The Gospel according to Godspeed

On October 22^nd of the year of our Lord 2015, myself and your esteemed website deputy editor-in-chief Jacob Mier descended upon the Church of St. Butterworth to hear preaching from The Gospel According to Godspeed. As it turns out though, Jake wasn’t the original recipient of the +1 kindly bestowed upon me by the Arts Centre Marketing Team (sorry mate). That privilege went to one Josh Greenwood, who at the last minute pulled out in favour of dinner with his parents. Wow. Upon my return home, I found him slumped on the sofa, paternally-funded pub food seemingly causing him to slip into a chicken pie coma. “How was it?” he asked. “Josh,” I said, “you fucked it”.

Before going on at length how completely brilliant this show was, I should probably preface my review by saying that their appearance on stage at 8:30pm hadn’t been my first encounter with the band that day. Having left the Rootes Grocery Store after lunch, double Galaxy in hand, I noticed their huge black tour bus was parked outside the Arts Centre. Deciding then to walk the long way round to the library, I stumbled upon Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s mysterious bandleader himself, Efrim Menuck, having a quick smoke by the Butterworth Hall loading doors. It was a genuinely surreal experience: here was a man who, despite leading one of the most critically acclaimed bands of the 21^st century and whose anti-capitalist ethos has led him to stay away from almost every kind of publicity event imaginable (information about him online is understandably scarce. I do know he’s Canadian though), was now standing on a path I use almost every day to cut through campus as efficiently as possible. It’s like Elvis getting a drink at the Duck, or Tupac sharing a WFS event on the 2015/16 Freshers’ Page.

The juxtaposition between the mundane and the legendary was surreal. I did think about saying hi, but he cut an intimidating figure. Six and a bit foot tall, dressed head to toe in black, equally as black hair and beard uncut in years: he came across as a rock and roll antichrist. His reflective orange sunglasses didn’t help either: I couldn’t tell if we actually made eye contact with him or not when I smiled at him. He certainly didn’t smile back if we did. “Go on, you consumerist pig,” his unflinching anarchist gaze seemed to say, “eat your chocolate bar. Syria burns without you”. I felt a bit sad, ran to the Floor 3 extension, and sat at a desk and ate my Galaxy, thinking about what I’d done lately.

One of the duo stuck a small microphone into his mouth and sang, which was followed by an acapella song comprised solely of the two of them barking at each other

Undeterred by the implicit rejection of my shameful Western ideologies (I just really, really want a grad job, okay?) we arrived in time to see the openers, Dead Rat Orchestra. I’d never heard of them before, but a cursory Google search proclaimed them to be “the UK’s leading avant-folk ensemble”. Hmm. Even if their website didn’t give much away, what we got was a strangely compelling blend of what sounded like Cornish sea shanties and experimental electronica. Some fairly aggressive singing gave way to a hypnotic extended drone piece. I couldn’t quite see from my position in the crowd as most of the equipment was on the floor of the stage, but it sounded like they were getting samples from objects onstage, which was fairly cool. This segued into one of the duo sticking a small microphone into his mouth and singing, which was followed by an acapella song comprised solely of the two of them barking at each other. We were introduced to the closer as it being “a song from the 17^th century about inequality – that’s all you’re getting,” which elicited a laugh from the crowd and hinted at an undercurrent of humour throughout the whole event. Which I guess makes sense, because again, one of them stuck a microphone inside their mouth and started singing for four minutes. I always feel a bit sorry for support bands because it’s often easy to forget exactly what they did for twenty-five minutes before the ‘actual’ band comes on, but in the case of Dead Rat Orchestra, they were almost as memorable as the main attraction, which is certainly no mean feat. I think it might be because one of them put a microphone into his head.

The line-up expanded over the next few minutes to include about fifteen guitarists (official reports suggest there were three)

Then finally, after a twenty minute interval, it was time for GY!BE to take to the stage. It took a while: initially a sole violinist, the line-up expanded over the next few minutes to include about fifteen guitarists (official reports suggest there were three), two drummers, and a cellist. The word epic seems fairly trite these days, but it’s genuinely one of the only words to describe what unfolded. The sounds coming from the stage were supplemented by a black-and-white clips projected behind the band (which as it turns out were from actual real projectors with real film reel. Wikipedia lists Karl Lemiuex as being on “film projections” for the band. Now that’s pretty cool), which added another element to the music. Menuck has been stated as saying the projections “put the whole thing into context”, and having now witnessed it live it’s hard to disagree. Opener ‘Hope Drone’ functioned as an introduction of sorts, building the mood in the room with drones and feedback and the word “HOPE” occasionally flickering onto the screen, scratched into images of train tracks. This segued into the incredible ‘Storm’, a cut from 2000’s legendary Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven, and which functioned as the closest thing to a religious experience I’ve ever had. The use of imagery of mountains and sea juxtaposed with the ensemble’s uplifting crescendos stirred something within me that years of weekly school-enforced church services never quite managed.

If the first half an hour or so lifted us, as they had promised, like antennas to Heaven, the next hour was a slow descent into Hell. Gone were the major key exaltations; in their place were portentous walls of noise that seemed to threaten to consume the room whole. The band played their latest album, Asunder, Sweet and other Distress in its entirety, and whilst that had been a somewhat underwhelming release it really, as trite as it sounds, came to life on stage. The background imagery shifted from images of plants and birds to snakes: again, these visuals were fairly key to setting the mood on stage. By the time the band reached ‘Mladic’, from 2012’s Allelujah! Don’t Bend! Ascend!, I was ready to end it all (or at least I might have done, if I wasn’t having such a great time). The images on the screen were physically melting (can’t get that with your .jpgs and .gifs, can you now?), and a great sense of dread was enjoyed by all – never has a slowly decomposing film reel seemed so ominous.

I think he smiled, but it was hard to tell under the metres of beard descending from his face

However, not all was lost, and the set transitioned into the once again uplifting (and catchily-titled) ‘Unknown (New Song)’. My perception may have been skewed, but I think it was better than most of the material from Asunder, which certainly bodes well for future releases. Finally, the band played ‘The Sad Mafioso’, an excerpt from the longer ‘East Hastings’ suite from their debut F♯ A♯ ∞. It was here the band’s political affiliations became most noticeable. Whereas before there had been vague anti-capitalist leanings, with images of stock markets and city workers rolling past during the most discordant of minor chords, we were greeted by images of anti-war, anti-inequality, and generally quite anti-USA protestors. It seems especially poignant in 2015, where it seems like there’s an anti-austerity march every other week in London.

Eventually, the band drifted offstage one by one. Menuck, ostensibly the frontman, and who had sat slightly off-centre and too low down to be visible, gave a single wave and walked off. I think he smiled, but it was hard to tell under the metres of beard descending from his face. In the end, a wall of feedback was created, and it was left to drummer Timothy Herzog to turn each amp off in turn. Eventually he too gave a wave and left; the houselights came on and we were left to ponder what we had just witnessed. There was no cry for an encore. It was obvious that there was no need. We had heard exactly what was intended. Godspeed You! Black Emperor had delivered two and a half hours exactly as they had intended. We had heard their sermon. We saw all that They had made, and behold, it was very good. Amen.