Live Review - My Bloody Valentine, Roundhouse

For such a cult proposition, the expectation surrounding My Bloody Valentine’s recent shows would almost make you believe it was Led Zeppelin or The Beatles who had decided to tour, rather than an early nineties guitar band. And despite Robert Plant’s belief that Zeppelin's recent performance was a matter of settling unfinished business, unlike the rock behemoth, with MBV – following the years of pressure placed on perfectionist and leader Kevin Shields to deliver the band's third album – this seems to actually ring true.

With these concerts it is less a case of 'will the band be as good?' or whether they have mellowed in the proceeding sixteen years, rather, whether the music can live up to the anticipation and hype of the audience, and entering the Roundhouse there is a sense that they might. It is not what you would perhaps consider the easiest sell – the handing out of earplugs, a warning in advance of the bands unwavering musical intent – especially to those too young to have heard Isn’t Anything, and for that matter Loveless first time round and are now enthral to a very different type of Indie.

In their hiatus MBV – and considering the praise at the time – their critical standing makes them as revered today in much the same way as the Velvet Underground. It is curiosity that makes the audience so mixed and while the bands music might not mean something to everyone, their name does. Self styled sonic architect Kevin Shields, for want of a better moniker, stands stoic throughout, giving the impression that he would be as happy playing to himself, though this is no mere fret wankery just yet. And while drummer Colm O’Closoig and Debbie Googe on bass, in much the same way are lost in their playing, the band and the music they release is rarely anything but interesting.

The former from opener 'I Only Said' onwards never lets up with his appealing rhythmic clatter, while Googe plays with an unexpected groove throughout tonight’s proceedings. It is left to guitarist/singer Bilinda Butcher, to convey any real sense of sharing the enthusiasm displayed by the crowd. The set list has barely changed from the London ICA shows earlier in the month, as if fitting into some kind of plan, rather than true live performance under Shields’ direction. Whatever that might be, it provides an evermore exciting feast of guitars swirls and white heat sounds, basically the soundtrack which would be playing if the sun were to burn through your retinas. It has never really been about the words – though Butcher is angelic as she ever was on record – it is the sounds. It is hard to fathom where the band will go next; songs start much like you remember, only for the guitars to meld into one, and for everything round them to almost fall away, to merely resemble their beginnings in texture, rather than melody.

But throughout the set, one thing is clear, despite this manipulation/experimentation, or what you will; My Bloody Valentine wrote some amazingly inventive, even dare anyone say it impossibly catchy pop songs. 'When You Sleep' is almost sing-along, and in 'Soon', as close to a hit as the band ever achieved, MBV have a song somewhat approaching a dance anthem; the crowd patiently rewarded. It is in these moments that Shields can be seen as the equal to someone like Lou Reed in his ability as the latter achieved with the Velvet Underground to find a new musical template for the pop song. Taking into account the flights of fancy up to this point, nothing could have revealed how it was to end.

'You Made Me Realise', the bands first real moment of glory on record – equally revered for rescuing guitar music from MOR, and condemnable, for inflicting shoegazing – begins welcomingly enough. And even as the song mutates, barely resembling the original, it is easy to console yourself with the fact Shields has had twenty years to develop it. At this point it is still the perfectly realised synthesis of the band, one part blissful pop harmony to metal freakout, only to finish with what can only be described as... well, this is where it becomes difficult to define.

Although the set has been littered with attempts to test an, until this point, mainly devoted and captivated audience, the noise which follows is somewhat approximating the sound of someone forcing something large and angry through an internal combustion engine; all screams, buzzing and whirling. This is less a criticism, as those willing to accept Shields’ challenge are expecting a grandiose end, which until this point the set has been building to. But for most, during the twenty or so minutes of this music terrorism, like for someone who has a combustion engine and far too much time on their hands, it is difficult to maintain the enthusiasm.

Despite this, at the end of the day, there is to too much to celebrate in My Bloody Valentine’s return to be disheartened. And you suspect, while he does not show it, all this will have pleased Kevin Shields even if many of the audience will question his intent. Perhaps those caught up in the hype were expecting too much, lighter in the air anthemic moments perhaps, when for others to take in the most unexpected of comebacks and its highs was more than enough.

[Simon J. Hill]