Live Review: Mogwai, Mick Turner

An opening slot by Mick Turner works a dream and is all the more welcome tonight for the contrasting, laid-back tone it sets before the bludgeoning barrage to come. His set never really overstates itself.

It rather drifts along wandering paths, seducing the attentive listeners in the room to fall into step. This may have been a bit of a surprise for those more accustomed to Turner’s displays of untamed energy when with Dirty Three, but thankfully it’s a surprise laden with rewards.  

With opener, Heard About You Last Night, Mogwai unveil a sound that is of rare depth. While there’s much talk of their infamous volume (soon to be indulged some more), less is said of the sheer quality and colour of their sound, which is rivalled by few. It becomes apparent with I’m Jim Morrison, I’m Dead that a fair amount of deliberation and intent are behind the ordering of this setlist. These first choices act to lure the listener into the fold. Both are quite accessible in that they’re restrained and provide enough space that each element of the band has a fully defined and explicit presence. Luke Sutherland, occasional live member (and featured vocalist on  Mexican Grand Prix), joins the stage to contribute some violin on White Noise, and as that infamous volume begins to present glimpses of its arrival the veil slowly descends upon the room. Rano Pano turns it up a notch again, but it’s Ithica 27 ϕ 9 that delivers the full blow, momentarily enveloping listeners within a snug blanket of aural terror.

The inclusion of How To Be A Werewolf, the third selection of the night from 2011’s Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will, shows some favouritism towards that particular long player, and rightly so as it’s one the true gems of their extensive catalogue. Tonight, however, the unlikely surprise standouts come from last year’s Rave Tapes. At the time of release it seemed like an effort that was treading water, but hearing Deesh and Remurdered in the live setting are minor revelations. The percussive throb of both adds an extra element of dynamism to the show, thus throwing the album into a whole new light. Hunted By A Freak is as majestic as ever, and the semi-mandatory Mogwai Fear Satan closes the set with a sonic assault that jumps between polarities of extremity so quickly and frighteningly that one’s internal organs can be heard to scream, “Great Scott!!!” as they lunge towards their closest orifice in an attempt to evacuate the premises.

An encore of Auto Rock and Batcat provides the perfect blend and balance, the former perhaps the most melodically majestic of their compositions, the latter one of the greatest sludge-fests this side of the apocalypse. Great Scotts indeed!