Josh Lord and Ash Wednesday.Next time I'm in Melbourne I'll be re-visiting The Mission for a cleansing ale and a simple meal. And the vivid atmos.
Maybe some music as well. Because ... they put on gigs, and there are plenty of nooks and crannies to sit and drink.
To get there, you walk down Flinders Street from the railway station to just past Spencer Street (or catch a tram), and the building is quite obvious, a hallmark of class and style huddled beneath the pointless glassy skyscrapers.
In case you couldn't tell, I really like the Mission. It's the kind of joint I could hang in for days. Big spacious area, tables. Hell, if I lived in Melbourne I'd be a fucking fixture. It's not posh, know that, right. But it is real. Far more real than most of venues.
I should say straight-out: I'm an old man now, and I don't like new, disposable IKEA-esque venues. I like places that feel like people have lived in them a bit, that they're significant for people (not fucking 'iconic') and integrated in the culture of their city.
Before I move on, just bear this in mind: how often have I ever got so excited about a venue? The Gov, and The Metro, both in Adelaide, are the only two I really love these days. Until... The Mission...
Now then, as usual, I prefer not to really anticipate a performance. Full disclosure (as The Barman would say): I know Josh Lord (even recorded a draftish song with him a few years back) and have met Ash Wednesday a few times. Fond of both of them. That said, I've been known to tell my friends, “I can't review this if I don't like it”.
As it happens, Ash and Josh were stand-out bloody wonderful. World-class, really.
So let's start with them; they're the reason I went along, after all.
It's Sunday night in Melbourne, so of course it's raining with a thunderstorm to follow.
We're in the Norla Dome, a converted gymnasium seventeen metres in diameter, complete with many of the metal hooks and rings embedded in the roof ... of course, my immediate thought involved chains, butcher's hooks and gore, but this was fortunately only momentary.
The Dome is a magical place. There is lighting, but also a considerable quantity of natural light via a circular window at the very tip of the dome.
Ash is in a motorised wheelchair these days - quite a change since I last saw him several years ago; however, he is the epitome of grace and charm. He ignores the negatives and focuses on the positive. If any of us could be like this in the face of adversity ... I mean, challenging isn't the word.
Josh is wearing a bright orange top - easily the most visible person in the room where most of us are wearing dull colours. Typical artist (that's Josh's day job, by the way).
So, what happens? Josh does the grunt work, setting up a constant strum on his guitar, altering his chords in a regular forward and back rhythmic drone; forward and back, but always seeming to move forward. Ash sometimes produces alternate layers down, and sometimes he pierces this dense envelope; sometimes he's in-sync with Josh, other times not at all.
By the time Josh and Ash were on, the storm overhead was really coming down; thunder couldn't penetrate the dome, but water did (always a joy for a musician using amplified equipment, piles of water sloshing about) and the dome lit up intermittently while below, vertical spires of lights shaded the performers.
As with all wonderful performances, you really had to be there.
Drone shares many elements with classical music, I think; done right, both produce overwhelming emotions in the listener. Tonight, Josh and Ash produced an immersing and hypnotic piece every bit as gripping as your favourite classical piece. That it can be described as “drone'”is merely by the by.
Words are pretty limp and pointless things in the face of such powerful music. I asked Ash if their piece had been recorded - it had not. I can only hope these two maverick characters get into the studio together. What a rush that would be.
Blood of a Pomegranate.
By contrast, the opening act, Blood of a Pomegranate, did not impress me. She's a good musician, though, and if you've never seen her, do. His initial dedication to her piece, complete with reverb, completely put me off. Doesn't matter how worthy the cause, by explaining the musical piece before you play it, you immediately define it. And it struck me that much mostly instrumental music really shouldn't be so defined, or confined.
That said, his music was striking and captivating. However, his repeating themes didn't continue to engage me, and I thought they went on far too long without sufficient variation; the ending would have been far more effective had the overall piece been shorter. I confess that by then I was suffering from “numb bum”.
I grieve now to record one of the very, very few flaws at this venue: the seats. Numb bum is a sad fact of life for any piece of music lasting over 10 minutes. However, all is not lost. The Globe Theatre in London know their seats are hard and unpleasant (the Mission's seats are softish but with a hard base) so they rent out cushions for each performance. Brilliant idea. Perhaps the Mission could work a sponsorship deal with a cushion manufacturer?
We weren't confined to our seats, of course, we had been encouraged to walk around and park ourselves where-ever we wanted to - and many did. There was no designated playing space, either; David Pittaway played against the wall, for example.
Jennifer Lea and Sasha Braganca were billed next; Sasha was described as a violinist but, being a multi-instrumentalist, on the night she played guitar and machines. She's a tutor at Banyule Music and Tutoring, working on a Bachelor of Science.
Sasha Braganca.
Either way. Thoroughly enjoyed their piece; Sasha set up a background vibe and Jennifer played against it. The piece was constantly in motion, constantly teasing us with its direction and purpose. A marvellous palette married with careful precision. Captivating. Go see them if you possibly can; here's a rabbit-hole to scamper down.
Next, David Pittaway, who is a very, very good guitarist 'who has long worked with Toyah Wilcox and Robert Fripp as part of the League of Crafty Guitarists; he's also a session musician of considerable renown.
Tonight he's recording loops and using them as a rhythm to play against - a technique which always appears very easy but I suspect is a lot harder than it looks. The first time I saw the technique used was in the late 1980s, a woman called Violinda - she'd go down well in this context as well.
While I enjoyed the music and the often elegant polyrhythms for the most part, I thought some parts didn't really work in the context (I may have a thing against high-pitched squealy guitar soloing), but you know, that may be me. Pittaway had clearly attracted a swag of aficionados who quickly clustered round him; his music suited the place and time, and will sit well in your living room as well.
