Live Review
Tuesday 21 March 2017, KOKO, Camden, London
Cloud Nothings
Support: Cian Nugent & Sick Llama
Official video: Cloud Nothings – “Modern Act”, Life Without Sound (2017)
“You’re taking the piss!”
I should really know from past experiences in the capital that by unquestioningly handing a coarse, twitching stranger £5.50 – despite mentally noting the gaping holes in his story, which the money more than covers – I may as well grant a licence to be pick-pocketed. “Come on, just give me the rest you’ve got there for some food”. Yes, “thank you” is a bit old hat, isn’t it? Today’s the day I decide to stand my ground but soon a cigarette is waving in my face like a manic, malevolent firefly; I adjust my footing, splutter my opinion of his canvassing methods and, heart suddenly racing, hurriedly cross the road to the venue.
I am especially taken aback as I had barely exited Mornington Crescent tube station. From a distance, I can see he’s now waging a propaganda war, amassing sympathy from passers-by, regardless of whether they witnessed this undignified spectacle. More mugs to be fleeced, then. Welcome back to the big city, indeed. Perhaps I’ll later gain some perspective but right now I feel great empathy with the End of the World is Nigh-esque placard-wielder I saw twenty minutes prior outside Embankment station (well, minus that part about being the victim of systematic Bilderberg Group torture).
Having done some pre-gig research, I enter Camden’s relatively plush KOKO in a foul mood fully aware that the next two hours will be spent milling about watching a couple of support acts that, frankly, aren’t for me. Not for the first time tonight then, I have a fair idea as to how things shall proceed yet, despite grave inner reservations, will do nothing to avert the inevitable. What assertiveness, what self-determination – why did she leave me, again? Thus, soon after Mission Of Burma’s rather apt “That’s When I Reach For My Revolver“ finishes over the PA, I am afforded plenty of time to stew.
Firstly, a long blond-haired man in shades with the stage name Sick Llama plays 30 minutes of continuous, arrhythmic, jarring noises largely from his desk set-up, which has surely been imported directly from his bedroom. The headliner’s frontman, a professed enthusiast of obscure records that even their creators would distance themselves from, was no doubt alight with contrarian glee when he stumbled upon this enigmatic reprobate. Supplemented by a disquieting light show and, to begin with, a piercing clarinet, these cacophonous sounds of engines, foghorns, screeches and more evoke heavy industry, perhaps emanating from underneath an aeroplane or down low beside a colossal maritime vessel. Empathy is absent here but indifference, isolation and despair certainly reign in this room, further reinforcing what a cold, unfriendly, atomised place the world can often be. The several dozen or so observable attendees are largely ignoring the entertainment, instead either standing alone in glum attrition, staring into the glare of their phones or facing away from the stage to talk to their companion – if they’re lucky enough to have one. This seems like the response the Llama One desires, yet when the mute, aloof sociopath finishes, he greets a smattering of applause with a polite, somewhat shy, acknowledgement. There goes the confrontational, anti-human facade. I don’t know, eh? Ya build ’em up and they knock themselves down…
Afterwards, I move down from the balcony to the floor, where suddenly there are clusters of bodies ready to witness the 8:30pm set of guitarist Cian Nugent, who looks like he’d have been right at home on an early 1970s edition of The Old Grey Whistle Test. He starts off on the acoustic before amping things up a notch, yet though he makes some nice lilting sounds, I could really do with something more visceral (well, so long as it also has half a tune). My mind wanders during his 30-minute set and I instead get a good look at the mob who share a taste for the band whose name is on the ticket. Unsurprisingly, most are in their twenties or early thirties, with many sporting denim, beards and general slacker-wear; more than a few appear to be of the shy, introverted ilk. Perhaps more unexpected, however, are the lack of band t-shirts on display. Indeed, though the headliners have some punk influences, you can tell that this is not a conventionally punk audience as there is a shortage of people ostentatiously proclaiming their allegiances. Nevertheless, overall I count four, one naturally bearing the iconic Ramones logo.
