GIG: Slint performing "Spiderland" (London Koko, 23rd August 2007)

Generously awarded “Ten fucking stars” on its release by the band’s former producer Steve Albini, Slint’s second album Spiderland was so far ahead of its time that it basically created the genre known as post-rock (or ‘math-rock’, to cite its latest permutation) single-handedly. Fittingly for such an enigmatic work - the band’s wry smiles on its iconic cover are as inscrutable as that of the Mona Lisa - Spiderland became shrouded in mythology from the moment of its conception. Aside from insisting it be heard on vinyl, the band were apparently so drained by the writing and recording process that they promptly disbanded, selling off all their equipment and swearing that they’d never play it again (when they later decided to reform for a series of one-off performances, they had to buy back all their gear to enable them to recreate the original sounds).


Picking up where their abrasive debut Tweez left off, Spiderland is an album of mechanical riddles: its rhythmic patterns twist and writhe while spoken-word narratives of alienation and discord unfold in a chilling whisper. Its alternation between crashing hellfire and menacing hush took quiet-loud dynamics to greater extremes than had ever been previously attempted: the album’s fifth track is so slight that it’s at times almost impossible to make out what’s going on. Though only 50 000 copies have been sold to date, it’s a solid bet that most of its initial purchasers went off and formed a band themselves.


ATP’s annual Don’t Look Back season invites artists to perform a seminal album in its entirety – a bold move in an age of dismembered tracks and file-trading. Indeed, the experiment seems especially interesting tonight, with the static positioning of the band within a defined performance space creating the illusion of a session which the audience is looking in on, rather than actively participating with. It’s as if the music is there to be admired objectively from afar - a conceit that Walter Benjamin once dubbed “the unique phenomeon at a distance”. Ultimately, as on shows like The Old Grey Whistle Test, it’s hoped that this approach creates a greater longevity: as Whistle Test presenter David Hepworth suggests on the show’s DVD anthology, “the sparer the performance is, the more it lasts down the years”.


I mention this because it’s clear from the offset that we’re here to witness something of substantial import. As The Lemonheads’ joyous romp through It’s a Shame About Ray two years ago suggested, Don’t Look Back ought to be a celebration, but tonight the atmosphere is foreboding and claustrophobic. There is little-to-no communication between the band and their audience, to the extent where it’s difficult to tell whether they’re loathing every second or simply immersed in concentration. I suspect it’s a little of both, though ultimately it doesn’t really matter: the uncomfortable silences that linger between songs simply add to the intensity of the performance. From the moment Breadcrumb Trail’s ringing harmonics give way to sinewy arpeggios and blow-torch distortion, you can’t take your eyes off them. Hearing the album in its entirety at decibel-shattering volume, you’re able to detect complexities hitherto unacknowledged: tonight, Nosferatu Man makes the chunking polyrhythms of Tool sound like a child bashing a toy drum. By the time the album’s towering centrepiece Good Morning, Captain slithers forth to mount its slow-burning sensory assault, you’re absolutely spellbound.


While the band themselves may rue its unlikely standing, there’s no questioning that Spiderland has become one of the most important rock albums of the last few decades - even a casual glance at tonight’s setlist confirms where Mogwai got most of their ideas from (frankly, the similarity between Hunted by a Freak and Washer ought to be a matter for High Court discussion). To think that Slint created such an accomplished and forward-thinking piece of work when they were still in their early twenties is remarkable; that it still sounds fascinating seventeen years on affirms the mark of true greatness.