Eardrum Damage with Black Midi
Spontaneity is one of the best ways to keep one’s daily schedule interesting. Free evening? Purchase a last minute concert ticket. I can’t even begin to express how many times I have done this in the past few months. Do I have to drive an hour to see a band I like? Sure, I’ll get there early. What about a band I’m not familiar with? I’ll binge their discography on the way to the venue. Black Midi was one of those experiences. I had only listened to them a handful of times, but when I saw a listing for a concert practically in my backyard, I knew I had to make an effort to go.
Black Midi is a London-based band, known for their experimentation and math rock sensibilities. They had found both underground and mainstream success, receiving critical praise on platforms such as Pitchfork, Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair. Their eclectic, chaotic sound intrigued me. After each listen of their first album Schlagenheim I felt likeI kept hearing something new. Each listen was like the first time.
I arrived an hour early to The Sebastiani in Sonoma, sitting in one of the vintage theater chairs near the middle. The opener was Slauson Malone, a singer and rapper accompanied by a classically trained cellist. It was a fusion of distorted folk, experimental jazz and classical composition. The duo played a haunting rendition of the star spangled banner as well as ran around the theater during a chaotic breakdown about halfway through their set. To me, it felt more like a performance art experience than a concert. I can easily imagine Slauson Malone having a live installment in a museum. It was a visceral auditory experience accompanied by a flurry of visual oddities. I loved it. The crowd was silent and the lights were dimmed, creating an eerie sensory deprived environment. Everyone at the venue was entranced, anxious, confused and curious all at once.
Between shows, I looked around at the crowd to see a diverse group of people from all walks of life. I saw casually dressed adults, metalheads, middle aged rock fans, punk teens, music nerd hipsters and everything in between. It showed me that some bands are able to transcend generations and genres. Black Midi’s experimentative records attract everyone. Some come for the prog, others for the math rock progressions and others because they like it loud.
After Slauson Malone, there was a brief intermission and then Black Midi came out. Sitting room became standing, and the standing room became a mosh pit. The moshpit was a lovecraftian creature, a mess of limbs thrashing against the hardwood of the stage. The performance was an unending compendium of Black Midi’s discography. Very few breaks were taken between songs, only a few seconds were needed to change out a guitar or smash on a few effects pedals. A saxophonist joined the band and stole the show by incorporating improvised licks. At one point in the show I was pressed onto the stage, my back being pummeled by flying elbows as concertgoers paraded around the moshpit. I turned around to take in the chaos behind me and I noticed the saxophonist was in the pit, masquerading as a fan. After a few minutes he hopped back on stage and continued playing his saxophone.
My elbows were on the stage for almost the entire concert, feet away from the band, and even closer to the speakers. My ears rang and I could barely hear the subtle murmuring of the crowd after the curtains had closed and the music had stopped. It was a good feeling. It was like I had been through the gauntlet, and came out the other end with the scars to prove it.
