Black Dice at Cargo

Black Dice at Cargo

21 July, 2008
by: Sween

"We think they're louder than Sunn O)))" proclaims an asinine boast/health warning by the door. Health & Safety and promotion converge only in a handful of bands, and I must say, though the bowel-threatening levels of Sunn O))) were not equalled, they were definitely nudged.

But volume wasn't what it was about. I sit here, struggling to even contemplate putting the 45 minutes of Black Dice into words. At least, I reckon it was 45 minutes; that's how long East Coast psychedelic experimental noise bands usually play for, right? If memory serves, it could've been eight months. It could've been a geological era, for God's sake. All I know is that I was awake throughout the whole performance; but when the sounds diminished, the roof stopped boiling, and the gaping void was filled by applause and hoots, I woke up again.

OK, deep breath.

First of all, they are very loud. Really. It's such a disconcerting experience to feel the liquid around your brain tremble in fear at a broken beat like a Tyrannosaurus' footsteps. Or your dinner start to leap about manically at the squeal of a synth. The holistic bodily interaction is all part of the show – their visuals eat you alive for the duration. Ten minutes of chaotic shapeless spectral amoeba being fried on the surface of the Sun is replaced by a repetitious scene of a malicious neon primate throttling a melting French duke over and over; then swiftly to paraplegic prostitutes bathing in lava, making love to the decapitated heads of Ku Klux Klan members. These are interspersed with a strobe bombardment of 492 abstract coloured shapes every second, and loads of triangles (probably from outer space).

It's important that you get that this is a bombardment, but not an attack. It's like Black Dice saw that bit in 2001: A Space Odyssey with all the colours, and thought "we want to make the rest of that song."

And also, don't think this is a free-form wash of noise – it is anything but. There are notes. Identifiable rhythms! Half the crowd nod along gently, and half of them hold their heads in agonizing ecstasy, and then they swap as the rhythm is usurped by an unidentifiable scraping, which is in turn slowly replaced by a fuzzy disco beat. This stupendous balance stands them apart. WAY apart.

I'm reading Burroughs at the minute, and so all this powerfully brought to mind his avant-garde suicide/sex/opiate discotheques. But Black Dice are more than ideological – you look to the band, and wonder how on earth three musicians could be creating this experience with actual real instruments. You see them having a great time up there, like they're in Creedence Clearwater Revival or something. And when it's over, you want it to stay forever and ever.

Put simply, they're astounding. And I can't explain how, why, when or where. In fact I may never be able to explain anything ever again. So you're just gonna have to see them…


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Sween