Cold Cave, London Cargo

Cold Cave

May 12, 2010

Maybe it’s the slight drunkenness, maybe it’s the moving horse head in the pub before the gig, maybe it’s the hour I spend trying to talk to a Dutch girl in rudimentary German when all I know are requests for snack food and lewd come-ons, maybe it’s the way Cargo seems like a cross between a Mediaeval dungeon and a BBC set for a dystopian science fiction drama, with huge exposed pipes and thick black curtains. Whatever the reason, opening band Factory Floor come close to being the cheapest hallucinogenic experience I’ve ever had bar sleep deprivation and that time I didn’t eat for 5 days.

Listening on record, their music is much easier to trace; Krautrocky bass rhythms, insistent drum loops and vocal processors with the reverb function set firmly to “toilet bowl”. In Cargo however, the circular ‘Atrocity Exhibition’ pounding of Gabriel Gurnsey, the shuddering and swirling synth slurry effortlessly tweaked and beckoned by Dom Butler and the shrieking stabs of violin-bowed guitar from the statuesque (reviewspeak for hot) Nik Void don’t just take centre stage, but obliterate it. The whole experience is somewhere between euphoric and terrifying, much like being drowned in a vat of peanut butter and jam by Ian Rush (my touchstones for euphoria may differ from yours).

Factory Floor own me now.

But on to the headliners, Cold Cave. Formed by legendary hardcore person/hardchorister Wesley Eisold (who has hilariously written several songs for Fall Out Boy, fact fans), grace us with their presence for significantly less than 40 minutes – and in a recession, too!

What we do hear of them, however, is promising. Wesley is doing his best Robert Smith after swallowing a reverb pedal impression over tracks that stick to the same tried and tested formula of:

REALLY LOUD DISTORTED NOISE -> DRUM BEATS -> HUMAN LEAGUE -> ABRUPT ENDING

That isn’t meant to denigrate; I like all of those composite parts and put together they really work, with the distorted squalling giving some much needed muscle and threat to their creations which can occasionally wander into anaemia on record. But there’s not a lot of variance, meaning that even a whistlestop set drags a little.

‘Love Comes Close’ betrays itself as a rip-off of New Order’s ‘Temptation’ but proves popular with the otherwise typically East-as-you-like crowd (I think I heard someone applaud once) – my personal high point is ‘Life Magazine’, where Jennifer Clavin of 4M (my name for Much Missed Mika Miko) takes centre stage for the only time in the whole set. Her heart-seeking missile vocals and the Computerwelt propulsion really lift matters with a perfect serving of fizzy pop.

If Cold Cave have taught us anything, it’s that hardcore, punk and noise (aural pugilist Prurient provides high quality knob-tweaking alongside previously mentioned artists and drummer Guy Licata) can all come together at the dinner table and add up, somehow, to POP. Sure, Factory Floor own me, but if I’m having to pick a wedding band to get people dancing (I’m assuming the wedding isn’t in East London) I’d go with Cold Cave any day. Although Factory Floor might be able to hypnotise someone into marrying me. I’ll have a word.

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