Villette Sonique Festival
Samedi 7 Juin

Shellac
Mission of Burma
Melt Banana
Bottomless Pit

Retrospective live reviews can be infuriating or completely pointless from the perspective of a reader who wasn’t at the show in question. However, in this circumstance this article is a tribute and a recommendation to four bands that have been playing out live for a long time and are still worth travelling a fair distance to see. In this particular instance, Chicago-based super trio Shellac were given a day to pick the line-up for an evening show at the Villette Sonique Festival in Paris, France. They chose reformed Boston-based legends Mission of Burma, the incredible Melt Banana from Tokyo and the relative newcomers Bottomless Pit, also from Chicago. With a bill like this, you can understand why a trip across the channel into France was a small price to pay. In reality, it wasn’t any kind of price to pay at all because Paris is downright wonderful. Our hosts and comrades in France put on a truly amazing show and it was a refreshing change to the sparsely attended, inevitably aggressive shows we seem to foster here in the UK. After this experience, I confess I’m checking for shows in Paris rather than London because the difference in travel time is negligible.

First but by no means least to hit le Espace Charlie Parker’s stage are openers Bottomless Pit. There’s an inevitable sense of nervous expectation before seeing a group that you have personally expended no small amount of hyperbole on for the first time. Although all four members of the Pit are veterans of the indie rock community (Tim Midgett and Andy Cohen from Silkworm, Brian Orchard from .22 and Chris Manfrin of Seam) it’s never entirely certain whether a new band will live up to the memory of their former groups. Fortunately, it’s clear from the first notes that the Pit are an absolute master-class in restrained but highly kinetic rock. As good as last year’s impressive Hammer of the Gods sounded on vinyl, it seems timid in comparison to the band’s excellent live show. The sound in this arena sized venue is surprisingly accommodating and the band gives the impression of a well-drilled unit even after this short period of time. Here the songs sound less like New Order and more like the lovechild of mid-period Silkworm and latter-day Seam. A crucial difference between the former (an inevitable comparison considering the band shares two of the same songwriters) and the Pit is that whereas Silkworm were usually akin to a wrecking ball in the live environment, Midgett and Cohen’s new band is more like a surgically precise cutting laser. In particular, the interplay between Midgett’s baritone guitar and Andy Cohen’s telecaster is a lot more visible than on record. Fittingly, the material they showcase from the forthcoming Congress EP already shows signs of evolution and you’d be well advised to pre-order it from the Bottomless Pit site as a matter of urgency.

From the sublime to the ridiculous, up next are Melt Banana. By ridiculous, I mean ridiculously good. No slight to any of the other bands playing this evening but in the live arena, there are pitifully few groups that can hold a candle to the quartet from Tokyo. If Bottomless Pit are a surgical laser, Melt Banana are a laser cannon. Any sense of subtlety is abandoned in the face of a fusillade of hyperspace punk rock which at times reaches such an astounding velocity that it resembles a mesmerising wing of the techno movement. This is the first time I’ve seen the group in half a decade and in that time, they have grown in every direction simultaneously. Tonight, it seems that Melt Banana have discarded obvious provocation and settled into a private niche which can only be reached by knowing that there is a sense of profound glory in blowing the minds of practically everyone who ever sees you live for over fifteen years. Guitarist Ichirou Agata could more accurately be classified as an effects player who happens to have a guitar strapped to his convulsing frame. If there is any justice, Yasuko Onuki will be permanently regarded as one of the most compelling front-women in the history of rock music. Her vocals are a combination of a deafening shriek and an urgent speak-sing which may well have its roots in the early hardcore movement. As with all Melt Banana shows, there is a point whereby you start to believe that you have actually taken leave of your senses and the whole of creation is about to be revealed as some private joke at your expense. There is a guitarist onstage wearing a surgical mask which is billowing in and out like some facially mounted artificial lung, a petit lady who appears to be creating low end by literally wringing sound from a bass guitar, a sleeveless automaton at the drums who has only one facial expression and a beautiful pixie dancing to the wings of the stage shrieking like a patient on day release from a mental institute. You can’t bring yourself to look away because where would you go? What would happen if you stepped outside at this point? Would the world even be there to welcome you back to normality? Purists might well scoff but I actually thought Cell-Scape and Bambi’s Dilemma were the best records of the band’s discography. These albums represented not so much a step sideways as a momentary shift horizontally to enable the band to plunge headlong into a new gear which is faster and more fluid than before. The next time anyone lauds their laughable Clash re-runs as an example of Punk Rock, please introduce them to Melt Banana with my blessing. They are a band you desperately need to see at some point with the added bonus that they are currently operating at the absolute height of their powers.

