After being under the knife only a year prior, Anton Newcombe is back beneath the spotlight with The Brian Jonestown massacre. Their shine and jangle remain untarnished, as they take on Nottingham’s Rock City with an Electric Kool-Aid acid ace of a set- The Mic’s Ross Williams reviews.
My first run in with The Brian Jonestown Massacre was on a no-frills bum-trip to The French Rivera’s Pointu Festival, a few summers ago. A gaggle of mute, incandescent spectres, seemingly plucked from a Haight Ashbury squat, reeled off songs that were equally reminiscent of The Byrds and Alabama 3. The intermittent threats of a July shower and a completely exposed main stage played into their well-publicised will they, won’t they walk off dramatics. Alas, they stuck around for the whole set; I recall Anton whispering something to the heavens. That weekend, no other act implored droves to enter The Med, butt-naked after their show in the same fashion; The daisy-chain wreaths and vermillion sonics were all too evocative of a by-gone, free-love fever dream. From that point I was hooked.
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Enter a rainy February evening in Nottingham, where white linen was swapped out for swampy denim, sheer sunglasses and a couple of dream catchers dangling about; the crowd did their best to mimic the attire brief.
Rock City was the second stop on their month-long UK tour. Not celebrating a release, mind you, despite Anton dropping a collaborative LP with Dot Allison this month.
I suppose if you asked why the band is touring, Anton’s response would be along the lines of ‘Because I still can…’
The strange savant had undergone a life threatening, triple heart bypass surgery in 2024.
He wears the scars well, as he strums through an eclectic surmise of BJM’s goliath discography. That Girl Suicide sparked an early wave of cascading energy , that tracks like Pish and Vacuum Boots easily maintained.The layers of open chords and oscillating mellotron glide through the cerebellum like your favourite dealer’s prescription, when Anemone and Servo hit the PA system. The middle of the set is a rapturous blur.
I would’ve loved to hear their new instant-classic single Don’t Look At Me, perhaps the hit parade is a bigger fish to fry.
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It's good fun watching the minimal and awkward discourse turned discord between the band at their shows. A few false starts by resident timekeeper and tambourine tapper, Joel Gion, in avertedly conjured some steely looks from Anton and broke the set up.
This allowed the usual jones-ing hecklers to have a jab; switch out the prefix in ‘Dead-heads’ for ‘Knob’ for a pretty bang-on description of the town-criers stood in front of me.
Joel, exchanged glances with Anton, wondering whether to pull out a revolver or a larger tambourine.
A post-show picture of the setlist revealed mandated crowd interaction from Joel and Anton between asterixis' . An amusing image of an ironic royal procession springs to mind.
Afterall, Anton runs a tight ship that can’t be slowed by the technically inept, towing the line somewhere between a tall McCartney and an even taller Napoleon at Trafalgar.
The astute, yet diffident, group of 6 waiting for their queues and opportunities to ardently blaze into extended jams on tracks like A-word and set closer Supersonic. The show did its best to brighten the concert hall, in amongst an otherwise dull English winter.
I implore you to experience a Brian Jonestown Massacre show if you get the chance, then for good measure see them again.
Written & Edited by Ross Williams
Images courtesy of The Brian Jonestown Massacre's Facebook
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