I missed the start of this after arriving late back from a work trip somewhere way out West, which meant returning via Paddington’s irritating connections (the twin Paddingtons and twin Edgware Roads are a blight on the top left hand corner of the circle line, in my opinion; I feel Harry Beck’s pain) to the faded grandeur of Shoreditch Town Hall, with its lovely and rather appropriate crest. Plenty of power on display tonight, as well as some lights being whirled around by one of the most enigmatic of frontmen.

Such tardiness meant missing most of Michael Gira’s set.  A real shame – the two songs I heard were fiery, passionate affairs which would have called the bluff of most of the new weird folk movement (or whatever I’m supposed to call it these days).  I’d heard complaints about excessive chatter during his set in previous shows, but not here - check out the young disciple listening intently and reverentially in the picture above. If anyone had broken his concentration, I think he would have kicked the warm Carlsberg out of them.  I must say that I thought Gira’s hat and braces combination was a good look for the older gentleman too; I’m duly noting that one, it’ll come in handy some day.

Boredoms, or V(infinity)redoms, or whatever I’m supposed to call them these days, were playing “in the round”, which was the first time I’ve heard that expression used without the words “Rod Stewart” or “Bon Jovi” also featuring in the sentence.  So everyone had a pretty great view, although the sound probably varied a bit depending on which of the three drummers you were nearest two – “my guy” played with a whipcracking ferocity which was tearing at my ears by the end.

The Boredoms set has evolved over the last couple of years – last time I saw them it was pretty much one continuous flowing set of interlocked rhythms, while this time it was more clearly divided into discrete pieces – very complicated, knotty things which the band needed to work as one to unravel.  Eye marshalled these meticulous arrangements, signalling changes of tempo or rhythm with a yelp, playing – as well as his box of dials and some sort of crackling lightbulb – seven guitar necks arranged like a TV antenna, beating them somewhat dramatically with a big stick to produce reverberating space chords.

Towards the end, I thought a disco record was beginning to play from the speakers.  I quickly realised that this wasn’t a record, this was Boredoms letting their hair down.  Yoshimi swivelled in her seat to play keyboards and sing a melody, the other two drummers switched to a more comprehensible time signature, and everyone – band and audience alike – felt the love.  There was even an outbreak of freaky dancing from the fellow down the front with the luxuriant moustache.  At this stage in what is now a pretty long career, Boredoms retain the ability to surprise as well as delight.

:: :: ::