Mission of Burma are left with a mountain to climb after the inspirationally superb Melt Banana. For all of a minute, it does seem like this might be an off night for the reunited heroes of artfully broken post-Punk. However, as soon as the band acclimates to the nuances of the venue, they instantly establish that invigorating sense of tension which has always arisen whenever these three musicians share a stage together. Truth be told, I’m not a massive fan of their most recent output but this evening makes me want to revisit these albums anew. Another truth is that the Mission of Burma onstage tonight is every bit as effective as they were in the early eighties. If anything, the band seemed to grow in stature during their prolonged hiatus. Tonight is a magical tug of war between three gifted songwriters, their combined output lovingly warped by offstage soundman Bob Weston, on loan from Shellac to replace original tape manipulator Martin Swope. Inevitably, the older songs are a nostalgia overload for everyone in the building. In particular, ‘Trem Two’ and ‘Micah’ are absolutely glorious to behold, reminding us that Burma were just as capable of tugging the heart-strings as they were of providing a visible intersection between post-modern art and punk rock. This is probably the best time to be introduced to Burma if you aren’t already familiar with the music because their early discography has been reissued, they are currently touring and another new album is imminent. If they pass near your town, it’s definitely worth going to see them.

For me the biggest surprise of the evening was that I ended up seeing by far my favourite Shellac show. Although I have seen the band on several occasions over the years, the last couple of times were marred by rented gear or poor audience attitude and I’d forgotten what an incredible live act they could be. Tonight they set up in a single line abreast with Todd Trainer centre stage and it was obvious from the off that we are in for a treat. With Shellac, the lack of a consistent set-list and a penchant for prolonged audience interaction can ruin the momentum of the show but on this evening, we are spoiled by back to back classics and little in the way of distraction. With the sound in their favour and a jubilant Parisian audience, Shellac are on absolutely scintillating form and for the first time in recent history is seems as though they are completely aware of it. They seem both confident and absolutely joyful to be playing at such an event, which is absolutely appropriate considering how happy we are to see them in such a setting. The obvious focal point of Shellac is that man Todd Trainer, with his frozen explosion of unkempt black hair held back by a single headband and what might as well be logs in his hands. Tonight was the first time that it occurred to me that his unbelievable power stems from the fact that every single one of his strokes rises all the way up over his head, the sticks meeting his shoulder blades before returning to the drums with improbable force. Although the older material is received with good cheer, songs from the better half of Excellent Italian Greyhound are definitely the most impressive overall. In particular, ‘Steady as She Goes’ is a contender for the best Shellac song ever committed to magnetic tape. In the live arena, the song becomes a hard-chooglin’, gut-bustin’ ox of a song. Likewise, ‘Be Prepared’ has all the mischievous magic which make Shellac such a unique group, as does ‘The End of Radio’ which tonight has Steve Albini conduct the introduction in surprisingly fluent French. The ever mesmerising ‘Wingwalker’ is unfurled in all its glory and for a moment we stand with our hands outstretched as Bob Weston encourages us to “be the plane”. As the set draws to a close, I realise that I’m standing with some of my friends from around Europe and we’re in a thicket of beautiful young Parisian women, hips swinging and butts shaking to Todd Trainer’s beats. It probably doesn’t get much better than this and it seems like a fitting conclusion to an incredible evening. Trainer doesn’t want to come off stage so the band dismantles his drumkit piece by piece until all he has is a lone snare drum, upon which he beats a triumphant closing tattoo. Absolutely fucking marvellous. Merci Shellac. Come back as soon as possible.

Tommy Dski