By the end things get quite giddy; and a cheering circle of similarly manic individuals urge the Loki-like presence to make just a few more ridiculous electronic squeals before bedtime..
It’s freezing in the SUB. And Katadreuffe are still sound-checking. But hey, the bar (well okay the fridge under the stairs) has got beer in it, and there’s the usual sprinkling of alternative music addicts including headliner Spoelstra himself, quietly chatting on about the evening’s entertainment, which is a special one for him, as the gig doubles up as his new LP’s (named The Almighty Internet) release party.
Before incendiary get to see Spoelstra we take in Katadreuffe, a four piece guitar band with fringes. They look brittle and sullen; the singer rarely looks up at the audience, which I find a very good thing indeed. Even better is the sound they make. To say they are a revelation is not too wide of the mark. The guitar and drums rip and shudder through SUB, leaving vast echoing shards of rich electronic feedback behind them. Incendiary are rightly shell-shocked. A clever pay off is the glacial synth sound too, activated in quieter moments by the bass player. Add the aforementioned diffidence the singer displays and you have a fabulous proposition. Tracks sound brittle as glass and there’s a tremendous abstract quality to the music that could be pretentious as hell if it wasn’t so bloody good. Incendiary magazine says: go and see them.
A quick break then it’s the great man Spoelstra himself. Replete with beer, positioned behind his work bench-cum-pedal-twiddling centre, he seems happy to be here. I love the music he makes and the sonic ideas he experiments with. Musically, it should be well nigh unlistenable at times, and I could say the sound he makes is deliberately tinny, tuneless, discordant synth whining. But that of course would be a tiny fraction of the story. What Spoelstra somehow conjours up is a genial, teasing presence that gives you the patience to submit to the Lilliputian beats and splurts; and appreciate this madcap’s ideas. It’s like listening to Conny Plank’s more demented studio outtakes. On another level you could imagine Spoelstra playing his stuff with a couple of young dancers, or at an old people’s home. Or a roundabout. It would be completely appropriate.
By the end things get quite giddy; and a cheering circle of similarly manic individuals urge the Loki-like presence to make just a few more ridiculous electronic squeals before bedtime.
A top, top evening and one Incendiary wishes all our readers could have attended.