Raster-Noton 12th anniversary event, ICA, 30/05/08

The Mall appeared to have been thoroughly Union Jacked up for the arrival of the representatives of Germany’s Raster-Noton imprint, here to celebrate their 12th anniversary (an odd one to shout about; I would have thought that these digitally-minded types would only be interested in those anniversaries which are powers of 2).  Given the quality of the line-up, they were more than justified in cracking out the bunting: label bosses Carsten Nicolai and Olaf Bender, along with Frank Bretschneider and Kangding Ray.  It doesn’t get a lot better than that.  The only potential problem was that my companion Monkeyman was suffering from a migraine.  Don’t worry, I said.  They are minimalists. You’ll cope.

Kevin Drumm, Imperial Distortion (Hospital Productions)

Sheer Hellish Miasma. The title of Kevin Drumm’s 2002 release on the Mego label said it all. A gold-embossed Pandora’s box, the opening of which resulted in assault by the blisteringly evil noise; it is the kind of thing for which Indiana Jones would have to hack his way past an army of crudely drawn dusky-skinned stereotypes to keep from falling into the hands of the Nazis. While some of the titles on this new release – for example, “More Blood and Guts” – hint that we could have been in for more of the same, this is in fact an entirely different artefact, although none the less precious.

Graham Lambkin and Jason Lescalleet, The Breadwinner (Erstwhile)

Jason Lescalleet’s 2006 release Pilgrim was an extraordinary (if at times difficult to listen to) piece of work, parts of it featuring recordings made in hospital of his dying father. As you would expect in the circumstances, emotionally it was all over the place: part loving tribute, part aching melancholy, and at times just downright angry. For this new album he collaborates with The Shadow Ring’s Graham Lambkin, once again weaving some unlikely source material to make a strangely powerful and unsettling experience.

Kangding Ray, Automne Fold (Raster-Noton)

Autumn? Autumn? I’m not quite done with summer yet, thank you very much. I’m having a lot of fun. In fact, in all the excitement brought on by the recent spate of hotness, I even donned a wetsuit and went wakeboarding, which for those who know me would be about as ridiculous and inappropriate as the time I went to work dressed as the lion from the Wizard Of Oz. In fact you should count yourself lucky this isn’t a review of some nu-metal album or whatever crap it is that those surfy longhairs listen to nowadays.

Stars of the Lid, Lichens and James Blackshaw at St Giles-in-the-fields, 20/05/08

Hemmed in in what feels like a most godless space behind the Centrepoint tower, the church of St Giles-in-the-fields is where, in the fifteenth century, condemned men en route to be hanged on the gallows at Tyburn (down the far end off Oxford Street; it would make a great deal of sense to me if the site was where Primark is now) were allowed to stop by for a bowl of ale. After this run of four gigs in four days I was feeling pretty much dead on my feet myself; a warm can of lager from the off-license over the road was the best I could manage for succour though.

The Necks, The Vortex, 19/05/08

I’m not feeling so good. I think I’ve broken a rib. And trapped a nerve or something in my shoulder. But above all, I’m tired. Really tired. Sometimes I wish I could just pass on a gig, and not just instinctively click “Buy” whenever I see an event I’d quite fancy; my diary soaks up content with little consequence as to the toll it is going to take on me. Although having said that, if I was going to skip something in this taxing run of shows I find myself in the middle of, it really shouldn’t have been this; The Necks were magnificent here last year, and were destined to repeat the trick this time. As well as that, I had the unexpected pleasure of sharing a table with 66.67% of Team Wirewool, forming a spontaneous blogger’s symposium (which reminds me – Linda, I need to speak to you about August).

Swedish Outsiders Day 2 at Cafe Oto, 18/05/08

The second (somewhat lower key) day of the No Signal Swedish Outsider festival required my first trip to the new Cafe Oto in Dalston. I’ve been looking for an excuse to go for a while, to be honest; not only does this converted warehouse sitting amidst some decidedly unconverted warehouses have an inspiring line-up of cultural events scheduled over the next few months, but it also sells the delicious ales of the Pitfield Brewery. Mmmm. If I can remember how I got there, I’m sure I’ll be back soon.

Swedish Outsiders: Tape, BJ Nilsen, Folke Rabe and Mats Gustafsson at the ICA, 17/05/08

I’ve never been to Sweden, but I’ve been outside it, hence feel more than qualified to comment on the Swedish Outsiders festival lovingly curated by No Signal. Over two days, and two venues, a diverse cross-section of that most democratic country’s experimental musicians are assembled in London; we’d arranged for the weather to turn significantly colder to make them feel at home. The first day, at the ICA, was a cracker.

Scorch Trio, Brolt; Box, Studio One (both Rune Grammofon)

Recently, while Rune Grammofon have continued to weave their merry patterns with a typically diverse line-up, I’ve been content to sit on the sidelines, gazing on with the insouciance of an unused French substitute. I may even have shrugged in stereotypical gallic fashion. However, I’ve been waiting too long, and can’t contain myself any longer: they have released Raoul Bjorkenheim onto the field, and he is bristling with so much menace and energy that I’ve been forced to shed my tracksuit top to keep tabs on him.

Nico Muhly, Mothertongue (Bedroom Community)

Perhaps it is a sign that I’m getting old, but these days the world seems to be full of people who are younger, better-looking, and more talented than me. This is particularly true in the case of Nico Muhly, and not only does he get to hang out with her Bjorkness, but to cap it all he is also probably a better blogger than me too.   I’m currently teaching my cat some (admittedly fairly advanced) principles of rocket science, and when she has stopped licking her arse and finishes building the damn thing, I’m strapping myself to it and firing myself into space. If anyone knows an easier way of ending it all, by all means tell me.