Concorde2, 21 August 2009
Indispensable songs, high gain and no clean sounds to be heard; this is ear bleeding country.
After an eight year hiatus, ending in 2005, the original members have reformed and returned to studio and stage. It’s been an eternity since guitarist J Mascis, bassist Lou Barlow and drummer Murph released their sludgy Jurassic ooze of a debut and the nostalgia at the venue is indescribable. In all its low-key glory: Dinosaur Jr live.
As the huge stack of Marshall amps is wheeled into precise position, Lou bounds onto the stage and with the walls shaking with applause exclaims to the rapturous crowd, “We’re back!” Immediately the power of their bittersweet, socially inept aggression and the ferocity of their sound is there, never restricted or overly polished. Everything is given room to grow, stretching into extended intros, then flooding into impulsive solos and oft-repeated verses, the result being both shapely and sprawling grunge-pop.
With Mascis’ guitar alternating between signature squalling solos and dissonant noise-rock, the sonic wall presented is a formidable force. The occasional quiet passages contrast and complement the melodic melancholy that J’s vocals carry, but the music’s adrenalized bounce makes his misery more sweet than sad. All the while storming through its alternating heavily distorted fast chords and pulverizing lows, Barlow’s bass lines seamlessly play with Murph’s powerhouse drumming and float between grafting unruly riffs to unabashedly bittersweet choruses. It’s so energetic, confident, and catchy that the continuous cacophonies created are of epic proportion.
The years passed are visually apparent. J’s long white hair resembles an aged Christopher Guest from Spinal Tap, but his musicality and performance is still pristine, if a little slow on the fx pedals sometimes. But they really benefit from the absent years, drawing on experiences, successes and disappointments that have elapsed between then and now. It’s hard to imagine one band but Dinosaur Jr who are able to do what they do. If it’s nothing special, perennially underdogged and wasted, how are they still so good?
Words by Adam Strandt
Photography by Lucy Kinsella
