I’ve got a pen and the will to use it. I’m in a venue called Broadcast and Marissa Nadler and Le Thug are in it. All I need to make this all work, on paper at least, is beer. Sorted. Who says there isn’t a God?
So, downwards into the basement for an encounter with Le Thug. Apparently from Glasgow – as their name might suggest – these three good people, clearly inspired by things ambient and electronic, steered a steady course through a set of demonstrative repetition that attempted to negate the cultural bankruptcy brought on by the worship of the three minute pop song. Heresy, it would seem, is a minimalist thing.
Marissa Nadler, on the other hand, was nothing less than a case of still waters running deep, deep and deeper as if her heart had been attached to the heaviest of anchors and cast into the depths of the ocean. With a melancholic voice that must surely have been styled by the songs of a mermaid, she followed the wind and drifted as if lost upon the open seas of emotion and her hypnotic set, sympathetically supported by Janel Leppin’s cello, made you wish that you had her all to yourself.
It’s dark outside, the cat’s in the cradle and all is well in the city of Glasgow.