(((O))) Live: SLEEPMAKESWAVES – THE GARAGE

It was a Sunday evening in London, the weekend drawing to a close on the UK’s capital, who seemed still punch-drunk from the fact it had experienced the first flushes of summer.  People walked around with suspicion – wearing shorts, a dress, a light shirt, or a blouse, while also giving into foreboding, having a thick coat, a mac, or a substantial jacket wedged into a nearby tote bag.

We find ourselves, then, in the juxtaposed climbs of Highbury & Islington, a borough of London often escaping from the tongue of a mindless politician, presenter, or some other heinous ne’er-do-well, who spits out the name more often than not as evidence to claim anything – anything whatsoever – coming out of London cannot be trusted. Juxtaposed because, like many a London climb, it mixes those with salubrious wealth with plenty of those who, shall we say, do not have such deep pockets as they.

In this evening haze, ripe with pollen as my eyes and nose dutifully attested to much later in the night, the area around one of the city’s most legendary venues – The Garage – continued to buzz, the weather and the sun still yet to set,  dictating to the public that they should pay no heed to the fact that it would be Monday tomorrow.

People had made the pilgrimage and the effort to come to The Garage on a Sunday evening because the headliner had travelled a teeny wee few more miles to be with them that night.  sleepmakeswaves hail from Australia – Sydney, to be precise – and this was the last of only a duo of dates, coming as they had from Dunk! Festival in Gent, Belgium, the night before.  Anyone pulling the well-worn I’m-older-than-30 excuse of “It’s too much effort for a Sunday” didn’t really have a leg to stand on, and they knew it.

Despite that, upon entering the main room I was surprised there wasn’t more people present from the very beginning. And just as I took my first sip of sweet, sweet nectar (that would be the ubiquitous standard yet still somehow surprising ‘oh-no-how-much?’ pint of beer in central London), Last of Eden – who seem to often prefer to go by L.O.E. – appeared on stage and quickly got to work.

As an aside that bears far more significance to this review than my opening preamble, I do think reviewing post-rock has become increasingly hard in the last decade. No, we part-time critics don’t deserve a respectful, encouraging pat on the back and a consoling gratis beverage from those still delighted at our endeavour, but it is worth noting that the boom of popularity and corresponding proliferation of bands in the past decade or so has led to writers fast running out of vocabulary to describe a scene that can, at times, blur and blend into an ill-defined whole.

L.O.E. Photo: Magda Campagne

Happily, all three bands who took the stage that Sunday, genuinely did strive to break out of that groupthink, of that homogeneity. L.O.E. did, at first, strike me as not achieving the aforementioned – kicking off as they did into a series of swells of tremolo guitar, shimmering over a rumbling but completely complementary rhythm section, all of which was complemented by spoken word samples (none of which I attempted to identify, I’m afraid). Some of the samples worked well, others felt distracting, and some unfortunately felt, to me, to be out of sync or favour with what was happening instrumentally.

There were some very pleasant passages and when the quartet clicked into gear their sound was confident and convincing. In between songs it became apparent that this was by no means their first rodeo. Hailing from Halifax, they obviously tour, as they mentioned that they were playing beyond the exergies of the UK the following evening, in Paris, and we also learnt that some of the new tunes performed are from a forthcoming sophomore album.

The four-piece plied their trade well, albeit with them looking a little squeezed on the stage, as they were not sharing a backline (or at least the drum kit). Their freedom of movement hampered; it made me wonder whether it restricted them enough for them never to get into full flow. That said, it did allow for a better view of their drummer, who may well have been the star of the show, filling space with lovely cymbal work and other little fills that showcased an impressive, restrained subtlety that was perhaps lost due to the sound mix favouring the three wielding the stringed instruments.

L.O.E. Photo: Magda Campagne

Talking of, the rhythm guitarist had a seven-string axe that struck me as strange as I watched. Was this an affectation? Hubris? Quickly, it became apparent that L.O.E. have a penchant for veering towards post-metal or even a little prog-rock. Aha!  Were we going to witness some flashy playing, as the tremolo would give way to the crunch of a technical riff or a solo maestro would emerge? Umm, no, as it turned out.  A shame. This, I think, is where L.O.E. drop the ball compositionally. They have broken out of post-rock hegemony, yes, but why not just go for it once you have?! They intrigued but didn’t quite deliver.

As they walked off to genuine applause, I granted myself pause, and realised I didn’t really remember any individual moments or hooks across the set. Post-rock’s most feared pandemic – ubiquity – unfortunately struck again, despite best efforts. Last of Eden clearly have charisma and chemistry, so I do hope to see them again at some point in the future, as they continue to mature as a unit. Other audience members sounded far more impressed though, so perhaps I’m just forever barred entry from the blissful succour of the perpetual post-rock motion machine these days.

