Supersilent with John Paul Jones: Birmingham Town Hall, 14 November 2012

It’s been an eventful few days, with all the interesting stuff happening in Birmingham.  Not so long ago, despite living in Leicester, my social life focussed largely on nearby Nottingham and I enjoyed discovering more about what lay both on and under the city’s surface.  Now, it seems that my attention has shifted slightly to Brum and, after several years’ absence; I’m reacquainting myself with that town also.

Birmingham City Centre Today, (Photo: Unknown)

The main reason for heading west was the invitation I received to include paintings in the current exhibition organised by Indigo Octagon.  I’ve already posted in anticipation of that event and will post my account of it very soon.  Separately, however, I headed along the M6 the other night with a friend to hear Norwegian Improv/Electronic ensemble - Supersilent at Birmingham Town Hall.

Birmingham Town Hall, (Photo: Dave Madden).

Supersilent is highly regarded in Avant-garde music circles, not least for a rigourous, no rehearsals; no pre-planning; no contact beyond the music-making, stance.  However, it has a darker, even vaguely Rock, aesthetic than many older improv. stalwarts.  This is due, in part, to slick, minimalist presentation, (impassive graphics, tasteful light show, dry ice, etc.), and partly through having a somewhat saturnine member named Deathprod, (Helge Sten).  The current incarnation scores even higher in that regard by including ex-Led Zeppelin bassist and all round muso – John Paul Jones as an honorary member.  In fact, with Sten on sick leave from Birmingham, Jones became the main focus of the evening, proving himself quite capable of functioning in a contemporary Free Jazz idiom.

Supersilent With John Paul Jones, Moldejazz, Norway 2011, (Photo: Unknown)

As must occur amongst regular collaborators, and despite the improvisatory approach, there is a typical Supersilent sound.  Most pieces follow a quiet, loud-then -quiet-again routine, pursuing a dialogue between profoundly alien, midnight-sun atmospheres and passages of chaotic, visceral racket evoking terrifying events deep in dark forests.  For this performance the spooky keyboards, muted trumpet and free drumming were marvellously augmented by Jones’ massive bass vibrations and haunting vocal intonations by drummer Arve Henriksen.  Employing a beautiful and unusual 12 string bass, Jones also injected subtly ornate high-string embellishments in counterpoint to all the low-end stuff.

After an impressive opener, mounting to a massive dissonant climax, our ears were properly attuned to an alternative sound world of shifting aural environments.  It also became apparent that, with its high-ceilinged, Neo-classical grandeur, yet deceptive intimacy, the venue was a perfect setting for Supersilent, contributing considerable acoustic richness.  With music of this kind one must remain in the moment and immersed in pure sound.  Consequently, whenever a riff or groove started to emerge, at least one member of the trio intervened to mutate the sound in a new direction.  There were online hints of a little pre-show rehearsal but I’ve no idea if this was merely a sound check or a concession to the new boy.  In fact, the trio’s exchanged glances of inquiry, nods of approval and gestured instructions to the mixing desk suggested there were still huge elements of the unknown in the unfolding material.

Supersilent In Birmingham, (Photo: Kevin Hewick).

Naturally, the deep listening demanded by such music can prove exhausting and the duration of individual pieces and the overall set were well judged.  If there was a slight loss of impetus around two thirds of the way through, that slack was taken up effectively before the end.  The set concluded with a shorter encore that really showcased Jones and was the closest the music came to any semblance of bass funk throughout the entire evening.

Stale Storlokken & J.P. Jones, Sonar, Barcelona, 2012, (Photo: David Broc).

Exiting the Town Hall amongst the demographically, (and cheeringly), baffling audience, it occurred to me that, (Rock legend worship aside), the only real unifying factor between us was a hunger for real musical sustenance.  Supersilent and John Paul Jones served up a banquet.

Aki Onda, (Photo: Makiko Sasanuma).

Respect is due also to support act Aki Onda.  His improvised set of layered and manipulated cassette field recordings, played through numerous Walkmans, (Walkmen?), was both fascinating and engaging.  Apologies to him for crashing the start of his performance, then sitting directly in his eye-line.