On Saturday — the second of the festival’s three nights — I took in two shows of note. I had tentative plans to check out some other sets, but these two were so compelling, I stayed for the entirety of the performances.
Music fans of a certain age – and perhaps other, younger ones – will recall the left-field Top 40 hit of 1980, Gary Numan’s “Cars.” With its gurgling and keening synths, its stiff beat, and its cold, dispassionate lead vocal, the tune (from his second LP, 1979’s The Pleasure Principle) was quite unlike most of what was played on pop radio, then as now. And while Numan had a back catalog even at that point (as member of the even lesser-known Tubeway Army), the unlikely success of “Cars” would yield the dubious dividend of labeling Numan as that most dreaded of all things, the one-hit wonder.
Clearly Numan himself never got a memo to that effect. Likely he never had major commercial breakthroughs as part of his plan anyway; his musical approach was too unique for such a thing. Instead, he soldiered on, and unlike other lesser-talented denizens of the new wave era, he never went away. Between 1980 and 2013, he’s released no fewer than thirty(!) albums.
And while – as is to be expected with a catalog so deep – those albums vary in quality, and none were major chart smashes, Numan has charted his singular musical path, proving that while “Cars” may have been a fluke, he’s no such thing.
Numan’s latest album is 2013’s Splinter (Songs From a Broken Mind), and it’s among his finest efforts. While detractors in the old days compared him to “Heroes”-era David Bowie, Gary Numan has never been about aping the style of others. And to those unfamiliar with his oeuvre, those who might have expected him to glide onto a stage filled with synthesizers and drum machines, Numan provided a welcome shock to the system.
Ably backed by a standard – yet industrial(!) strength – rock lineup (two guitars, bass, drums, and two keyboardists), Numan held the audience at Asheville’s Civic Center transfixed. Rocking much harder than anyone could have expected, he moved about the stage ominously yet without artifice; though he occasionally played bits of keyboard (and did a thing or two with an electric guitar), his role was largely to sing the songs and draw all of the attention. This he did well, performing several songs from the new album, plus a scattering of older material, stylistically updated just enough to blow away any nostalgia.
That said, the room came even more alive when the band launched into “Cars.” A group of concertgoers dressed as garden gnomes initiated a conga line through the crowd; their internally-lit pointy caps danced through the packed floor. This was perhaps the only time during which Numan and band commanded less than full attention, and they seemed pleased enough to continue.
Numan didn’t speak to the audience once during his set, preferring to let his music be the medium, and after a quick bow and wave he was gone. But those who witnessed the set – a rarity in the southeastern USA – won’t soon forget it.
Godspeed You! Black Emperor
If Gary Numan wasn’t thrillingly downbeat enough for you, all you needed to do was stick around while the stage crews set up for the next act. Unlike nearly anything else in rock – and they’re not really rock at all, come to think of it – Canadian collective Godspeed You! Black Emperor can best be described as detached.
It’s not fair to judge them by the standards generally applied to rock acts; they don’t speak to the audience. There weren’t even microphones placed onstage in case one of the nine or so players wished to toss out a spontaneous “Hello, Asheville!” But then that wasn’t likely to have happened anyway. With a semicircle configuration of amplifiers – lots of ’em – and chairs and stools for the players, it was clear from the outset that this would not be a set filled with visual pyrotechnics from the musicians.
No, as they began their set – initially just a violinist and upright bassist – their slowly-building compositions groaned into being, like an ocean liner being launched into the sea for its maiden voyage. The men and women of GY!BE use volume and dynamics as their tools rather than beat and melody. You won’t come away from a GY!BE show humming their tunes, nor is that the band’s goal. Instead they conjure a set of emotions (perhaps unique to each audience member) that includes horror, dread, joy, exhilaration.
Some players were seated on the floor, working pedals. Some were in chairs. They occasionally seemed to communicate among themselves via nods (or rare whispers) but for the most part, they wordlessly delivered their compositions, shrouded in darkness. Above them, a large screen depicted strange, disorienting and lo-fi images, but these were clearly carefully chosen to match the sounds that GY!BE were making onstage.
When they finished, they left the stage as they had entered it – one by one – and left their instruments droning and groaning behind them. As modern chamber music with more than a hint of influence from no-wave composer Glenn Branca, it was thrilling in its own way, and the audience’s reaction was appreciative yet muted. Anything else would have been incongruous.
If you missed it, coverage of night #1 is here. And a bunch of photos from night #1 are here. More Mountain Oasis coverage to come.
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