|
| Foocha! is a non-profit Web site. We do it for kicks, not for cash. If you're interested in writing for the site, click here |
|
 |
|
|
 |
|
| Live,
Justin Harries,
20 January 1999 |
Rating: F5
|
|
| |
| |
|
Remember that period in the eighties that declared rather loudly and unwisely, that rock was dead, that the guitar was an antiquity fit for a museum? Of course there was a rebuke, in the all too ragged form of Kurt Cobain, but the idea was enough to jangle more than a few nerves.
If rock was to have a end, a Gotterdamerung of sorts, I could well imagine it would come in the form of a tiny, black clad Japanese man called Kaiji Haino, and his rather shambolic looking band Fushitsusha. The effect on rock that Kaji and his merry men achieve is akin to effect that the Royal airforce had on Dresden, 1945.
Fushitsusha come from a long line of energetic noisenics hailing from the land of the apocalyptic monster-mash, Tokyo. In fact main man Keiji has been around for quite some time, and his rough hewn brand of racket has had quite an effect on the city's more avant inclined musicians. Unlike the posturing of many a fickle rock star, Haino is literally, 4 real. Revolving around a fixed point, the staggering amount of group projects, collaborations and solo work produced by this diminutive dervish are all suffused with the same incendiary intensity. The tone is blacker than black blackness, which, especially on record, can sometimes seem impenetrable. But just as you think you cannot take any more, the tension breaks, and you’re left with the ghostly wail of Keijis, stupefying voice. It’s this level of duality that makes Haino's music so intoxicating, the swirling melee around a resolute, calm centre.
After an absence of three years, this rock gargantuan finally reappeared on these shores. Recruiting that man of many a facial expression Charles Hayward on drums, they sounded tighter and more connected than ever before. The ‘pieces’ ranged from free jazz freakouts to airy, haunting whispers of songs. It’s this range of space that kept the night from being too overbearing or stultifying. Reverb drenched guitar in full effect, Haino whirled and dived, yet the notes kept coming crystal clear. Comedy high point came when Haino abandoned guitar and microphone, conducting the bass with silver tipped cane and exuberant roly pollys. It was during the ever expanding, light sucking dronefests that the band really made their mark, allowing the true, dark face of psychedelia to emerge.
Their live experience is exactly that, an actual experience. Unlike the workman like sluggishness or the art school irony of many of today’s UK acts, Fushitsusha reawaken rock to the possibilities of transcendence, to be a truly visceral experience once again. If you’re flirting with noise on the strength of Mogwi, or you’re an old hand harking back to the days of the Swans, make a date for three years time. It’s worth every second of the wait.
22/05/00
Top Home |
|
|
|
|
