Probably the most incongruous sight there could be in the middle of The Spitz’s Festival of Folk: the insane wall of amps that Keiji Haino had assembled for this bone crunching evening.  Standing before them at the start of the gig filled me with awe - like gazing up at a giant stone statue of the God of some fearsome religion (you know, like those in Indian Jones movies).

The Alan Wilkinson/Steve Noble/John Edwards trio were on first, and gave the Spitz a good hard shake with some first rate improvisation.  Alan Wilkinson played alto and, more effectively, baritone saxophones, splitting notes asunder and casting them up before this God.  Steve Noble played drums with great skill, deep concentration, fine touch, and deceptively minimal movement (reminding me of a golfer lining up a long putt).  John Edwards merely confirmed his position as probably the finest bassist I have seen live, plucking and sawing and tinking and thumping with a manic energy, occasionally leading Noble in a descent into some funkier stuff.

The catacoustics of Touch recording artist z’ev provided such sweet relief.  He played gongs of various metals and sizes suspended from a frame, and played them with such touch and precision, like a one man gamelan steel drum ensemble.  Tracing shapes with sticks over drum skins produced incredibly resonant buzzes and drones.  I have rarely enjoyed three quarters of an hour spent looking at a bald man’s back as much.

It became clear quite quickly that Keiji Haino intended to use any means at his disposal to produce the most fucked up racket he could, no matter how ridiculous he would make himself look in the process.  He began by facing off against Chris Corsano on drums (a fight most would lose within three rounds) seemingly intent on battering the drum kit into the restaurant below, before switching to theremins, playing them like a witch keeping four cauldrons bubbling. 

Corsano, initially deferential, found more space to cut loose when Keiji switched to his more conventional guitar, layering metallic percussion onto his drum kit, and crashing around in hyperactive and thoroughly watchable fashion.  This furious invention made it abundantly clear why he appears to be in such demand these days in all manner of group settings (how many great records has he appeared on in the last 12 months?).

After breaking a string, we were treated to a bit of mildly comic shouting and stamping about, Keiji piling on the distortion effects and upping the noise levels, switching back to theremins for some piercingly high stuff, by which point I decided to get the hell out of my spot in the front row as I was terrified my ears were going to burst and I was going to bleed to death through my ears in order to get a different perspective from a nice viewpoint.

By this point I began to notice how my body had been acclimatising itself to this monstrous pack rape of a sonic assault - whenever there was a moment of temporary respite, the absence of noise made me feel dizzy, and instantly quite ill.  I was relieved to see Keiji picking his (repaired) guitar back up, and showering us with some gorgeous distortion-heavy six stringed wash; Corsano surfed this ethereal wave to the shore.  A stunning fifteen minute section in an hour plus of the most ungodly noise.