My aversion to hype is now so refined that each time The Big Pink popped up on that TV advert, or an album review came into vision, I ignored it, childishly sticking my fingers in my ears and going “la la la la la”. Thanks largely to a blitzkrieg of promotion and the release of A Brief History of Love (an adequate debut album sporting an overused theme) the quality of the gig was being decided for me, before it had even started. So I kept my head down, avoiding every outside influence as best I could.
Gratefully, the supporting band set these anticipations aside giving me something else to think about. We Fell to Earth were a moping and moody Post Rock quartet with Math elements, stalked in the shadows by a droning, unsettling bass. Even though the bald singer sang (badly) like Phil Collins on the verge of a breakdown, they had clearly given their compositions ample thought and attentive care. And although not as well known, they proved themselves The Big Pink’s equals (seriously, check them out). Soon enough, on walked the headline dressed in their cyber Lou Reed chic. London was their last spot on the UK tour, a return to home.
I wanted to see The Big Pink because of ‘Velvet’. ‘Velvet’ is such an achingly good track and so unusual, like the product of some divine inspiration. It blows all the other tracks out of the water and their performance of it was a joy. The album title track was also well played proving they do have the odd reflective mood. Like being submerged in warm water or floating about in a Mark Rothko painting, each track blurred into the next preserving the hazy sensation. Their recent Radio 1 friendly single ‘Domino’s’ was what got the crowd bouncing and chanting in a sing-a-long. If you ask me, to close on their most popular single was a bit cheap, but I was the only one not ecstatically shouting along, so what do I know?
Without directly meaning to, The Big Pink bring shoegaze and noise art to the masses by adopting catchy refrains and by making the typical image of the oddball shoegazer much more sociable. Their textured hymns, made up of singing synths, electro beats and monster guitar distortion, transferred without blemish to the live setting. It took me a few days to work out that, aside from that generic crowd pleasing conclusion, their Electric Ballroom finale was strangely modest, short and razor sharp – possibly a reaction to their heavy exposure? I predicted much more improvisation and showing off but these cats appear to be shrugging off their rising fame. Once you brush all that hype away all that remains is the memory of a damn good evening.
(© Copyright 2009 Brendan Morgan)
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