04 January 2007
There's a lampshade in the middle of the stage. On Mr. Lampshades left is a man wearing a flatcap and playing an electric violin. An electric violin that sounds like whale song rejuvenated in the ether. To Mr. Lampshades right is a man who is sat down playing an electric guitar. His eyes are closed and he is riding a wave. A wave of dirty, trashy distorted notes. The wave cradling the whale. Above Mr. Lampshade is a man with a microphone. His voice is the ocean and trails on forever. A cloud of smoke from the bar hovers above their heads. The first sound after the fallout. Delayed feedback rips through those still alive. We are beginning to hear sound again. None that we remember hearing before. Something new. It's not about Noddy Holder..I say its not about Noddy Holder. A Holder Big Ears....
Mr. Above Lampshade has a small drum kit next to him. It is used for rhythm based percussion and Floydian soundscapes of reverb. The same ocean. This time however we are line dancing on acid. Distorted voices stretch through delayed time. It gets faster and faster, louder and louder. A little mole or a bit of Bros? Don't talk nonsense boy or we'll put you in jail. Our own polystyrene jail consisting of gentle tremolo and gentle words. An old song from the first album.
A break is had. The violin returns sounding like a 70's analog keyboard. How is this possible? The vocalist is cryin' on his bed of nails. "I wish I was blessed to see the consequences of my promises" he cries. Back to the start. First album extravaganza. All distorted vocals and noise improvs along with a childhood memory. Do you remember The Clangers? They wooed in space and so do Misterlee. Shape-shifting occurs. Violins become bass guitars and three hairy men sat drinking beer on stage can be seen on giant television screens. For sale kiddies. For sale. Time is shifting again. Triggered by a vocal that sounds like the voice of god. Is it doubled? Is it distorted? I can't tell and don't want to anyway. All I hear is the same question I've been asking myself from day 1..."When will I, will I be famous?"...The 20th Century peaks its eyes over its grave and I feel ever so strangely melancholy.
Just words now. Words carried by the whale who sings so beautifully at the end. "Move the clockface from your eyes and squeeze in traps of light from shot skies". Skies that are spinning now. Maybe its the fatal wound, the fatal end, or maybe its simply the spiral of a microphone going round and round and round. Ummagumma....Mr. Lee....Mr. Lampshade....Misterlee...Yes there was a lampshade in the middle of the stage. Now its gone but I'm not afraid.
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