Isochronous + the lua union = tonight @ bohemia. On a micro/cosmic level, this is an important gig; a hugely talented, totally unpretentious band from stellensbosch and a hugely talented, slightly contentious band from Pretoria. Count me in.
image (c) isochronous
I agree; it’s mmmost inappropriate of me to quote an ageing MC maestro for a gig that heralds the unholy powers of the newcomers of melodicprog(post)rock , but boys will be boys. So what can I do?
I can count. And so can you. and since when did one plus one equal the unmeasurable? since isochronous and the lua union met over raw meat and neat whiskey. when was that? the beginning of summer, a century of ideas and emotions ago. and why do we care about measuring when we’ve got music? because we can’t help it. because we know better. because when you separate things, they go astray, and when you synergize them, they stay. And both bands are bound to be around for another round of ideas and emotions. At the very least. and probably a lot more.
image (c) isochronous
the mighty mos def was right- unmeasurable is what you get when these two bands play side by side for the first time – something you can’t quantify. something you’ll only be able to miss once. something you’ll never know to kick yourself for missing until later on when you’rea fan of both bands whose sound is so disparate. and dis parrot would like to point out on top of it that if you’re not there (er. here), you’ll kick yourself for not being there to be able to say antsy, antagonistic, intelligent things about how wrong I was. luckily I never minded being wrong. but I’ve always minded missing out.
In a facebook status update, The Lua Union has an onstage energy that is at once introverted and explosive, a palpably chemistry that sucks you in; spirit, skin, senses. Isochronous is likewise musically magnetic, though theirs is an ethereal implosion with the gravitational pull of a black hole.
You’ve probably heard (of) Isochronous. Anybody who gives a fuck about what’s purportedly/reported to be cool, and how it’s packaged will have scratched their heads over the band, because the boys from the east side are really not trying to be different, and yet they manage it marvellously. Swelling sounds, celestial, ethereal, unreal. A boy whose fine voice fools fags and hags alike, slow crescendos, and a knack for holding back that leaves you leaning forward for more. they don’t need flashy lights and snappy plasma screens. They just need your ears, and an ocean of silence to flood.
You’ve probably not heard of The Lua Union. They’re much the same in that department – conscious, cool, and unaffected. They nearly got called a variety of lame names, but luckily none of them are thus, and so they settled on something quite indescribable. and then they made music to match it. and now I’m going to describe it, because words are profane. Driving guitar, alto-vibrato vocals, and then clean, clear ones. Relentless build-ups, and beautiful break-throughs, always melodic, always powerful, deceptively subtle at the same time. I haven’t seen a south African band with this kind of synergy on stage; sometimes I think it doesn’t matter if the audience is there or not, they still suck the walls towards them. a vortex of venting and introversion and quiet, violent beauty. Disarming.
Now put the two together, and what do you get? An enervating explosion. Be a catalysts. Come. it’s simple mathematics : without you it won’t ever have happened.
“One for Charlie Hustle, two for Steady Rock Three for the fourth comin live, future shock It's five dimensions, six senses Seven firmaments of heaven to hell, 8 Million Stories to tell Nine planets faithfully keep in orbit with the probable tenth, the universe expands length
It's a number game, but shit don't add up somehow Like I got, sixteen to thirty-two bars to rock it but only 15% of profits, ever see my pockets like sixty-nine billion in the last twenty years spent on national defense but folks still live in fear like nearly half of America's largest cities is one-quarter black That's why they gave Ricky Ross all the crack Sixteen ounces to a pound, twenty more to a ki A five minute sentence hearing and you're no longer free 40% of Americans own a cell phone so they can hear, everything that you say when you ain't home I guess, Michael Jackson was right, "You Are Not Alone"”
last friday was a treat. foto na dans @ my favourite outdoor stage @ klein libertas (before it was broken into and trashed), then the lua union @ a revamped indoor stage @ Kunskafee (that was after arriving at Corner Bar because i'm dyslexic and forgetful, and finding bergies howling and bludgeoning each other while paramedics tried to patch them up). On either end of the scale of experience, this was a night that began and ended with my two favourite bands. (sorry taxi; my cock fell off after too many rock-outs). of course i might be talking about either end of the scale of MY emotional experience, or of their professional experience, and you wouldn't know any better (or would you? there's a comments box below...) i probably mean both; i'm a freelancer, we wield the world while it works us over - we're always playing and always working. (imagine when i get a blackberry, then i'm going to write stories in my sleep!)
