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Review in The Wire, August 2008.
BLACKSAND
BLACK WIDOW RUSSIAN SUBMARINE
MEDWAY RIVER (NEAR STROOD), UK
Life on a U475 Hunter-Killer submarine must have been tough, even during the Cold War. Walking alone along the cramped, narrow corridors and climbing through the interconnecting hatches of the U-475 moored in the Medway is oppressive enough; being on there as part of a full complement of 70 men doesn't bear thinking about.
The last time I saw Blacksand perform was at the launch party of their debut album Barn in Box Freestone Mine in Somerset. This also had its claustrophobic elements, requiring a crawl through the mine's partially blocked entrance to get to the 'cathedral' - a manmade cavern dating back to Roman times - in which they played. This time Blacksand's fascination with the acoustics of spaces has prompted them to put speakers and recording mics in various parts of the sub, including one in the water by the hull.
Blacksand are improvising guitarists Nick Franglen and Charles Casey, whose instruments, fed through myriad effects pedals and delay units, often come out sounding most un-guitar-like. Guitars not sounding like guitars isn't a recommendation in itself, of course, but Blacksand's freewheeling approach touches on the abstractions and slow moving currents of players like Keith Rowe and Martin Siewaert, and at times, when their loops are treated almost to oblivion, they sound like an emanation from some subterranean region, close in mood to Fripp & Eno's "An Index Of Metals". They regularly cut out of these structures, though, punctuating them with everything from silvery acoustic picking to near psychedelic wig-outs.
In the sub's fore torpedo room they began playing, contemplatively at first, but as I began wandering through the spaces of the rusting craft, their musical conversation took on the feel of whale song before increasing in intensity. Sitting on a mildewed bench in the old sickbay, with a speaker in the adjacent section, the acoustics were unlike anything else I have experienced; it felt as though the entire craft was resonating to Blacksand's multilayered mix of expressionist gestures, fuzz notes, pink noise and faux engine roar. This thrilling and, given the circumstances, rather discomforting sonic torrent slowly morphed, through some sweet bent notes, into a more melodic loopscape, with the guitarists occasionally snarling at what they had created.
At the conclusion, the small audience climbed out onto the now significantly listing craft, waiting for a boat to come and pick us up. Franglen, meanwhile, donned a wetsuit and and oxygen mask and went diving to check out a suspected leaking ballast tank, a task that constituted the agreed payment for hiring the submarine.
Mike Barnes |
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