As I waited between acts, writing notes and with the next band due to take The Garage’s stage soon, I decided it was then worth taking a moment to note the sad absence of sleepmakeswaves’ would-be touring pals, and fellow Aussies from Perth, Tangled Thoughts of Leaving (who they also did a wonderful split release with, way back in 2009). Unfortunately, Gracie was taken ill after a short tour with Russian Circles and is still on the mend. Echoes & Dust wishes Gracie, and indeed the whole of TTOL well, and we hope to see you back in the UK as soon as possible!

Birmingham’s Graywave, a four-piece too, took their positions, similarly somewhat squished at the front of the stage. Despite having signed to the lovely Church Road Records they are a band I had failed to comprehensively check out on record and had managed to miss them in the live setting before.

Greywave. Photo: Magda Campagne

It’s fair to say that the band grew into their set, blossoming when their most recent material was being served to an attentive, enraptured (and much grown) audience. Certainly the band of the night that ventured furthest from post-rock’s flittering, tremulous shores, Graywave might most easily be categorised as belonging to that other burgeoning sub-genre, shoegaze.  Similarly to L.O.E., at first, I felt as if their sound was nebulous, with nothing differentiating itself from the Platonic veil of shoegaze that I conjure instantly in my mind, upon the sounding of the term. But, as I’ve mentioned, the band bloomed into the set, quickly having shed that initial disappointed dismissal of mine, to inhabit a sound far more enticing.

As we reached, what with hindsight was the mid-point of their set, and as the lights cast the quartet in a melancholy but foreboding red glow, newer material that had shoegaze secured as its foundation, had structures built upon it representing 70s goth & coldwave, 80s soft-rock, and 90s grunge. From a performance where only the vocalist/guitarist seemed to be moved, the other three finally joined them, with that track and those later on suddenly seeming like they were a band orchestrating a threnody of mourning for an entire continent slipping below the waves, or a paean to a lost love so torturous as to give any selected Shakespearean dénouement a run for its money. A ‘Dark Spell’ indeed.

There were moments at the beginning of the set, and even in the much more luscious final leg, where the performance and/or sound mix didn’t quite hit in the way I imagine Graywave would have liked. It’s all very well sounding massive on record, but live audiences are fickle, and a relatively uneven, somewhat disengaged start to their set could quite easily lose listeners that would otherwise delight in their sound. A strange set, therefore, but I will definitely look forward to seeing them again. They can only grow. There is great as-yet-untapped potential, still…

Greywave. Photo: Magda Campagne

As sleepmakeswaves made their way onto headline the balmy evening (for London, not for Sydney, I know), it was apparent something was amiss. We had expected our third quartet of the night, but instead we were presented with a trio. Unfortunately, Lachlan was in bed, violently ill, having sampled the culinary kebab delights of late-night Gent. Drummer Tim did likewise. He was there – but as the set slinks by, it’s fair to say increasingly in body only. He was not living his best life as we were cheering them off the stage, later on. . . 

Confession time: I’ve been a huge fan of sleepmakeswaves in the past, but the EP series didn’t quite click for me, and at the time I had neglected to spin their very recently released new album, It’s Here, But I Have No Names For It.  A case of post-rock fatigue hit a few years ago, and I still often suffer from recurrences of the long version of said ailment. It’s a cross I continue to bear. Don’t worry yourself, reader – there are ways and means to remedy the affliction. A gig such as this is of great help.

sleepmakeswaves. Photo: Magda Campagne

Never mind all that, because the trio blew the bloody roof off the much-loved venue from minute one. They sounded MASSIVE!. The riffs were either titanic in their weaponised chug or sublime in their delicate crescendo; the bass grooved like it was pummelling its way to the Earth’s core; and the drums sounded tight, much more so than one suspects Tim’s body felt at the time. The keys were beautiful and complementary, too – a moment’s divine oasis of calm in the rush of such elemental music, torrentially cascading around it. The electronic samples and glitch, I still could take or leave.

The Sydneyites are celebrating the ten-year anniversary of their second LP, Love of Cartography, so tracks from this alongside new album material and more were scattered throughout the glorious, triumphant hour-long headlining set.  Apparently it had been a “trying day” for other reasons, but even when little issues happened, as well as those previously mentioned, the band are now so experienced that they know how to roll with the punches and their inherent kindness and good humour shone through – “We’re playing it live!” and “We’re snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, guys!”

sleepmakeswaves. Photo: Magda Campagne

Though this was a brief sojourn from the band, it was delightful to see them once again, after some time (and a very long time for me, as it was the inaugural Beyond the Redshift festival, also a decade ago, the second edition of which only occurred last year, that I last saw them!). I shan’t make this review any longer by pondering on whether post-rock almost solely belongs in the live realm, rather than the recorded one – somewhat like I would argue for noise or other things such as performance art. But having sleepmakeswaves blow the cobwebs of disillusion from my fatigued post-rock aesthetics was wonderful to experience.

After such a lengthy review, perhaps I should sum it up, succinctly?

sleepmakeswaves smashed it. Go see them as soon as you can.

Their new album, recorded though it may be, is great and is out now, and will stand you in good stead before you can watch them blow you and any latent cobwebs away live.

sleepmakeswaves. Photo: Magda Campagne