RUSSIAN CIRCLES
VENUE PaCiPhoniC (earTh), london DATE 14/08/2019
The highlight of russian circles’ set is the result of an accident. it comes early, during second song deficit, as bass player Brian cook battles with his bass rig. something’s amiss, and he can’t figure out what’s going on. standing stage left, Mike sullivan looks concerned, pawing at his guitar, keeping the song on track, carving out washes of sound. Wave after wave after wave of noise envelops the audience, everything balanced on the cusp of feedback, as drummer dave Turncrantz – otherwise a clattering force of nature – keeps the metronome ticking. it could be part of the song, but it isn’t, and it works, so it doesn’t matter. it’s the kind of thing My Bloody Valentine would do, drawing out a piece of music so far beyond its natural length that it becomes disorientating. But this isn’t by design. it goes on, and on, and when the bass finally kicks back in and the song suddenly lurches towards a climax, it’s all the more thrilling.
This new momentum doesn’t last.
The bass fails again. The song finishes, and sullivan is obliged to call for quiet so he can make an unamplified announcement. “everything is going to plan, this is all part of the set!” he shouts, before adding, “but if you need to grab a smoke or whatever, now would be the time.” This news is greeted by applause that appears to be unironic, and after 10 minutes and an unscheduled visit to the merch stall, the problems are fixed and the set continues.
like the best instrumental bands, russian circles have worked on the dynamics, teasing and tugging their music into interesting shapes, creating drama and tension by not following the course they’d be obliged to were a singer holding court out front. Backed by a simple but well-synchronised light show, the music’s epic swell and fade is such that the band could dispense with the lights altogether, and instead beam onto a backdrop one of those terrifying videos shot from the bridge of a ship as it ploughs through storm waves much bigger than is comfortable. it’s that kind of music, overloading the senses with giddy, mesmeric force as it drifts from eerie, atmospheric quiet to violent, metallic zenith. afrika is triumphant. Milano and Quartered, both from new album Blood Year, are carried aloft by crushing riffs, generating the kind of sonic turmoil that’s almost unsetting. The opening to Vorel rumbles and races before gathering its momentum into a series of fearsome riffs. and the closing Youngblood piles climax upon climax, turning repetition into hypnotic, broiling tumult. it’s not all wall-of-noise thunder, but the quieter moments render the bombast evermore overwhelming, and the way the songs subtly drift from one raging pinnacle to the next makes for a formidable, discombobulating experience.