Sloth Racket, L, Ali Robertson / Nichola Scrutton, Dome Riders @ The Old Hairdresser’s
Flashes of brilliance from an eclectic bill of improvisers
Local groups Dome Riders, L, and the duo of Ali Robertson and Nichola Scrutton, performed on a bill with the London-based ensemble Sloth Racket last Friday at The Old Hairdresser’s. This was my friend and I’s first visit to the venue (certainly not my last), and because we encountered some trouble finding the gig, I thought I’d write up directions for anyone else in our position.
The Old Hairdresser’s is on Renfield Lane, an alley between Hope Street and Renfield Street in City Centre. If there is a queue in the alley, it is likely for Stereo on the opposite side. Be careful to enter the correct venue; we nearly wound up at the Northern Boys show, which would have been a jarring (if not unwelcome) experience. The first two floors of The Old Hairdresser’s comprise the pub, which was a nice place to hang out while we figured out where to go. The performance space is on the top floor, which is accessible via a hallway and another staircase, past the toilets. The accessibility needs improvement: there was no signage, no visible lift, and no seating (most attendees sat on the floor). Still, for those able to get in, I recommend persevering as it is a unique space featuring excellent and radically diverse acts almost every night.
Dome Riders (sans violist Ailbhe Nic Oireachtaigh) opened with a single longform improvisation, during which the players displayed deep familiarity with the form and their instruments, but fell short of innovation. Veteran of the scene Fritz Welch was thrilling to behold as he rapidly cycled through percussive implements to produce an impressive variety of sounds. If the group had a ‘leader’, it was Welch, whose constant stream of ideas appeared to provide fuel for his bandmates. Bassist Armin Sturm tended to recede into the background, but shined nonetheless through a mix of creative preparations and techniques and careful complementary playing.
At times, Dome Riders veered perilously close to the free improvisation idiom. The musicians’ willingness to break into borderline-melodic material late in the piece, however, provided a welcome differentiation, and ultimately led toward a beautiful conclusion. That the finale was marred by the “is that all?” glances between players that all-too-often plague the wishy-washy endings of group improvisations was unfortunate, but it hardly detracted from the greater accomplishment.
Robertson and Scrutton were like nothing I have witnessed before. I tend to veer away from vocal improvisation as I often find the results uncomfortable to endure, and this performance was no different. I would, however, overcome my discomfort to witness these two again -- their performance was fascinating from start to finish. Humour perfectly counterbalanced the oddity on display, such as when the duo split up wordless sections with back-and-forth riffing sessions that had the energy of skits on a hip-hop album. Robertson involuntarily breaking into laughter during these conversations was the only sign that we were not, in fact, listening to the chatter of two lunatics.
This style of comedy can quickly grow old, and it nearly did so here when Scrutton began reading from a crossword for the second time. Given the sheer number of props on stage, returning to one without a novel strategy felt disappointing. But the duo more than made up for this momentary lapse with an absolute onslaught of creativity, both prepared (scrabble tiles, shrink wrap, plastic trumpets, and much more…) and spontaneous. The seamlessness also contributed to a general feeling of hallucination, as introduction slipped into performance slipped into directing the audience to the merch table, with no pauses and no ceasing of the strangeness. Robertson and Scrutton were astonishing, hysterical, and mildly disturbing, and I would highly recommend both to anyone with a stronger constitution than I with regard to mouth sounds.
The delusional atmosphere carried into L’s set: an auditory assault that teetered precariously between absurdism and genuine derangement. L mixes noise rock with performance art, the latter provided by vocalist and sampler-in-chief Jack Paton. It was difficult to tear my eyes away from Paton, who oscillated between agitated pacing and goblinesque crouching and screeching with frightening speed. What Paton lacked in range between these two extremes, he made up for through total commitment to his nonsensical stories and screaming fits, many of which would have fallen flat coming from a lesser performer. The audience, myself included, appeared at times to be caught off guard, unsure whether to laugh along or offer assistance to the madman on stage. L seems like a band that feeds off of discomfort and uncertainty. Both were present in droves.
Guitarist and drummer Jack Mellin and Laurie Pitt proved equally vicious noisemakers through their easy command of Paton’s winding and multifaceted songs. Pitt in particular stood out, showing off a great diversity of techniques and incredible feel for stretching out a bar. His volatile approach to drumming kept things interesting, even when settled into something approximating a groove. A highlight of L’s set came when Paton shouted with all his might into the microphone, then quickly stepped on a pedal and morphed the distorted sound into a looping motif which the band then built a song on top of. Following this barrage of sound, the band’s shoegaze-jam closer was frustratingly banal, echoing The Cribs’ ‘Be Safe’ among a litany of other similar cuts that litter the 2000s indie landscape. L demonstrates that if you do a couple of things really well, sometimes it’s best not to venture outside.
After three sets it was 10 PM and we were getting sleepy, so we made the very adult (and highly unprofessional) decision to leave and catch a late bus home. Unfortunately, this meant missing Sloth Racket. Alas. I got my fix the next day by listening through the group’s Bandcamp catalogue, which is fantastic and great fun. I’ll be stronger next time.