- Music
- 16 Aug 04
Yep, The Dirty Three have reconfigured the molecular structure of the modern ensemble.
Ellis-tentialism. It’s not a branch of philosophy taught in any reputable university, but to see it practised in the flesh is a profound experience. The basic tenets of being Warren Ellis are these: you swagger onstage, all elbows and angles and scarecrow hair, plug in an electric violin, begin playing music that runs the gamut from bereavement to mourning to violent catharsis somewhere between the Velvet Underground and Arvo Part, sucking players and audience alike into a flux of energies derived from the polar charges of sorrow and anger. Repeat five or six times for anything up to an hour, each piece (‘One Thousand Miles’, ‘Sue’s Last Ride’, ‘Everything Is Fucked’) prefaced with a rambling, scatological monologue.
Yep, The Dirty Three have reconfigured the molecular structure of the modern ensemble. Post-rock ain’t the half of it. Their sound is far older and more elemental, drawing on Russian dance steppes, Estonian liturgy, gypsy knife fights and Chicago city noise. Ellis strikes sparks off drummer Jim White – a man who has metabolised the biorhythmical pulse of the music so completely he often seems (only seems, mind) to dispense with it entirely, flying fore and aft of all discernable metronomes in a sort of daredevil balletic jazz. While this happens, guitarist Mick Turner acts as the cooling agent between the two, his fingers doing with sound as they do with the impressionistic watercolours of the band’s album covers. In other words, he makes like Marc Chagall. It’s quite a thing to behold.
So, given that The Dirty Three are your reviewer’s favourite live experience in any given year, comments about Mozaic must be taken in context. Another night, I may have found them a delight. Here I can only appreciate their technique and scholarship while finding their fusion of Irish balladry and Appalachian and Macedonian trad tunes somewhat on the wrong side of polite. It’s a mismatch of a bill, paired by the presence of fiddles, somewhat like comparing Asia Argento with Sophia Loren simply because of the accent. Better to catch Irvine, Lunny, Molsky, Van Der Zalm and Parov again when they have the full run of the room.