Autechre
14th April 2005, SEOne
Tonight’s gig initiates
Autechre’s first tour in three years and it’s sold out. SEOne’s
a dark cavern of a venue located in a series of railway arches nested underneath
London Bridge railway station. There’s something slightly Dickensian
about the place. It’s a mixed crowd with most people dressed down
and unassuming. There’s some grizzled faces, inevitably a majority
of men, but a slightly larger age range than expected. For a brief moment,
I’m swayed by the impression that the whole of Rochdale (Autechre’s
hometown) has migrated for a night down to London to catch their favourite
band.
The sound system’s decent and there’s space to relax and chat
during Rob Hall’s DJ set which runs until midnight. Then Rob Brown
and Sean Booth take the stage unannounced. The lightshow winks out and darkness
descends. The area in front of the stage is packed tight. The only light
comes from the screens of mobiles held aloft and the red beams of focus
mechanisms trained on the performer’s faces reminiscent of sniper
rifle laser sights, followed by camera flashes like anti-aircraft shells
exploding in the nightsky. In between, the duo’s faces are dimly lit
by the LED glow of the boards below them.
Autechre hit the ground running like a couple of troops jumping from attack
helicopters behind enemy lines. Staccato rhythms sound like the stutter
of small arms fire uncomfortably close at hand. The music fits its environment
perfectly. This is life during (future) wartime. The crowd is being subjected
to something determinedly contemporary and avowedly futuristic. The tempo
starts off somewhere between mid-paced and fast and sticks there. In true
Autechre fashion, it’s heavily percussive, recognisably awkward and
altogether unrecognisable – at least to the uninitiated. The audience
are concussed by urgent, abstract, intent rhythms that resolutely refuse
to lock into anything remotely danceable. It’s entirely appropriate
that when someone holds a lighter aloft, instead of a flame, sparks sputter
asymmetrically before darkness wins out once again.
At one point vocoder’ed voices become audible like robots’ last
memories of human voices, just there, almost gone. The sound is intensely
visceral like keyhole surgery gone seriously offbeam. Autechre are attempting
to achieve catharsis through absolute control. The experience casts new
light on their recorded output which might be viewed as a series of attempts
to overcome the inherent limits of the recording medium via new strategies
of sonic viscerality. In its serial collage form of ever-mutating rhythms,
their performance rejects repetition. Autechre’s enterprise is remorseless
in its determination to fight against complacency. In hindsight, the non-repetitive
beats of the Anti-EP (composed in protest against the UK’s Criminal
Justice Bill which sought to restrict the rave moment of the early ‘90s)
appear to have become a fitting challenge/template for the duo’s latterday
development. Tonight makes crystal clear that the current phase of Autechre’s
ongoing odyssey is entirely disinterested in the reductiveness of locating
the ‘perfect beat’, nor are they exercised by glitch deconstruction.
Rather, they appear to be embracing the fractal potential of rhythm. The
concert confirms the impression conveyed by Untilted that they’re
dipping into an infinite ocean of rhythms and bringing finely-honed soundings
back to the surface for the delectation of their audience.
Autechre are clearly on constant alert and their audience need to be as
well. One result of this is that their music ongoingly avoids settling into
any particular genre. At most the music appears to hover momentarily on
the cusp of breakbeat or techno or UKG or any number of other rhythmic templates,
but it never gets closer than that, instead remaining out of the range of
the lazy listener or critic’s limited armoury. Gone is the grinding
machine funk of Draft 7.30’s Foam Conduit, or at least it’s
been sublimated into a new and insistent set of telescoping armatures whose
beginnings and endings slip away beneath the fingers before they can be
touched. The one and a half hour set has a number of peaks and troughs -
not in any real sense related to tempo or intensity – but rather a
succession of passages.
Rob Brown and Sean Booth remain studiously crouched over their decks the
entire time, only occasionally exchanging brief comments with each other.
Not once do they appear to survey the audience directly in front of them.
It would be interesting to know whether they’re aware of them, whether
if they were playing to an empty, echoing hall, their set would be any differerent.
The theory’s untestable, there are no repeats. The music achieves
a remarkable feat, it’s extremely abstract and simultaneously very,
very real. New geologies are constantly birthed, casting the audience in
the role of time-lapse geologists. There’s a slight ebb for the first
time after more than an hour that’s succeeded by the first recognisable
track of the set: Draft 7.30’s Xylin Room. It’s reinvented as
a blunt murder instrument, as bloodied and overloaded as Natural Born Killers.
Or let’s go high culture and say that Autechre in concert is like
watching Jackson Pollock’s colourfield paintings rendered at hyperspeed
tempos by Julian Opie.