As a recent transplant from Perth, this gig marked my first experience of the Northcote Social Club, my first chance to sample some local experimental noise bands as well as a chance to dissolve some of the mystery around the infamous outsider musician, Jandek.
Opening the proceedings were psych-noise duo Breathing Shrine, who produced pulsating noise that you could feel in your bones. Former members of the Grey Daturas provided fuzzy, growling guitar to build a wall of noise over the sounds of a bass abandoned by its amp for optimum feedback. Combined with the power of Rob Mayson on the drums, the undulating drone had the scattered audience enraptured with eyes closed, heads nodding, with the exception of one incredible punter who’s particular brand of dancing perfectly captured the music – grand sweeping gestures with epileptic undertones.

Next up were Embers, presenting themselves in self-confessed ‘big band’ format, which consisted of three saxophones (including an alto and tenor), bass, guitar and drums. From the first note, Embers produced a sonic assault of squealing sax and rumbling guitars, and for a good portion of the set, seemed like they were making the loudest possible noise for the sake of making noise. However, after a good fifteen minutes of enduring all three tortured saxophones (which musically resembled nothing quite so much as the frantic sax on Angelo Badalmenti’s Lost Highway soundtrack), listening became an intellectual exercise, as the audience began to pick particular instruments and follow the sonic thread created.

Fabulous Diamonds have generated a decent amount of hype – and not all of it good (as they’ve chosen to display on their MySpace page). I had only heard good things and was eager to see if they lived up to their reputation. Whilst I wasn’t exactly disappointed, they were nowhere near the groundbreaking musical experience I had been led to expect. Rhythmically, musically and vocally, the songs are enjoyable enough. Almost tribal drumming contrasting the use of analogue synth and keyboard made for a pleasant mix that had the entire audience nodding their heads, yet even with the chanted vocals from both band members, there seemed to be something lacking. Despite these flaws, I found myself soothed and enjoying their set, but not as captivated by their music as I had hoped.

What can be said about Jandek that hasn’t been said a million times already? Since 1978, self-produced records have been appearing under the name Jandek, released by a company called Corwood Industries. Until 2004, few people had been granted interviews and not a single person had seen him live, yet albums (atonal, detuned and almost experimental in nature) were released at a steady pace, most of which featured the visage of a thin redheaded male – Jandek became a myth, a Willy Wonka of the musical world. In 2004, however, Jandek emerged to his audience and proved that yes, he was one person; yes, he was that redheaded man and yes, after 26 years, he ready to play shows.
Judging by whispered conversation through the venue, most of the audience had no idea what to expect, and half of them had come just to see a man who had spent most of his musical career shrouded by anonymity. First out were Scottish couple and musical collaborators David Keenan and Heather Leigh Murray as the rhythm section for Jandek, playing bass and drums respectively, followed by the man himself. Richard Sterling Smith, otherwise known as Jandek, clothed in austere black, from his shoes to his hat, looking somewhat like a creepy Southern preacher, picked up his guitar, put his back to the audience and began to play.
It’s difficult to describe music without reference to similar aural experiences, yet this music was so far removed from anything else that you can find in a CD store that it’s difficult to know where to start. Murray’s bass was simplistic and powerful, keeping the momentum of the group through a deep drone and steady rhythm. Halfway through the set, the use of a slide gave an eerie tone to the musical undercurrent she provided, which seemed derivative of post-punk in its minimalism and effect. Keenan, on the drums, was more free jazz, and although this occasionally melded with Murray’s rhythm, in all the effect was arrhythmic. He drummed haltingly, as if deciding what the next burst of almost-rhythm should be in the milliseconds before putting stick to skin.
Above and beyond this strangely co-coordinated and yet disconnected rhythm section, was Jandek’s fragmented guitar playing. You know of those noises you make when you first try to play an electric guitar, and you grimace and you learn how to never make that noise again? That was his repertoire. But, as you would have guessed from an artist that has been releasing music since 1978, it all appeared to be a conscious effort on his part, the concentration and the methodical means of creating these sonic textures evident in his playing style.
As the set began, I found myself watching Jandek move to the imaginary beat in his head, counting in a time signature that definitely was not present in the music being played. Forty-five minutes into the set, I noticed myself and most of the crowd were tapping or nodding in time to his movements, we had all synched into the experience. The set was pure improv (as all of Jandek’s recent sets have been) and distinctly less vocal than other recent shows have been reported to be. At about 15 minutes in, Jandek approached the microphone, and amidst the excitement and wonder surrounding this first vocal contribution, merely stated in sprechgesang: ‘that’s what I want to do’. The only other lyrical contribution occurred towards the end of the set as he approached the mic again and repeated: ‘that’s what I do.’ On the back of that statement, over an hour of fragmented guitar, droning bass and halting percussion stopped, Jandek put his guitar down and disappeared from the stage.
So, does Jandek live up to the mythology surrounding his existence? The set was surreal, atonal, lacking in any stereotypical musical direction and was one of the strangest musical experiences of my life. Corwood Industries strikes again.

Written by Jess Fogarty