Cloud Nothings
(To view photos, click here)
When Mr. Nugent ends, virtually everyone is already set as, though the re-scheduling was mentioned upon entrance, Cloud Nothings were originally billed online as coming on at the current time, 9pm. Instead, it is to be another 25 minutes before the Cleveland four-piece arrive with their evocative, searingly infectious sound. This can unhelpfully be described as “alternative rock” but their potent brew really encompasses many styles and sub-genres with similarly obfuscating and conflicting connotations such as indie, punk, post-punk, garage-rock, noise-rock, melodic rock etc. One definite acknowledged influence has been The Wipers, but many a plaid-clad fan who wouldn’t mind turning the clock back 25-35 years has detected traces of alt big-hitters such as Dinosaur Jr., Sonic Youth and Hüsker Dü. No doubt, however, the band’s sources of inspiration are actually more disparate and unexpected; when asked in the past, the likes of Thin Lizzy and Black Sabbath have been amongst those picked out.
Formed in 2009 as frontman Dylan Baldi’s pet project, they have since gained a relatively steady line-up. Prolific, with several full-length albums and other releases under their collective belt, they are here touring in support of their most recent LP which hit the shelves in January, Life Without Sound.
They delve straight into this at around 9:25pm when they make their low-key entrance with disc-opener “Up To The Surface“. Immediately, those dragged along by their mates are wrongfooted as vocalist/guitarist Baldi stands not in the centre but on the audience’s right as part of the front three in the Nothings’ attack. Conversely, some more familiar with the band’s older output instead find themselves unaccustomed to the slower pace and more mellow tone of this new material. Still, for this attendee at least, some of its lyrics are well in keeping with the night, as with a downbeat sense of futility, Baldi sings – possibly more audibly than he will all night – about being “Alone in the city / We’re here on land / Cold eyes all around me where I stand / A frozen planet / How could love remain? / You left me alone”.
However, things soon get cookin’ with another new track, “Modern Act“. With its peppy guitar rush, the tempo and mood immediately rise; the atmosphere changes and it soon feels like, were this a just world, they would have a summer-drive radio hit on their hands. Yet, despite the evident optimism bursting to manifest itself multifariously, this is occasionally undercut in the lyrics, particularly by the spiky refrain, “I want a life / That’s all I need lately / I am alive / But all alone”.
Just over 40 seconds into the third song, “Psychic Trauma” (Here And Nowhere Else, 2014) the sonic breeziness has been replaced by some more recognisable sounds. The fast-paced punkier aspects of their dissonant fusion come to the fore as the boys go on a sudden blistering attack with Baldi’s scorching vocals torching all and sundry. He does well to modulate his voice to a mere sullen timbre when mouthing the stand-out lines, “I can’t believe what you’re telling me is true / My mind is always wasted listening to you”. Apparently, this song is about the self-annihilating aspects of over-thinking. However, perhaps owing to Baldi’s tendency to write fast at the last minute, as with many of his lyrics these ones are also somewhat abstract. Thus, ironically, while the listener may relate, they can also find themselves pondering endlessly on their possible meanings.
After all this freneticism has fizzed out of the bottle, they return to their latest album, albeit on a more eclectic note with “Darkened Rings“. This track, with its often-slurred lines of sleep-deprived regret, largely taps into and skilfully harnesses the energy that has just been unleashed, though towards the end the floodgates once again open, this time for a frantic crescendo. Subsequent new track “Enter Entirely” sounds straight outta U.S. college radio circa. ’94, though for some, with its refrain of “Moving on but I still feel it / You’re a light in me now”, it’s an apt segue into the next track.