I've already waffled about lua (http://sonicsynapse.blogspot.com/2009/10/lua-union-ethereal-mix.html) , about what struck me about them that night. but foto is another story. especially when you find yourself almost interrogated about your enthusiasm for their music. this bears some explanation, i guess. people, most often, are as extreme as i am about foto, either in agreement or in vehement confusion about what it is they're trying to do. The most frequent disagreement i hear is one that simply saddens me, because really, it's about personal taste, and no one can change that. 'ya, um, rocking music, but i don't get the guy's voice.'
no? wow. ok, i get people being a bit thrown by the (iwillnotusethewordoperatic) singular, cathedralesque vocals - it's not quite an amy lee wail (whale?), and it's not quite a Seething scream. but rock has other realms, you know, and best we open up to them as the world opens up to us... there are realms more subtle and superior than the ones going crashboombang and passing pop cock off as interesting or important. ag. i mean rock. (or rocks! get your rocks off with your socks off, georgie porjy! and kiss berlin for me).
i get le-roi's voice. it gets me, in all the big places. like my heart. and my head. and my hope. and i guess if it doesn't sit right with you, there are only two ways to address it -
1. don't bother
2. think of it like a fine, old whiskey, or a strange new wine - get to know it
but what people don't say most often is what is the most important element of them being a brilliant live act. They are consistent. Humble and unholy on stage, nice to the sound engineer FROM the stage, full power, full focus, full blast. a quality act like no other i've seen and heard and felt in ZA.
(and they understand the power of a good light rig, too. a live show is not, after all, just an aural experience . it is love in action, and every sense is involved.)
Unlike a beer boep, balance in a band is not something affected by training or straining. It's personal, it's professional, and it's mystical.
Balance in a band is not something that can easily be pinpointed, either. I'm talking about that place where things work - the x-factor that gets things going. It may not be anything tangible, this mix of personal relationships, inspiration and hard work, but it reveals itself in the mix, on the stage, and behind the scenes.
With the imminent release of an evidently synergistic single with Flash Republic, the members of Foto Na Dans are starting to enjoy a certain 'same page'ness, making the build-up to their second album release in Feburary 2010 rather phat. The Lua Union, it seems, was born with this balance.
The Lua Union doesn't sound like a band that have only been playing for a little under eleven months. Yes, its members are still settling into their onstage skin; yes, lead vocalist Dean hasn't been a frontman for very long; and yes, bassist Jonathan (who prefers the mandolin) hasn't been in the country for very long, either. But they strike you neither as first timers, nor as amateurs. In effect, they're not really first timers or amateurs at all, at least not in a 'My First Guitar' kind of way though i'm sure some of them still insist on playing theirs. Their drummer, Francios, is a former Springbok Nude Girl. Their lead guitarist, Lucas, is the drummer of The increasingly Pretty Blue Guns. Still, previous experience is only one element in the synergy of a collective sound and it certainly isn't a guarantee of good music (just as four accomplished musos might not necessarily produce good material together). There's something else that makes a band work interpersonally and musically, something that makes it manageable and magical. That something is a mystical balance of bodies, minds and souls that lets others swallow the songs whole, and The Lua Union is a great example. Break it down, jezebel...
You could feel it far beyond the front row - all four settled right into the rhythm despite a very late and undeservedly unprofessional sound check (Kunskafee, are your systems in check?). Despite that, it was pure sound channelled through flesh and blood and bone. Their unusual vocal harmonies swell with the same mood and intensity as the soaring, snapping strings do. The seamless, invisible bass blends in beautifully, backing everything, giving it substance you can't see, and the drums are intelligent enough to spar with the melodic attacks and crashes, but never beat them. Overall it's beautiful, powerful, poignant stuff that either stops you in your tracks or rips them right out righteously.
"They often remind me of Radiohead," yelled Adam Innuendo during a swell and swoosh from the guitars. I suspect Adam wasn't comparing The Lua Union to Radiohead aurally, per se, but talking about an overall dexterity and diversity; a demeanour, rather than a musical aesthetic. The next song came on, and I leaned over and yelled back at him cockily "but they don't remind you of Radiohead NOW." That's the thing about The Lua Union - their riffs and rises often recall some or other expert band, but their compositions sound nothing at all like anyone else. This is what has me so excited about them. God knows what or where it is, but they've got the muse.
They've also got the musicality and the unaffected magic to make it.
I had a 'once in a while’ the other night. Actually, it's been a week of those. What next, I wonder? (Battle of the bands finals next, jezebel. type FASTER.)
