After watching two little girls argue about party grind and slam death, I thought to myself there is more to life and decided to get my ass of the couch and go watch some live music instead.
Cave 45 had a show on this last Friday so I went down there to feel the atmospheric darkness sink in my soul, starting with metal slapping drone duo “Sinter”. None of the shows that night can be described as a party, nor were there drunken retards falling upside down all over the people in attendance. That night we witnessed an experience, a show, a sonic journey.
“Sinter” consisted of one guy turning knobs, pushing buttons, screaming agonizingly into the micro and toying wildly with his metal sheets while the other guy played the drums with a slowly progressive rhythm. The metal sheet guy had two different metal sheets, when the show started I wondered why there was such a large gap of people in a specific place in front of the stage, then he started cutting the metal sheet with an electric saw, sparks flew in a long arc and I wondered no more.
He also banged, slapped, scrapped, hit with a stick and threw the metal sheets around, he even tried to play them as a violin, all this while he turned knobs and pushed buttons, creating haunting sounds that would be at home in the most eerie and mysterious of scary movies. He also had a weird instrument with a string and he just hit the string with the stick. The whole show was one long uninterrupted sequence of sounds until it ended abruptly without the band ever acknowledging the audience.
Fog rose from the stage and swallowed the crowd as “Névoa” started their spectacle. Once again, the show felt like a long uninterrupted one song musical experience, they filled the air with a sombre, deliciously progressive atmosphere that made our bodies flow with the music waves, every detail of each tune perfectly in place and in sync. From the comfort of this ambient sound, black metal riffs erupted every once in a while, turning the mist a shade darker and making our brains resonate with the sudden, violent and pleasuring vibrations.
The guitar players took turns hitting a faggot (yes, very funny, a bundle of sticks wrapped together is called a faggot, not so funny now) with drumsticks while the others built up the atmosphere of the show with their respective instruments, the mist as the music, enveloped us all into a state of tranquillity mixed with bursts of a well-placed and well-played cacophony.
Clearly a group of musicians who know what they are doing and how to do it right, “Névoa’s” show was a deafening and soothing trip to my ears and mind, certainly a ride I’d like to take again.
Aside from lyrics, not a word escaped the lips of the bands, they could have been playing this alone in the woods and it would have been no different, a stunning and confident stage presence from both acts. No excessive, alcohol induced aggression from the crowd, but we felt that show deeply beneath our skins, the inside of our bones shook with delight.
Text by J.P. Alves
Photos by César Ramos