I saw a Fonal records event here last year, so despite my reservations as to its suitability as a concert venue (beautiful, yes, but one toilet?  For a few hundred people?) it was no surprise to see No Signal putting together a St Giles-in-the-fields event featuring a couple of the stars of that great Finnish label, as well as two other fascinating acts.  Islaja played first, odd given that her star continues to ascend - brilliant new album Ulual YYY on Fonal, forthcoming release on Ecstatic Peace.  As with when she played here last year, she was captivating - the music was as aysmmetric as her haircut and she had a basket full of things to shake and things to blow through.  Her vocals soared high, and then crash landed on an uneven surface of rugged Finnish consonants.  Accompanied by a fuzzy-sounding bassist, she took us on a fascinating meandering journey, with no signposts, and no concessions to anyone struggling to work out where they were going.  A unique talent.

“Hello, I’m Richard Youngs.  Awwwwaaaaaawwaaaaarrrraaaaaaa..”.  Barely had Richard Youngs finished introducing himself at the start of this rare live performance than he was launching himself into the first of a series of solo vocal pieces.  Wordless, I initially assumed, but once my ear acclimatised to the tone of his voice, his wonderful poetry emerged.  Very elemental - both in terms of subject matter (earth, air and water came up…thankfully in this centuries old and wooden-pewed building, no fire), and in the way his pieces are constructed from simple, repeating melodies and phrases.  It worked terrifically well in this setting - and his simple, heartfelt, ancient-sounding message took on an almost religious feel.

Paavoharju were a bit odd.  Well, one member was a bit odd.  With long hair, black cap and shades, he could have passed for singer in The Sisters Of Mercy, and he spent most of the gig grinning and dancing like he was on Top Of The Pops.  This did not seem to please their other singer, the slightly Bjork-ish one with the pink headscarf, who rolled her eyes, scowled and folded her arms throughout his buffoonery.  When he left the stage for the last song, a different Paavoharju emerged - just female voice and piano, elegant and haunting.

The excitement of Tony Conrad’s imminent appearance was heightened by the installation of fans and a semi-diaphonous screen across the front of the stage.  For about the first half of the performance he created a performance worthy of the anticipation.  I was entranced as he built a swarming drone from his violin and pedals, a five note theme emerging and being submerged in a lightning storm of crackle and rumble.  A monumental minimalist symphony was being constructed, and I loved it. A glitchy electronic rhythm emerged, and while I initially appreciated it (it reminded me of the brilliant new Pan Sonic disc at one point), it eventually began to have an attritional effect.  Conrad seemed determined to test our endurance, the performance pushed on past the hour mark, and ever onwards past the ninety minute mark; he was evidently unable to stop playing.  People started to drift out, glancing anxiously at watches.  I saw one girl slumped with her head between her knees.  And don’t forget what I said earlier about the (lack of) toilet situation, which was really beginning to take its painful toll.  Those who stayed gave Conrad a deserved standing ovation, but I really wished he had put the violin down thirty minutes or so sooner.  That is the problem with minimalism - sometimes there is too much of it.