It started with a public holiday with no holiday and no public in it (prepping for Brand Your Band expo while everyone else was drinking and braaing), moved into a quick trek to Stellies (my new favourite escape), and stumbled upon Stack Shot Jack at Aandklas shooting their mouths off superbly. No, their strings. They wowed me. a timeless jam at the end of their set was the cherry on top that chopped out my doubt for now. It’s a tricky thing with them- and an unusual one – I’ve seen them live 3 times. Sometimes they seem unspecial, and other times superlative, but it’s beyond my ability to figure out why. Either something is wrong with my ears, or the prescient rule that music is emotive must be re/applied. Why? because we are emotional creatures (ok, some are), so we respond to rhythms and melodies kin to our feelings, but ears, for all their attentiveness, are also slow to HEAR. I mean to hear, with heart, with soul. So sometimes a little settling in is necessary, to get to the source of a sound. It's not so strange that music goes well with wine, really, because it is like wine - sometimes it takes time, and in some cases, it's even an acquired taste. Blk Jks (our best export since Johnny Clegg and Juluka), is my best example- first time I heard Molalatladi, I thought Jaxon (Rice of The Diesel Whores) was mad to dub them the future sound of South Africa (in the next issue of Muse). When it took hold, there was no looking back, and no letting go. I was sold. Blk Jks. IN. Stack Shot Jack? ConfusIN. Anyway, they're enjoying themselves so much, they'll hold their own and outgrow my doubts very soon, I suspect. I’ll oscillate for a while, because ears are like hearts- sometimes quick, sometimes slow to open. But it was love at first sight with Lua Union. Though i'm repeating myself.
I've mentioned them before. Click the Lua Union tag below (come on, you know how to use web two point oh). Then it was 'toer, two guitars, and tents. We forgot the world for forty truly arty minutes while Dean and Lucas jammed in the lush green campsite and life seemed sweet and simple and important (well, it IS, but it isn't always the first two). You're going to disagree with me until you think about it, but love at first sight requires the irony of integrity. (And the iron of intensity, even if it's soft and switching to sweet all the time, like in Dear Reader). Lua Union has both. What grabbed me on the grass gobbled me at Aandklas. What charmed me in summer, burned me in late winter (what - you call this Spring?!). Grounded and growling. Homely and howling. I can't describe it. And that's a good thing. For now.
Watching them that night made my day. My week. My month. (the year has been a hard one, so we won't quite labour the exaggeration yet.) Lua is driving strings, burnt umber vocals from Dean(e); golden, grounded, glorious vocals from Lucas, and a certain sense of something else that I haven't heard anywhere else. Something that wants more time to be put into words and to find its voice.
Give them time, and they'll be the next best thing.
p.s. the ‘What Next’ that came next was Heart Shaped Heresy at Battle Of The Bands. Watch this blog for more from a localone woman army soonsoon…(the YesWeCan one is here).. and crib notes on how to (not?) win a Battle…
It’s a bleary summer tour morning, somewhere in Morsel Bray (we never did find out where we were actually camped; and the tee totalling bus drivers’ patience was so tried by our state of immaculate inebriation every night that they probably wouldn’t have told us if we’d asked. just to get us back). We are stumbling around the campsite softly cursing people that supposedly died bleeding for idiots like us.
There’s Alex brushing his teeth with what looks like a twig (hey, there’s a photo on vleispoep, ok? ). There’s Tee Jay in his trademark tights (unarmed. The straightener, like general merriment and righteous lyrics, comes out after dark). There’s a Captain Stu of sorts, doing something naughty, no doubt. Even at something unearthly early like seven a.m. (we have a bus to catch, otherwise we wouldn’t be awake. At ALL). There’s mmff – there’s Liam and thingy, passed out next to the fire which has now become the early bird breakfast centre that doubles as our daily diary, the date only known because our ontbyt tickets tell us [like we care – it’s summer, and we mark the days by the ways we get blown away (or just blown) the night before]. the blissfully unaware pair are obliging the puff-eyed, popeye coffee hunters to pussyfoot around their snorks and snuffles while they catch the last fading whippets of their doggone dreams.
ANYway. The bus is not leaving as early as we thought. The bus is in fact not leaving. It is an Avontoer bus, so manicures must. This time it is apparently being Fixed. Which is something drivers of large horse-powered beasts tend to do a lot of. Radiator, fuel pump, who knows; polish the dashboard and off she goes. Them gentle men otherwise known as the macho mafia that move with us and make fun of us when we’re too stoned or drunk to make fun of ourselves anymore often seem to have their heads in its bowels. They sleep in its belly too, and then when we’re all on board, they play strange, sucky house choons, or R&B shmooz and sometimes we even find ourselves singing along. I swear. I have a picture.. somewhere... God knows they got sick of us having Muse on repeat at their expense, and those of their contingent who act as the dronkie patrol at gigs every night get an earful of rock they really didn’t ask for (except they agreed to come on ‘toer for the third year running), so on the subject of playlists, they just um… remind us that god isn’t a dj, actually, the bus driver is god. End of discussion. Even friendly, flirty journalists couldn’t quite loose their grip on that DVD player. Though she was invited to get to grips with other things. Which she professionally declined. Duh.
