Stuck in traffic, time was slipping away from us like a buttery thing, a total nightmare as impatient idiots decided to forge an extra lane in front, and I’m behind this person in a huge sports car that was probably twice the price of my house! He’s busy checking the mirrors – for gazes of envy, no doubt – I feel like making silly faces in response, but Robby Shackleton‘s E-jack was on the stereo, those wayward charms drifting out through the open windows, doing an ace job of crushing any sort of misconception.After kerb crawling for what seemed an eternity we reached Battersea power station and an open road, arriving at Heaven just in time to check out the final embers of Mika Vainio‘s set, his massive sonic juggernauts slamming into your body in thudding beats or carved you up in jack-knifing statics, flesh wavering on dissipating comet tails, EQ projections behind him like plumbs of lava. The overall sensation is not dissimilar to being trapped in an aircraft hanger with some experimental jetfighter, Mika sitting at the helm with an supersized throttle and an exaggerated Thomas Dolby gleam in this eye. By the time it’s all over I really wished I could have experienced the whole shebang – superb stuff. Cosey smiting the precision with plenty of glisstronic misuse, her vocals playing your spine in vapourised spores of insinuation, those cornet smears of haunted gull giving you the heebee -jeebees.
It was a blur of satisfaction: “Driving Blind,” “Love Cuts,” “Trust,” “Beatbeatbeat,” “Dancing On Your Grave” and plenty more unfamiliar gems; this was certainly a trailblazing romp through their greatest hits accompanied by an amazing menagerie of visuals. Shapeshifting bogey man in molten ambers and puss flowing yellows, hypotonic patterns and colourful slipstreams with the odd montages of erotic suggestiveness. The dead donkey-laden piano of Un Chien Andalou didn’t go unnoticed either, to a catchy industrialised jackboot.
The energy oozing out of this duo was unreal, grabbed you by the chest and riffled your mind in vast splashes of bassy dynamite, with a slight respite of in the form of “October Love Song” before the airing of the brand new “Coolicon,” its addictive qualities definitely showing us that this was more than just a historical trip down memory lane.