Howlin' Rain at the Luminaire

Howlin' Rain at the Luminaire

21 July, 2008
by: Sween

The timing is perfect for Howlin' Rain's visit to our unexpectedly sunny shores. They play this show at the Lumi within days of our cantankerous climate's sudden awakening from its domineering grey slumber. The elemental Howlin' Rain swagger above such paltry weather - sun and clouds? Pah. They deal in tornadoes, scorching sun, dustbowl winds; clouds that rumble across plains, obscuring the horizon's lightning. This enormous bluster is yoked by evocations of good-time summers, hard drinks and women.

Yeah, it all sounds fairly moronic; corny even. Where's the artistic context? I hear those of you confused about life exclaim. What do they say and wear? Well, none of that matters. This was what made them so intriguing - they were the first great band I've seen in years that play for music, for the moment, and with utterly no regard for context, niche, or their reviews. Whilst everything else in indie stirs around an ever-churning stomach of pretentious acids (some surface occasionally; most languish corroded at the bottom), Howlin' Rain are playing in the bar where this monster sits, playing to no-one but the day and the night; and after the gig, getting hammered and telling stories whilst the stomach simply gurgles, unaware.

Their innocence is such a fierce veracity, that it takes a few songs to connect with. Don't expect scene-making music that questions pop culture, postmodernity etc. Expect something old and something new, something borrowed from the blues.

Watching Miller clutch his guitar for dear life whilst strumming insistently, his broom-moustached face contorting in exquisite anguish, is mesmerizing. I'm transported to a time when these sounds, now dismissed as kitsch, were enough to unveil untapped mental dimensions to thousands of slack-jawed hippies. The band are locked around Miller; who conjures floods of fuzz followed by steely chicken-pickin', scraped by gritty vocals. The rhythm section plays unstoppably; the organ swirls soulfully. They could be playing to an empty bar and still be this assured.

They're both criticised and praised for wearing influences on their pearl-snap sleeves, but I can only congratulate them. Their reverence for musical tradition directs the honesty that vitalizes their tunes - they closed with a back-to-the-gospel cover of The Supremes' 'You Keep Me Hangin' On', brutally impassioned.

Catch them live at the hallowed Green Man Festival in August this year. Come with drink in hand, sun in mind, and you'll be rewarded by the Rain.

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Sween