Pilrig St Paul's
Church, Edinburgh
Saturday May 19th
2012
Anyone au fait with
Sacred Music, BBC 4's two-series trawl through the history of choral
worship, from plainchant to polyphony and beyond, will be as versed
in the integral relationship between music and church architecture
as they are with presenter Simon Russell-Beale's penchant for gazing
earnestly into the middle distance while sporting regulation arts
mandarin baggy black suits or else peering longingly at Harry
Christophers' media-friendly choir, The Sixteen, perform especially
for him.
Leith Walk on an
all-Edinburgh Scottish Cup Final Day a couple of hours after Hibs are
unceremoniously gubbed by Hearts might seem a somewhat apposite
locale for such ruminations to be put into spectacular practice. As a
curtain-raiser to what is Quebecois electronicist Tim Hecker's second
ever Scots date, however, witnessing such radically different
brethrens gathered on either side of the street looks like a form of
cultural ecumenicism in action that later makes itself manifest at
the gig itself.
Promoted by the bespoke
from a stolen sea operation, the show takes place not in the civic
confines of the venue hall a la previous incumbants Retreat!,
LeithLate etc, but in the dramatic confines of the church itself,
pews, organ, pulpit and all. There's the extra-added bonus of the
event being amplified via the sort of all-encompassing Surround Sound
the phrase 'sonic cathedral' was invented for.
Opener Matthew Collings
is becoming an increasingly prolific figure on Edinburgh's
avant-music scene, and tonight there's an urgency to his laptop and
guitar-led soundscapes. This may have something to do with the delay
to door and show times caused by Hecker's protracted and
understandably precise soundcheck, but, forced to fine-tune his own
noodlings on the hoof and in plain sight of a near capacity crowd,
Collings' hit the ground running approach lends weight, purpose and
propulsion to his still controlled display of mood-led widescreen
sound-shards
At times the electronic
stabs gallop along like a po-mo spaghetti western, at others,
synthesised zithers and horns come on like a deconstructed noir as
played by Godspeed You! Black Emperor. Which, whether a conscious nod
to Hecker's fellow countrymen and women (or indeed the Icelandic
church where Hecker recorded his sublime 'Ravedeath, 1972' album) or
not, isn't bad for a one-man band.
Drew Wright's version
of a one-man man is similarly ever-changing, with his ongoing Wounded
Knee project a discursive melting-pot exploration of multi-cultural
arcana. After a period reinventing Scots folk ballads with a
two-string electric guitar that makes them sound like the Velvet
Underground, tonight Wright gets back to his own roots with an
extended voice-loop piece that ends up very much on home turf.
Remaining in light if
not always in view, Wright layers his already rich voice into a
wordless chorale that starts off like the Hopi incantation from
Philip Glass' soundtrack to Koyaanisqatsi before mutating into a
series of harmonies that take full advantage of St Pauls'
high-ceilinged acoustics. Disappearing occasionally to presumably
adjust the pedals facilitating such a display, Wright bobs back up
into view to shuffle and shimmy out a little tribal jig. Eventually,
the chant that is formed, - “Glory-Glory-To-The-Hibees” -
both low-key and euphoric - “While-The-Chief /
Sunshine-On-Leith” - is both a purging and an all too necessary
affirmation of faith.
Where Collings and
Wright prefer to keep the lights on, Hecker's people plunge the room
into darkness prior to his set, with candle-light the only
illumination once a seemingly unending procession of pilgrims finally
make their way from the presumably ark-like propensities of the bar.
Bar. As the headlight beams of passing buses and ambulances pass
across the stained-glass windows from the main road outside, the
sepulchral swathes that burst forth from Hecker's kit build from
ice-cracked chimes to a swirling fuzz-based pulse seemingly bathed in
celestial permafrost conjured up by some long-buried ghosts in the
machine.
Whether the ritual is
one of possession or exorcism, as the volume increases, it sounds
increasingly like choirs of lysergically enhanced angels storming the
gates of Heaven. As the final piano patterns peter out, the raging
calm that follows casts light at every level onto one of the most
beautifully immersive events of the year thus far.
The List, May 2012
ends
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