Indeed, as soon as the infectious break-up recovery song “I’m Not Part Of Me” (2014) begins, for the many cheering it feels as if the gig, as well as perhaps their personal comebacks, shall commence in unison with the opening words: “It starts right now”. I’m possibly projecting a little but the song has a powerful emotional resonance. The irresistible repeated lines “I’m not telling you all I’m going through / I feel fine” and “I’m not, I’m not you / You’re a part of me” certainly scream of a wounded heart trying – not entirely convincingly – to re-assert some independent confidence after a return to solitude. Plenty join in with these parts for what is surely the most popular number of the night; Baldi’s empathetic and endearing vocals very much contribute to its appeal. Though it contains empowering forward-looking sentiments, its overall tone suggests a broken soul who will be wrestling with their past for some time to come: “I’m moving towards a new idea / You’re not what I really needed / Now, you could just leave me on my own”. Then again, as I say, perhaps I’m projecting. Perhaps it was the inscrutable Baldi who did the dumping.
When it ends, the band receive much appreciative noise. Baldi takes this to be as good as any cue to utter some rare non-amped words; he uses his pulpit wisely, with his request for the disco ball on the venue’s rather high ceiling to light up and twirl granted. This is the second time, after Bad Religion’s identical plea in Glasgow in 2011, that I have witnessed such a scintillating sight in the light-speckled, boogie-free flesh.
Subsequently, the boys, who evidently do what they want when they want, opt against capitalising on this momentum and instead mine their latest release for the next two songs. The first, “Sight Unseen“, contains some easy-on-the-ears, almost vulnerable, singing from Baldi, particularly on the line, “Finally gone but I’ll remember all that I have seen”. The second, “Strange Year“, is a more unhinged affair, though any after-effects are set to be domesticated by the soothing qualities of the following, more celebrated, track.
Indeed, “Fall In” (Attack On Memory, 2012) opens with its sweet despairing chorus which consists simply of the two words in the title. This soft, melodic singalong is interspersed with Baldi’s rasping vocals on the almost lo-fi, higher-tempo verses before the Dismemberment Plan-recalling pre-chorus brings things back full circle. Though overall its meaning – if it has just the one – is open to interpretation the lyrics suggest that the protagonist has “Fall[en] In” with the wrong crowd/situation and/or his attempts to live like others have failed and he is “falling” fast. Either way – or indeed, the many other ways that are available – the tone gives the impression that this individual is struggling in life and feels he/she may be hurtling towards the abyss (Baldi has in fact admitted how despondent he often felt around this time in the band’s early, especially challenging, years).
This is then followed by “Things Are Right With You” off their January release which, like the previous song, conforms to the common CN motif of possessing a catchy, uncomplicated refrain (“Feel right x 3 / Feel lighter”). It goes down fairly well here but, even though it contains the album’s title in the lyrics – “No use in life without sound” – it’s understandable that the more free-wheeling “Modern Act” was instead chosen as the lead single.
Off the back of two tracks at the more snappy, accessible end of the band’s palette, they then serve up something without a prayer of ever getting mainstream radio play, “Pattern Walks” (2014). This is seven minutes long and whilst it contains some recurring elements it also has several shifts in tone and tempo, not to mention a disconcerting vocal-less instrumental part that lasts over two minutes. During this, the talents of drummer Jayson Gerycz are showcased as we are provided with one of the clearest exhibitions all night of just what a phenomenally versatile, energetic and hard-working talent he is.
Afterwards, the fourth wall is briefly broken for perhaps the third time tonight as the punters are informed that there are two songs left. These happen to be new ones, firstly “Internal World“, a catchy number which has also been released as a single. Again, particularly given Baldi’s more palatable vocals and the singalong parts, one can not help but feel that the boys are unfortunate to be plugging away at a time when predominant industry forces are less hospitable towards their kind of guitar-driven music. They often exude more than enough commerciality to suggest that they could occupy a seat in the corner at one of the few cool tables at the mainstream buffet.
The second – and seemingly final – track is the five-minute album-closer “Realize My Fate“. Gerycz’s prominent drums help set the isolated, foreboding feel which chugs along with creeping menace before descending into a bash-fest heightened by discordant, possibly improvised, instrumental caterwauling. At the same time, Baldi’s initial sorrow transforms into impotent fury, his angst rising with the volume as he repeats, “I believe in something bigger / But what? I can’t articulate / I find it hard to realize my fate”. Implying perhaps guilt or a frustrated individual at the end of his tether feeling compelled by circumstances into disreputable or unsympathetic acts, he departs with the lines, “And when it comes / I won’t be going straight”.
