Pete Ashton’s Blog

If you were ever of a mind to prove that the meaning of words is not fixed and is dependent on context, not that I ever am as I’m not a linguist, but if you were then the phenomena of names given to bands would be a hefty weapon in your armory. Take, for example, the band what I have just seen. Boredoms. Was there ever a name that at one point meant something quite specific but, after three hours, had transformed into quite possibly the complete opposite? Well, yes. The history of rock can attest to that. But this is a rather clear demonstration.

It’s also an indicator of something Julian Cope mentions in the introduction to his quite wonderful Japrocksampler book which I’m currently slowly working through, that the way the Japanese use English words is playful in the extreme, mixing them up in a way that just sounds cool to them. Sure, Wikipedia tells us that the name was taken from the title of a Buzzcocks song but that connection with British punk sounds a little tenuous, though not unrealistic, to me. It seems more likely that they came across the song and thought the word sounded interesting. The established meaning was, I’d imagine, irrelevant and then amusing to subvert.

So yes, Boredoms are Japanese and they’re not boring. They’re absurdly, jaw-droppingly exciting especially if, as I was, you’re right at the front by the stage. Not sure how I pulled that off to be honest but by christ even though I was there it was like being there, only more so.

As the show started and lead bloke Yamantaka Eye raised two glowing globes in his hands I realised I’d seen them before at ATP last year but had forgotten, probably because they were on at the beginning of the weekend and I saw them from the back of a very large hall. This really is an act you need to see up close and personal to get. These globes were, I’m guessing, sort of like theramins. Maybe. Anyway, as he waved them around they created aural sparks of feedback and distortion, accompanied by his un-miced hollering.

Then the drummers joined in. All three of them on full kits. The pounding continued pretty relentlessly for over an hour as Yamantaka built layer upon layer of, well, noise I guess. But it wasn’t noise. There was a purity to the sound no matter how distorted it was or how manic his performance became. With three microphones fed through different effects and a bank of electronics that looked like it was held together with masking tape and gum destruction was taking place, not physically but in some other way I can’t quite describe. Perhaps it was the destruction of preconceptions?

At a couple of points the music suddenly stopped and the audience, being used to to the norms of Western music, did the wild applause thing. But no, they hadn’t stopped. This silence was part of the music. There were no breaks. If there were individual songs then they were part of a continuous whole. In order to appreciate the loud you have to respect the quiet.

The crowning glory of the act was a rack of seven guitar necks which I can best describe by pointing you to the photo in John Coulthart’s review. Maintained by a band member who’s sole job seemed to be to look after them during the show Yamantaka hit them with sticks, each one acting rather like a tuned timpani drum come to think of it, giving out a clanging note of distortion. The effect might possibly have been achieved with one guitar, but I somehow doubt it. Six strings per neck on seven necks… 36 pieces of vibrating wire being beaten by a madman, though during the playing many of them snapped off to be carefully snipped away by the maintenance guy.

But beyond mere spectacle there was something quite transcendental about the sound they made. At times I found myself drifting away, forgetting that I was standing in a packed room listening to avant-noise rock. My senses were both deadened and heightened and when I left got home I found myself unable to focus. No alcohol had passed my lips but something had affected my brain in a quite wonderful way.

Anyway, I could ramble on about how fantastic it was forever. There was a No Camera rule and while I did have permission I decided not to bother and to take this one in as a punter. But here’s a video I found that most closely approximates what they’re like. Doesn’t come close to what I experienced but then nothing recorded ever would. Maybe that’s why they ban cameras.

From a Birmingham perspective it was great to see this gig sold out. By any definition this was not easy listening and that a band like this, regardless of their international standing, can draw such an appreciative crowd warms my heart. Once again Capsule have proved that there’s a market in Birmingham for the experimental and the odd. It just needs to be promoted properly, something they’re doing very well. Thank you Jenny and Lisa. Thank you so fucking much.