The Funk And The Fury

"They go straight into that filthy, murky zone between love and war, dance and rock n' roll." Irvine Welsh on Primal Scream.

The real pihce de risistance of the Homelands bill of musical fare is the only Irish show in over two years from a maverick nine man army who need little introduction to genuine music lovers.
Primal Scream gave musical culture the shot in the arm it sorely needed with the release last January of Xtrmntr one of the most universally and unanimously lauded albums since OK Computer.
The fact, too, that Bobby Gillespie, Gary Mounfield (Mani) and Kevin Shields are
in the same band together makes their appearance unmissable. Together, they have blown open the creative canvas of music to encompass and embrace the sound sculpturing of free jazz, the filth and the fury of punk and the pulsating energy of techno, house, hip hop and trance.
When this powerhouse of a line-up played their first Edinburgh engagement in eleven years a few weeks ago, they caused one hell of a commotion. Like us all, I've witnessed the usual pre-gig 'anyone buying or selling?' fervour, but to be accosted for a spare ticket while still in a taxi speaks louder for the Scream live revolution than any amount of journalistic hyperbole.
Inside, the ear-bleeding 21st century disco kicks off with the blitzkrieg beats of 'Swastika Eyes' and the shimmering psychedelic shuffle of 'Shoot, Kill ,Speed, Light'.
"That one was for NATO fuck you!" is the first onstage sneer from the lips of Bobby Gillespie. Those who have written off the political power of dance music should bear witness to the infectious dark groove of 'Exterminator' sound-tracking Gillespie's doomsday poetic rants "grey metal skies/broken eyes/ claustrophobic English high rise/Exterminate the underclass/exterminate the telepaths/everyone's a prostitute/no civil disobedience". He continues to hit out at network TV junk and online big brotherhood, going straight to the core of everything that is rotten in a paralysed and sapped society where selfish and conservative demons lurk.
On 'Blood Money', Mani pounds out a bass line that aims straight for the gut while Kevin Shields conducts a hypnotic guitar symphony, underscored with the freaky fucked up jazz of Duncan MacKay and Jim Hunt's brass section. This searing instrumental is the night's most intense moment. The long lost My Bloody Valentine man is an odd sight, deftly stroking his instrument lost in his own sonic storm. Even the Scream Team has admitted that no one knows what he is actually playing onstage, but it is suffice to say that it sounds like nothing else on earth. He imbues this performance with a mystery and wonder that you simply just don't get from most guitar music anymore.
The seventeen song set climaxes in 'Accelerator' executed with a power akin to Sonic Youth, The Stooges and the MC5 playing the last show of their lives just before a plane crashes into the venue. I've seen crowds go apeshit before but this is unreal.
Amidst a bumper dose of classic encores, Gillespie screams "ARE YOU READY TO TESTIFY?", as the joyful, honey-dripping soul pop anthem 'Movin' On Up' prompts everyone, and I mean everyone, to punch the air, smile at strangers and repeatedly holler "my light shines on!" If you see only one act at Homelands . . . Fuck it! Do I really have to state the obvious? Punk to funk. And then some.