Supersonic Saturday, let’s have it.
Friday, I must confess, I arrived at the festival worn out before it had even begun. Which is less than ideal. It would also be fair to say that, even by the high standard which is my natural gift in this area, I was grumpy. Thanks then to the miraculous restorative properties of Supersonic Festival, loud industrial pop music, cider, and sleep, I am ready for Saturday.
The day begins with the disappointing news that Atlanta hardcore team Upchuck are stranded somewhere in Europe, on the wrong end of some airline shenanigans, and aren’t going to make it, tipping today’s line-up even further in favour of duos. Quite a selection today, all making a heck of a racket with just two people. The rise of the duo intrigues me; are the reasons technological, logistical, financial or even cultural?
Modified Youth are certainly the sort of band who in the past would have roped in a friend or two to learn bass or keys or something, because that’s what bands looked like then. A guitar and drums two-piece isn’t unusual anymore, although a fuller sound might not hurt them at some point. Modified Youth are, indeed, young. They are doing the young-person punk rock thing and finding their feet. It’s a little scattered, but they don’t seem short of ideas or confidence. They’ve got good energy and are headed in the right direction. A little faith in the future to start the day.
Modified Youth. Photo: John Convery
Senyawa could not be a more different proposition. Serious and esoteric, the Indonesian noise duo make music that is hard to describe but realised within a rigorous conceptual framework. This year’s Vajranala album is part of multi-disciplinary project that includes the construction of the monument shown on its front cover. Concerned with Javanese mythology, it is both ancient and modern, drawing on folk and avant garde traditions alike. They invoke the power of the shaman as a theme, and it’s certainly one way to look at what they do. Wukir Suryadi draws their extraordinary sound from his own custom made instruments. Rully Shabara makes use of two microphones to bring different effects to his remarkable vocals. Rhythmic, atmospheric, and at times overwhelming, they create a total sound world that draws you in completely. The descriptors doom and metal are often used for them, but rarely have they been so inadequate or misplaced. It is certainly heavy though.
Senyawa. Photo: Robert Barrett
Carrying on some kind of spiritual thread, next up is the ecstatic black metal of Agriculture. One of the bands I was most looking forward to, I briefly panic I’ve got my hopes too high. I needn’t have worried, from the moment ‘Living Is Easy’ fully kicks in they’re absolutely wonderful, powering through an uplifting set that feels over all too soon. Their music is widescreen and majestic, almost like GY!BE sped up to a wild-eyed mania. It really is ecstatic – an invigorating headlong rush in awe of the world’s splendour.
Agriculture. Photo: Robert Barrett
Meanwhile The Shits are an abject noise from the id. Skulking in the proverbial piss-stained multi-storey car park, drinking cheap cans, ‘cos mum’s sick and dad’s an arsehole. It’s unwholesome and brutal, but for having three guitarists on stage it sounds quite thin. Despite being my sort of thing I’ve not really taken to them, and today doesn’t change that. Is the route-one band name some kind of savant thing? Like own-brand beans when you can’t afford Heinz Brainbombs? If they really need an outlet for all that curdled male rage City are playing at home today; actual confrontation should be easy enough to find.
The Shits. Photo: Robert Barrett
Still, as my Nan always said, Saturday night’s alright for fighting. In the rooftop bar there’s more light hearted performative violence to be had. The Pocket Signs team are putting on some kind of DIY chaos-theatre Punch & Judy show. Maxine Peake has gamely taken on the role of Judy, and a drunken hero in a huge paper maché head has agreed to be Punch. There is much rabble rousing and crowd interaction provoked by ringmaster Matt Cargill, the whole nonsense rapidly devolving into Punch getting beaten by a mob, a crowd surfing inflatable crocodile, and some banging rave tunes. This is what they want. All weekend there’s brilliant stuff happening up here but the main stages are so packed you hardly get chance to hang around for it.
Pocket Signs’ Punch & Judy. Photo: John Convery
Back downstairs The Body + Dis Fig bring their combined sonic assault, Felicia Chen’s vocals fighting their way through a scouring cloud of heavy distortion and caustic beats. A sustained blast of excoriating noise, it’s layered and textured rather than bludgeoning. A bright strand of pop is buried down in there. I was tempted to call it bad trip, trip-hop but it’s not a downer so much as a cleansing purge.
The Body + Dis Fig. Photo: Robert Barrett
Feeling scrubbed and reborn, we’re ready for MC Yallah x Debmaster to bring the good times. They do not miss. She’s fierce but Yallah radiates positive vibes while Debmaster brings the futurist beats. Their set is a double joy after Home Office bullshit kept them away last year; a smiling demonstration of the festival’s defiant spirit.
MC Yallah and Debmaster. Photos: Cat Dineley
