SCHAMMASCH RORCAL/BORGNE/S S S S
SOMMERCASINO, BASEL
Swiss psychonauts blast off in their hometown
COMBINING THE DILAPIDATED grandeur of an old theatre and the communal austerity of a squat, Basel’s Sommercasino is tonight the host for a showcase of Swiss extremity, headlined by a band on their way to becoming scene standard bearers. With stage lights pulsing behind him and the main hall still gradually filling up, watching dark ambient artist S S S S feels like some Close Encountersstyle alien summoning. The intimidating atmospheres are shot through with squalls of noise, incidental effects and reverberating industrial beats, all a descent into a subconscious realm of mortifying squalor.
Lausanne’s BORGNE continue the industrial theme, but reverse the polarity, shackling it to a scabrous and vengeful, keyboard-backed black metal thrust. If the initially muffled PA deadens their sound, their set starts to grow in scope, the wraith-like five-piece taking on levels of corrosive grandeur that recalls the apocalyptic storm of Norway’s Red Harvest.
It would be easy to reduce RORCAL down to their fairly obvious influences. The wrought-iron candelabras lined across the front of the stage, not to mention the incendiary, cathartic flood of seizure-inducing riffs, are direct from the Dragged Into Sunlight playbook, and frontman Yonni Chapatte’s back wall-facing implorations bear no small resemblance to Amenra’s Colin H van Eekhout. But you don’t summon this much convulsive and enthralling power without your own, internal compass, even if it’s pointing you towards some final reckoning where the odds aren’t in your favour.
Hometown shows often have a special resonance, and that’s certainly the case tonight. Launching their Hearts
Of No Light album to a packed and devoted crowd, SCHAMMASCH head straight to the upper echelons, the febrile, sun-scraping drive of Ego Sum Omega an act of sonic brinkmanship that boils the brain to an ecstatic state. Although clad in gold-embroidered cowls, they leave the ceremony to the music itself. Rays Like Razors’ volatile pilgrimage is shot through with an undercurrent of Innermost, Lowermost Abyss’s overshot ambience, while A Paradigm Of Beauty’s gothic judders are greeted like a perennial classic. But seeing Schammasch live reveals close-up how technically astute they are too, all seven-string wizardry invoked with a studious lack of showmanship. It’s a transporting experience, nonetheless, and as Do Not Open Your Eyes reaches a tantric, open-ended crescendo, the Sommercasino feels like an epicentre for a force whose reach is incalculable. JONATHAN SELZER