Ben Frost, Teeth Of The Sea and Part Wild Horses Mane On Both Sides at The Luminaire, 30/05/10

One of the most unmissable, if unlikely, menus that the Luminaire has ever offered paired two of the acts currently near the top of my most-desperately-wanting-to-see list (how did they know?) as irresistible starter and un-turndownable dessert, and threw in some proggy palette cleanser between those courses. My current obsession with Sheffield’s Singing Knives label means that I was probably more excited than most in the crowd at seeing the improbably named Part Wild Horses Mane On Both Sides (hereafter, inevitably, PWHMOBS), while Ben Frost’s extraordinary By The Throat was one of every right-thinking person’s albums of 2009. It was an evening that was ultimately to prove to be incendiary, in every sense of the word.

While drums and flute may not be the most promising of combinations on paper, Lyon’s Pascal Nichols and Kelly Jones, aka PWHMOBS, are using them as the basis as some of the most original and fresh-sounding music anywhere right now. They combine those instruments with tapes, electronics, chanting and ethnic percussion and instrumentation to create something that isn’t jazz, isn’t rock, isn’t world music…but it is something. Quite something. They begin delicately with Jones adding layers of breathy flute, and Nichols playing with bells and other gamelan-like objects I couldn’t quite place. Some of the sounds were completely inexplicable, until I realised that Nichols had a mic strapped to his neck, and was adding groans and yelps into the mix. The two were listening closely to each other, building tension, adding new sounds and textures, looped bird song appearing amongst the flute melodies, with Nichols scattering rimshots amongst the flock. This rose gradually to sections of near-tribal rhythms, with Nichols beginning a throaty incantation, almost a call to prayer, and one I’d have been compelled to answer. This was deep and devotion-inspiring, a transfixing performance wholly in line with their reputation as one of the most original and exciting of live acts.

It took me until halfway through the set by Teeth Of The Sea to realise why they look familiar. The band shares half of its members with a Roxy tribute band I’d seen playing some months ago in London called Proxy (ha!) Music. The impression I got then – as now – was they were a pretty talented bunch of musicians still in search of some original ideas. Other than some pretty rudimentary drumming (it is never a good sign when the drummer plays standing up), I couldn’t really fault what they were doing here – a high-pitched psych rock wail, with added interest coming via use of trumpet and electronics, and the fact that the guitarist looks like he has wandered in from an US metal band from the 1980s (I haven’t seen a Flying V in concert since my teens, let alone someone playing it with their foot on the monitor). At times they captured the euphoria of a Godspeed crescendo, pushing it further into ecstatic realms, but for the most part I was unexcited, this wasn’t really my thing. Still, at least they had given the speakers a good clean for Ben Frost.

Ben Frost’s By The Throat album may have an air of menace, but his live performances of that material are much more explicit in their evil intentions. As he let rip with the first huge, angry burst of malevolent noise, he cast his head back, and thrust his crotch; in the dark, wearing a vest, and with extravagant whiskers, he looked like slightly depraved, my imagination began to cast him as a serial killer. It was really really fucking scary. And that was before he’d even started with the howling wolves, and the noises that sound like someone’s skin being scraped from their body. The volume was punishing, horrendous bursts of feedback and sick, scarred static, carried on top of some of the most brutal bass I’ve ever heard, the sort that could vibrate the fillings from your teeth. People had their eyes closed and hands clasped over their ears. Does this sound horrible? It was STUNNING. At times the bass came together in dark, sparse patterns that might have sounded good on the dancefloor in Hades, but these were quickly disassembled and buried and covered in six feet of raging noise. This was so intense you could almost smell it. In fact you could smell it. What was that acrid smell? Fuck, Ben Frost had pushed his speakers so far that smoke was pouring out of one of his monitors. Did he stop? No, he wasn’t moved in the slightest. The devil isn’t scared of a bit of fire, after all.

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