as the Cavendish in Tollcross, the Eldorado in Leith, The Plaza in Morningside and, most glamorous of all due to its revolving stage, the Palais in Fountainbridge. Here the likes of Joe Loss and Ted Heath broug...

Carla Lane – The Liver Birds, Mersey Beat and Counter Cultural Performance Poetry

Last week's sad passing of TV sit-com writer Carla Lane aged 87 marks another nail in the coffin of what many regard as a golden era of TV comedy. It was an era rooted in overly-bright living room sets where everyday plays for today were acted out in front of a live audience in a way that happens differently today. If Lane had been starting out now, chances are that the middlebrow melancholy of Butterflies, in which over four series between 1978 and 1983, Wendy Craig's suburban housewife Ria flirted with the idea of committing adultery with successful businessman Leonard, would have been filmed without a laughter track and billed as a dramady. Lane's finest half-hour highlighted a confused, quietly desperate and utterly British response to the new freedoms afforded women over the previous decade as they trickled down the class system in the most genteel of ways. This may have been drawn from Lane's own not-quite free-spirited quest for adventure as she moved through h...