GiggySound

Godspeed You! Black Emperor at Chevron Festival Gardens on Monday February 11, 2013 Review by Matthew Tomich Photos by Caroline Forsberg It’s hard to expect anything less than a transcendental experience from a GODSPEED YOU! BLACK EMPEROR show. The 20-year-old […]

Gig reviews: what the hell? It pains me to even begin this way but I’ve always had a particular disdain for the constant stream of nonsense and no context that this form of critique represents, a shallow, hollow shell of a thing with strings of adjectives either positive or negative being thrown about like the proverbial ragdoll. Preamble: I’m an asshole. If you don’t want to read on, I’ll cut the crap for a moment and lay it bare: this was a professional show by a competent touring rock band. The mystique is gone.

Carey picked me up in his Rav 4, but he’s no soccer mum, he’s just a ridiculous dude. Giving me crap for my bright shirt, I completely forgot to wear a Black album shirt or rock a beard like I was supposed to. I guess I misread the memo on this one. Godspeed, huh? One of the monoliths, a supreme giant of a thing, I mean, how many times can a man listen to Lift yr Skinny Fists in a darkened room, the only light emanating from a dilapidated laptop screen, showcasing another old thread of shut-ins discussing the best version of ‘The Dead Flag Blues’ or what brand of screwdrivers have taken Efrim’s fancy on the Yanqui tour? Just heaps, heaps of times. Driving to the show, I remembered a whole bunch of these formative experiences, heading out of adolescence into the unknown, and these smelly Canadians were there every step. Their records were mysteries waiting to be uncovered, dusting off until finding the life-affirming crescendo underneath, Coney Island Cyclones and Rockets falling all about, that secret track at the end of F# that nearly blew up my father’s speakers, waiting for a date with Slow Riot, you know, all that shit. I knew this gig was going to be an albatross, how could it possibly live up to my (extremely) ridiculous expectations?

Carey and I walked in, grabbed some beers and some cold lamb rolls, which, not to piss anybody off or anything, tasted like cardboard. I know this because I’ve been a student for nearly my entire life. As the crowd shuffled in, and oh lord they were shuffling, the suitably overcast day provided a light drizzle: my immediate thought was ‘if it starts to rain real heavily during this set, that would be the most fitting thing since my pair of three dollar rip off-Connies’. Carey, being a shut-in Godspeed fan who was finally venturing outside, was sweating pretty bad. This was going to be good. It has to be transcendent, it has to be better than Swans at the Forum, Boadrum ’10, Bariken at the old Hydey, Deerhoof at the Rosie, it has to be life-affirming. For an hour and a half, I want to be lifted. An array of equipment on stage signified the modern campfire, as the drone became a long ass drone, people uncomfortably realizing that the show had technically started, the talk becoming whisper becoming quiet, as one by one the slightly depleted ensemble stepped out, wearing T-Shirts and pants: what the fuck? I thought these guys were going to be druids or something! (I am fully aware that these musicians are regular people, a painful experience I will recount in maybe two paragraphs’ time).

Here they are: the drone supporting the meandering, all fucking about with long delayed chords and scrapes across the violin and double bass, cymbals being gently caressed. These are truly anarchists not afraid to play a venue named after a mining company at a government funded festival. The red lights were dimmed, the projections were suitably nonsensical, the sound immaculate as the complete silence of the crowd was punctuated by the screwdrivers on strings, ‘Mdlaic’, and while I loved the record, there was a sense of unease washing over me as the melody returned and was stretched out. Another thing I learned from this show: yobbos/bogans also like Godspeed, as the silence that had entranced the crowd was broken when the piece ended (no segues?), and some blowjobs kept yelling ‘FUCKSPEED’ and other crap. Also, it was around this time some fat guy kept accidentally elbowing me.

The flathead vs. Phillips head screwdriver championship was in full swing as they prepared the second piece, which to my delight was ‘Moya’, Carey obviously not impressed as he was messaging his lover around this time. The ensemble played it perfectly and that’s not necessarily a compliment; this piece potentially lends itself well to being lengthened, heightening the tension and inevitable release, but alas, it was just like listening to Slow Riot on headphones with a muffled audience track. When this was finished and ‘East Hastings’ begun (I’m pretty sure it was this, apologies if I’m wrong), again played like consummate professionals, another thought entered my mind: these guys can be excused for indulging in a victory lap. When you’ve essentially created a subgenre, essentially created a label, essentially created an adoring fan base and have oodles of critical stock, why not take the time to bask in that glory? That and our friend Carey was reacting like so many audience members, slightly bobbing his head with his arms firmly crossed.

The next piece, which I couldn’t put a name to, seemed to run like a reverse Godspeed structure, and was the most exciting yet also strangest part of the set; it sounded like they have finally copped to their Black Flag influence and gone stoner metal. The riffs sounded like the proverbial sledgehammer and the presence of proper slide guitar is always welcome; I knew they were onto a good thing because everybody, not just our friend, was covered in sweat from bobbing along. This slight change in style carried over to the final piece, and after an hour and a half of standing around watching seven Canadians huddled together on a stage jerking off, it was the end, with slight waves to the audience as a classy acknowledgment of our existence. As the crowd shuffled on to the sounds of DJ Tyranny spinning some Swans (he continued to play some cool ass shit, so keep hiring him!), I had a sense of unease about this whole night.

Godspeed You! Black Emperor were not a band to me, not even a group; they were this alien thing, this experience that could never be explained or equaled. While I’m grateful they came to our hallowed shores, and played a show of a reasonable length and price, I felt that their workmanship like performance was disappointing. They have made some of the most transcendent and majestic records of the past twenty years, and for me, this show was merely a blip on the radar. Godspeed became just another live band for me, and that’s kind of heartbreaking. Of course, this is just my reaction and I’m sure that if I’m recognized in the street, you might want to kick me in the balls, but hey, the heavens never opened up as intended. Maybe I just realized that the more I see of the world, the less I need crescendos.