So how do you accurately recreate that 60’s vibe in an anal and corporate controlled society? Answer: You can’t. Even the hypnotic life affirming experience that is The Black Angels was not enough to shake off the cold and inhuman atmosphere of a gig in Hitler’s crows nest.
To get in and out of the O2 run Brixton Academy, even for a smoke, you have to get through a chain of SS goons, or ‘stewards’ as they call themselves. And they’re everywhere you turn, standing around like the miserable voyeurs they are; at every door, along the balconies, looking over your shoulder while you take a piss. The entire building is locked down like a military installation and with good reason, because Brixton is a tough side of town. Why not? Scrutinise and intimidate the kids until they feel low down and criminal. None of us can be trusted.
As press, I was given a pass to the VIP bar (a clever gimmick) reserved for the bands and their friends. Their plan: to coax the journalists into it and away from where all the real action is. From way up there with your four pound bottle of beer, looking out through the wide plastic windows, you can see just about everything and it transforms the gig into a spectator sport. The arena was packed and the floor bobbed and waved in a sea of human heads. There was beer flying overhead and baying for the headline, for Wolfmother’s arrival. I wasn’t fussed. I was there for The Black Angels after all.
On tour with the matriarch, all the way from Austin, Texas, The Black Angels caught my ear with their powerful 2006 album Passover. Pitchfork deemed the release “for the nostalgic […] and the monumentally stoned” which was apt, because at the time, I was both. An unholy union between Black Sabbath and The Velvet Underground, the band’s reverberating drones and mysticism are anchored to earth by the terrific weight of foot stomping Americana and echoing doom: “We can’t live, but we’re too afraid to die”.
On this evening, The Black Angels’ impenetrable sense of dread was shattered by a temperate reaction. The poor and heavily distorted mix didn’t help matters, being unable to give their layered style much needed space. Worst hit, were tracks such as ‘The First Vietnamese War’, a salute to time past and a parallel of our own hopeless war. What I gathered from overheard and one on one conversation displayed a similar frustration, though the residing opinion was one of nodding respect and interest and their subdued performance only heightened the intrigue. They had made an impression.
The O2 does controlled and organised fun like no one else. Its commodification of music seems to be in direct contradiction to Rock’s free spirit and left me with an empty gig experience. Irritably drunk, I left just as Wolfmother’s grip on the crowd was beginning to wane. I will be seeing The Black Angels again, most definitely, just not at any O2 arena. Among many other things we’ve lost, Brixton Academy should be returned to the people.
(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)
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