When the Curtain Goes Up, Svart Ridå, this three-stage rocket. Dressed like old men in white shirts, black trousers and shoes, and black ties, like The Blues Brothers. Perhaps completely off the wall to some people, but I think I get it. They are absolutely taking the piss out of patriarchy, touché and they do it so bloody well. “Take me seriously, for fuck’s sake, look how I conform,” while in reality it is one big: “Fuck you, I’ll do whatever I want.”
On the outside, they stand there at Way Out West in their uniform, almost rigid appearance in stark contrast to their explosive and physical performance on stage. Svart Ridå absolutely stand out, and they have more than deserved all the positive attention they have received recently. And the way they play. Only three of them in the band, yet they sound like many more. They wear out the skins on the drum kit and shred the strings on bass and guitar, without it ever feeling forced or contrived. This is pure, unadulterated rock: guitar noise, improvisation, swinging arms, headbanging and powerful emotional outbursts delivered straight from the spine. I realise I’m stating the obvious when I say that this is a band who own the stage.
The music is raw and played with incredible authority and confidence, on a level with the biggest bands of the 1990s. Like a reincarnation from a bygone era, they suddenly appear. The openings are heavy as lead, dystopian, frightening, direct, fearless, full of bloody-minded determination only to unfold into beautiful melancholy and deeply emotional storytelling the very next moment. There is Nirvana’s fragility, distortion and sudden explosion, attitude and attack, only to land moments later in that distinctly Swedish melancholy and emotional depth. We are thrown from the extremes of punk, down into dreamy Slowdive, through The Hives and Jeff Beck, before finally being lulled to sleep by Kent. Their performance and expression are so strong that they never need to shout for your attention. Instead, you suddenly find yourself standing there, swaying in a trance, mouth open and eyes fixed. They clang, they wail, they roar in unison, just like the very best.
So come on, lads, come and have a look. All you bands full of blokes trying so bloody hard. Svart Ridå have already cracked it long before their death and before the curtain has even come down. And as for why I skipped half of my Way Out West headliner, Gorillaz: the LP APONIA is 100 per cent brilliant, just buy it. But as a live act, Svart Ridå make you tremble.