[this photo by elandre vermeulan, all others by jezebel]
And so we sit, (here, I’m back at the campsite, stop thinking about the blerry bus) with full tummies (if a tummy is full from a Kreef burger which is really cat food and chutney in disguise but so what coz it’s yummy and we’re thirsty for love I mean hungry), waiting for the day, lost in the avante garden route somewhere on the east coast of a so-called Africa(no zebras. No giraffes. But a cat and a jackal or two. Or three. Or five. On and off. When they’re not spilling anchovies or sleeping on beaches). The floating island that is Avontoer, however, is a world unto its own, so actually we aren’t waiting, we’re just (like cows) ruminating. And (like cows) we have many stomachs. Which is why we’re hanging by the kitchen in hopes of. MORE. And more do we get, though it’s something you digest with your soul not your stomach.
There is long grass, and dry grass burning its sweet shitty smell; there are blue skies and bluer (bored looking but then she’s not very rock ‘n roll is she) eyes and every now and then a half-clad creature emerges from the rentashower. And we’re always wishing someone would drop their towel (or is that just me) like some people drop names, and others drop their pants, but strangely priorities of politesse are in place in this part of the campsite, and nobody ever does. Except me, but it was waaaay too early for anyone to see. Except maybe .. o shit. Moving along.
We’re seated and sucking clean Mossel Bay air (that’s called a “contradiction”, kitlings, and it is no replacement for real wit) There are hangovers and leftovers and stopovers from friends of friends (some of whom nobody knows the name of, and who end up on Lucas’s lap just when he thought he’d had enough of weight of the feminine…) and the vibe is mellow like a mellow fellow an ol.
It’s funny that the kitchen draws people. At a party. Or not. Ours is a 24 hour party, but we aren’t always dancing. Erm. Well, most of us. For me, the camera is a constant. (hence, PROOF) And thank god. Or none of you would believe that one of the best gigs on ‘toer happened under the trees, one and a half farts from the portaloos. And it was by no means kak. No means at all. Wipe that smile off your face –you’ve no idea your heart is about to be stolen. Again. Damn [these] musicians.
The Lua Union they later named themselves. Lucas and Deane (which for some reason I feel the need to write with a second e) and I pondered many long and short words in the search for a band name in between many long and short conversations about many strong and taut subjects like where can we get a decent curry in this town do they even know what dhanja is and will Zuma get his donder in his gat (you can read this in other languages, it is more amusing). Or some such. early on in the selection process,one of the proposed names had something about peaches in it. Sies I thought, but didn’t say it. (Come on Luca – this one’s for you! what is peach a euphemism for?) . Lua Union. Is no euphemism. Something about the moon. Something about their sound. Something esoteric and instant and essential.
Well, no, actually Lucas did. We didn’t know he fiddled strings as well as kicking and hitting things. Typical child prodigy.Probably picked up his dad’s sticks at six years old or something obscene. I mean, give us a break, first he gets the groove on behind the snare and stuff, and then he whips out a guitar? Next thing you know he’s going to let loose a string of valiant vowels that stitch together like summer and river and chocolate and change. Just watch.
Anyway, moving quickly on to the past again. There they go. The Lua Union. Deane (ja. Sorry man, I think the extra vowel wants in, hey) and Lucas presiding, (Jonathan and Francious opted out because, I think, they weren’t actually there), driving those strings like there’s no sorrow in tomorrow, flooding our campsite’s post-binge silence with the sweetest swells and hugely melodic crashes and a certain synergy that is borne of two boys who believe in something they can’t see. I’m feeling seasons spin into each other; it’s ear opening stuff. We’re quietly in awe, awe-fully still, and we are so not moving. Not even for Gammie. But what comes out of their fingers (their tongues are tied) is more suited to veterans than ‘toer virgins. After five minutes there are ten people sitting around them. After fifteen, there are thirty. And then they break the news. We’ll have to wait till March to see them live and fully fledged. And singing.
And guess what?
It’s March.
The Lua Union begin their very own moon calendar tomorrow Friday the 13th, which is a wicked date to start anything, let alone the next movement in acoustic driven heaven. No bleeding required.
Get to
The Hidden Cellar
Stellenbosh
where cover is something you do to your bits, not something you pull from your pocket.(it’s free, I mean.)
and
where the cynics will be surprised to discover that lots of other world-shifting things besides bad philosophies start. Though they won’t show it.
P.S. some events may be mixed (though people did still pick their way around liam and thingy, just maybe not the same morning). Thing is, it’s not the time that is counted on ‘toer, it’s the moments. And they matter. All of them.
