I set off with an umbrella and a collection of stories by Poe, which faithfully reflected the spitting bitter night, into a city beset by improvement works. These contrived to deprive me of my companion for the evening, which perhaps contributed to my boarding the overground at Dalston Kingsland in a state of profound metaphysical introspection. The impetuous fury of the gusts battered our carriage as we mournfully wended our way to the Kilburn High Road. The grim phantasm at a bus stop couldn’t direct me to the Luminaire, but some peculiar instinct guided me there forthwith.
A hypochondriac sat wringing his hands on the stairs; I flinched with every twist of those mangled knuckles but didn’t succumb to pity. The dark interior of the Luminaire was bedecked with signs prohibiting conversation: this was a Live Music Venue, not a Pub where you can ‘chat’ with your ‘friends’. An horrendous vision of the sickeningly embittered crone daubing these phrases on the wall came to me forcefully and I retched dryly in the corner.
I was only diverted by the shadowy arrival of my immediate reason for being, ‘Worriedaboutsatan’, a duo of artistes who somehow produce unfathomably emotive minimal techno. I approached the stage and became aware that all colour had faded from the scene, everybody in my line of sight was clothed in black garments, all was monochrome. The stage was lit only by the projection of a black and white film and before it a frantically bobbing hooded figure hunched over mixers and a laptop seemed in the midst of interminably looping death throes. Opposite him a man inexplicably stood holding a guitar, the instrument visually clashing with my conception of what could make the spectral sounds I perceived.
Yet somehow the clean, crisp yet organic blips melded with the wash of the electric guitar, which was played with a violin bow. Otherworldly bass was emitted intermittently into this noir scene as the spirit of the piece rose and rose in tone and tempo, before falling back into dreamy ambience. The audience, mostly there for the later headliners, perhaps missed how Worriedaboutsatan drew subtle motifs from their breathtaking summer LP, Arrivals ,and flawlessly integrated them into the otherwise improvised set.
The line between vivid dark soundscape and pummelling, all encompassing techno was ever trepidatiously trod. At one point the now unhooded figure swore quietly in a strong Northern accent over an unexpected lull as he vigourously struggled to plug a jack back into his laptop; the dearth of bass-weight and driving glitches disquieting all. I tasted blood in my mouth and felt panic rise in my stomach, realising how much I needed that immersion to return.
I can hear sirens in the distance as I write this, and I cannot but urge you to listen to this band. My heart fills with dread at the thought of what might happen if you don’t.
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