Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ

As an avid instrumental rock fan, the belief that you can say a lot without having to use any words is one this reviewer would defend to the death. As such, the music of acoustic virtuoso RM Hubbard is glaring evidence. He seems to be a peculiar choice to open for the noise-mongering Mogwai: his display of theatrical fretwork, though impressive and well received, doesn't initially seem in keeping with what we're expecting from the headline act.

A mid song error ruffles the feathers of the crowd somewhat, as chatter begins to bubble up in certain places, although it doesn't take long for the fingersmith to claw back the attention. In a bold, but ultimately essential move, Hubbert candidly recounts aspects of his life story, and the history behind each piece. At first it seems a little awkward, but standing before a man who is pouring his guts out to a sea of strange faces is humbling, and the big-hearted crowd show him much due respect. Each tailored melody rings with added melancholy, particularly during his 'Trinity of Misery', written for a former partner. By this point, all hearts have melted.

Showing his thanks to the audience for their attendance and support, you realise that this performance means more to him than your average musician. In many ways, it is his therapy. On the outside, his songs are well-crafted slices of acoustic wizardry, but digging a little deeper, they are the chronicles of a broken man rebuilding his life. His guitar is not just an instrument: it's his shield and his sword.

By the time Mogwai arrive on stage, we are all well and truly ready for the glorious noise that is about to ensue. It's a journey of polarising proportions; one instance, wispy guitar hooks float and glide throughout the room, while the next they roar with the volume of jet engines. On the show-stopping 'Mogwai Fear Satan', the crowd wait with bated breath for 'That' crescendo, but it still completely blindsides you, giving you the most exhilarating fright of your life. The frenetic rush of Γ―ΒΏΒ½Mexican Grand Prix' showcases the band's recent affection for electronic experimentation, perhaps offering a glimpse at what the future may hold?

The band's parting gift comes in the form of a crucifying performance of "My Father My King". For twenty minutes, menacing middle-eastern licks slither over a monolithic storm of relentless rhythms, and by the end of it, you're left pulverised and sadistically satisfied. Even through the final haze of feedback, the crowd remain stationary, soaking up every last discordant hum.

It's no wonder why Mogwai remain one of the most essential torch bearers of modern post rock music. The band are forever on the search for untapped sonic territory, continually adding to their rich tapestry of sounds. While several visual displays accompany the vivid audio throughout the concert, the real experience comes when you close your eyes, and let each electric wave collide with you and transport you to another dimension.

Chris Johnson