Tractor (and others) at Choke

Everyone seemed a little unsure of what was going on. The DJ (one and a half inches below average height) was still playing, the band was sitting on the stage and the audience standing around, some staring expectantly, others chatting away. Then suddenly, this voice filled the room. Rich and sweet, soft and huge, it slapped even the most self-absorbed of talkers into silence. I have no idea what it sang, something about sorrow and sleep, but I remember the multiple shivers it sent down the back of my neck. On it went, unaccompanied, a cappella, note perfect, projecting from the girl sitting cross legged in the centre of the stage. It was amazing, and the warm applause erupted when it stopped.

This was, paradoxically, both the best and worst start Rose Kemp and her band could have made to Choke, possibly the most prestigious live music nights in Bristol; because after such an astounding opening made all the more impressive by it's minimalism, the band now had to follow their lead's act. Opinion may be divided over whether she needs a band at all with a voice like that, but the band she's got are shit hot. The soft hand drumming on the hook-laden 'Morning Music', the pedal screams that open 'Birdsong', the harmonies that carry along 'Little One', the stroked bass, these and a hundred other touches were awesome. It was, admittedly, a slight distraction from the songs, but the tic toc verses of 'Violence' are still stuck in my head now, cutting clear across the prog-fuzz of dual guitars and sharp rim-shots.


The same can't be said about Da Capo, as I couldn't snatch a single lyric from the uber-fast clutches of their pelting punk, which was slightly samey, which the exception of the odd echoing, stop-start interruption. With their cow ties and trainers, the bassists towering mohican and the singer-guitarist's splayed leg stance they looked as well as sounded the part of straining to be more than just enjoyable and energetic punkers. Full of attitude, but not exactly brimming over with imagination, their output reminded me of first album Rage Against the Machine or early Green Day. "You don't know the fucking difference anyway!" yelled the lead. True.


Sunnyvale Noise Sub-Element were fabulous, in an utterly self-indulgent manner; I loved the way the bassist was going uncalled for crazy, while the guitarist was coolly composed. This was lyric-less industrial noise with bass and guitar sawing over backing beats and electronics. Spacey at times, melodic and others and downright nasty more than once, this was the sit down, chill out and acknowledge fine craftsmanship and feel utterly elitist part of the evening. 'Cos frankly most of the music listening public are going to walk away utterly confused after a couple of numbers. The Philistines!



So on come Tractor to close tonight's proceedings with their rumbling, heavy grind core with tribal undertones and hang man bass. They were absolutely mesmeric. There was a long moment where The Sex Pixels were projecting some dark as fuck animations onto the screen behind them, involving puppies and puppets, while their flat, driven repetitive growl boomed out: I was held, rooted to the spot, off somewhere else. As soon as the track and animation finished I, delayed action, woke from the trance and grabbed my camera, but it was too late.

Despite the volume, the threat and the uncontrollable forward motion in my neck, I found them strangely comforting and warm. The feeling of walking out of Room 101, utterly broken, knowing that Big Brother loves you and will kill you when he chooses; the safety and absence of fear or discomfort in such a situation would be very much like listening to Tractor in a sensory deprivation tank. Sign me up for a session.

FUTURE GIGS

sorry, we currently have no gigs listed for this act.