Live Review: Deafheaven, Adrift For Days, Germ

The apparent conscious decision that many of the evening's attendees had made to arrive just in time for Deafheaven alone could either be described — in the instance of opening act Germ — as dodging a bullet or missing out. In either sense, what ensued on stage was truly a bizarre spectacle. Four completely cloaked men questionably played their instruments atop overly dominant pre-recorded material whilst suit-and-tie-clad vocalist Tim Yatras, appearing constantly on the verge of tears, would sporadically walk on the stage to piercingly wail over guitar solos that neither guitarist appeared to actually be playing. They allowed no breaks between songs, sparing the crowd the discomfort of deciding whether or not applause was at all appropriate.

Refreshingly devoid of overdramatic costuming and comic value, Adrift For Days successfully achieved the enigmatic atmosphere that Germ had attempted but failed to create. Frontman and multi-instrumentalist Mick Kaslik demanded a collective hush as he generated an unwavering sense of foreboding – a skill he continually showcased in various forms throughout their set. Kaslik's smoky, almost Nick Cave-esque vocals would guide you passively through the band's constrained, droning instrumentation, shifting into highly disciplined throat-singing, before exploding into a frenzy of low growls accompanied by dirty riffs. All the while, Kaslik was physically demonstrating the shift from ominous ambience to chaos.

As if almost in a precise instant, the change of venue proved itself a nuisance. During the lead-up to Deafheaven's set, attendance increased tenfold, and suddenly the room no longer felt cosy. Where the space could once be comfortably utilised, it now meant that anyone unlucky enough to be on either far side of the room couldn't even catch a glimpse of the stage using peripheral vision. The major shortcoming lied in the indisputable fact that watching Deafheaven perform is about as imperative as the listening aspect. Between powerful black metal shrieks, George Clarke would, using flourished hand movements, orchestrate the crowd to the dissonant noise and subdued interludes before letting himself become immersed in his own vocal performance, gyrating with the microphone stand in an honest, self-conscious sassiness.
As the end of Deafheaven's set draws near, we came full circle. Where the integration of pre-recorded sounds sat uncomfortably in Germ's set, Clarke reaffirmed its role as productive ambience, using the extended outro of Windows to tidily introduce their final song, The Pecan Tree, allowing it to gloriously explode through the ambience and eventually swallow it whole. The audience was then left to experience the residual awe, speechless.