A politically tense atmosphere had swamped the mood of Brighton over the weekend following the referendum. It was an itch that needed scratching and after a weekend of attempting to find the release through alcohol, it seemed all had been left for the Sunday night cleansing.

A sadistically dense echo erupted from upstairs in The Hope and Ruin as I entered. The Danish four-piece Tales of Murder and Dust were setting the mood for the night, cast in front of stark sci-fi visuals that cascaded along the back wall. A sound omitted from the amplifiers like no other, it was a drone that appeared fitting for the band’s name – it had a desert-like sparseness which was conflicted through deafening intersections of feedback. A live performance such as this was not necessarily begging for the energy that other bands perhaps rely on, however it did not prevent the bassist and guitarist hammering through their instruments, pounding them upon the floor as if putting crosses into the ground. They left an exceptionally hard act to follow.

Radar Men From The Moon were this evening’s headliners. Instrumental acts such as this always set themselves up with the additional challenge of how to engage with a crowd – some fail and some succeed marvellously. Radar Men From The Moon for the most part of the set, fell into the latter category regardless of their jaded beginning. What at first seemed to prove a struggle for the four-piece was setting the mood and the temperament for the set. They awkwardly shifted on stage trying to get themselves into the frame of mind for performing. This nervousness may come down to the lighting of the venue, with no initial visuals and just the bright orange lights of The Hope to glare into, the start of the set left little else to occupy the audience’s mind.

As the songs span an average of ten minutes each, when they eventually found their rhythm around halfway into the first song, the swelling synths and rumbling bass set the intergalactic backdrop that the group play off. The backlights flickered on and set the ambience for the group, the music acting as the fitting accompaniment and vice versa.

They offered a confronting point of reference within their music, it was hellishly loud and this seemed fitting for people to immerse themselves within. The shifts in tempo, the aggression of the fuzz-fuelled guitar and the tactile synthesised samples would have been fit for the interstellar 60s film that their name is based upon.

Often without vocals, you lose that dynamic between the crowd and act onstage however with music of this velocity, it was impossible to escape. Members on the front row riled around in an animalistic fashion as if it was an evangelical spiritual possession, their eyes were shut tight and their bodies shook to the sound of music.

Where the set struggled was in the shift of sound often making it hard to differentiate between each song. The thwarting fuzz and build-up/breakdowns never really saw an end to each song but rather a different chapter of the same.

Regardless of song differentiation you got the sense that the music was more about the sound than the commercial understandings of what a song is. It grew to become the sonic bliss that everybody in the crowd had hoped to see out the week with. It was an abrasive end to quite the politically fraught and tense weekend, everything felt fitting and cathartic in how it relinquished everybody of their issues. The music was the catalyst to the mental release and it’s safe to say much of the crowd left feeling a shade lighter.
Tom Churchill

Website: radarmenfromthemoon.nl
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