It’s quite an aural bombshell to let off before exiting. Yet, having already browsed setlists on this tour and read about some of their other past shows, I fear that they won’t be coming back out. However, hardly anyone else here appears to share the same concerns as they all stand dutifully prepared for the encore; thankfully, this soon arrives.
Following some brief muffled words to the faithful, they dive into “Stay Useless” (2012), a single that garnered the band a fair bit of attention back home five years ago and which remains one of their biggest songs. This endearing slice of pop-rock, delivered with some of the most empathetic vocals of the night, is the perfect antidote to the trail they had left in their wake and plenty sing the clipped, concise chorus: “I need time to stop moving / I need time to stay useless”. Though these ears originally heard the first line as “start” rather than “stop”, it makes little difference to how this hook is received; it encapsulates how many feel when they could do with a breather from reality, particularly after a relationship has ended. With the professed desire to “stay useless”, it taps into the stereotypical slacker mentality, making it seem like a Zen-like state of calm worth aspiring to. Baldi is once again on fine form with emotive lines like, “Can I see / What’s going wrong with me? / I used to have it all now I’m alone / I’d never say / I’m better off this way / I need something to do / Somewhere to go”. Easily relatable, many absorb their thoughts in the vulnerable, affective “ohhhhs” that precede the final several airings of the refrain which, in turn, take the tune home.
Of course, for any alt-rock saviours worth their salt it would just be cheap pandering to end with this kind of sing-song. Instead, they finish with all nine minutes (if not more) of “Wasted Days” (2012), an unsettling epic more than a few have evidently been counting on as they create a large space in the crowd for a slam pit. After, in CN terms, a relatively conventional opening with some cool guitar moments, there follows several minutes of creeping uncertainty which gradually metamorphoses into something truly unwieldy. When Baldi eventually returns to the mic, it is to see out the night by shouting the raw, increasingly manic lament: “I THOUGHT. I WOULD. BE MORE. THAN THIS”. Plenty of songs tonight have seemed cathartic for the mid-twenties prodigy, but this one really unleashes some inner turmoil. As the crowd depart, more than a few witnesses have expressions that straddle the line between bewilderment and concern.
Thus, though it often offered affinity and rays of light creeking through from various dark places, the 75-minute set concludes on a thoroughly defeatist note. Nevertheless, as many rush out to get the tube home, most know they have just seen one of the most vital live acts currently on the scene. That said, though the participants will probably tell you otherwise, that pit at the end came to very little; some minor bumping here and there, no more. Indeed, Cloud Nothings, despite all their angst and frequently ferocious, exhilarating charges, appear to have a fanbase not short of sensitive and – dare one say it – delicate outsiders not unlike themselves. Perhaps it was just the crowded floor but plenty seemed to respond to the sounds and surroundings more with agitation and awkward restlessness than a desire to recreate, say, Bad Brains at CBGB, 1982. Still, whilst there may have been some discomfort down below, the KOKO certainly doesn’t lack in vertical space; the well-decorated, almost august, ceiling is considerably high and at times, did not lend itself favourably to the band’s most blistering aural assaults.
All this being said, though most would have stepped into the venue anticipating more older material – “Now Hear In” (2014) and “Separation” (2012) next time, please! – many will appreciate in the long run that they heard the band’s 2017 release played live in its entirety. Without being a radical departure, it possesses more than enough new stylistic twists and turns to further enhance the impression that this is a band with a far better music collection than you. Ultimately, what more could an alt-rock obsessive ask for than a fresh gang who make you want to suddenly discover not only all of their output but that of virtually all the other racket-makers that have somehow bypassed you.
Darren Spherical
Spherical Manor 