A single man sat in one of Oxford Art Factory's trademark brick inlets at the back of the Main Room, his head snapped painfully back against the ledge, half resting on the lip of his skateboard. He slept undisturbed through the thumping drum n bass and grime that warmed the audience up in the final minutes before Death Grips. Out of nowhere, a laid back instrumental opera song cut through the filth and he awoke suddenly. If he slept through Death Grips, he may as well of been dead.

A single throbbing synth signalled Death Grips' arrival. The red velvet curtains opened and two tall, shirtless figures rushed the stage. The imposing Zach Hill jumped behind his minimalist drum kit set up - a single snare, tom and bass kick. He charged into every movement with full pent aggression, emitting a raw jungle sound under the synth-noise that jumps around playfully at the start of Come Up And Get Me. MC Ride ran onto the stage pumped up, throwing his limbs wildly at the audience, winding the fans at the front into a frenzy. The synth-noise suddenly morphed into an entirely different beast - dropping into an absurdly deep baseline that felt like hitting a brick wall. In an instant the temperature soared as the mosh pit exploded with violent movement. The steam off their writhing bodies thickened the air. 

The stage was constantly flooded in a shade of blood red. Like Death Grips were calling for blood from their fans. Urged by flashes of white light, their fans oblige. As if brainwashed into a state of sheer mindlessness by the nightmare rave Get Got. Its frantic electronic whirring matched by the speedy rhyme "get get get get got got got got, blood rush to my head lit hot lock." The intense tribal jerks of the two muscular members of Death Grips mirrored the confronting sounds they produced. MC Ride jerked the microphone like a cock in the faces of the front row of fans squashed against the stage wall, who's heads sat at the perfect height for more compromising sexual activities. Fuelled by his acts of hedonism, they respond with a crazed state of moshing you'd expect at a metal gig. Bringing Death Grips own statement that "(our music is) like taking a pill that makes you superhuman" to life. 

Images flickered across two iMac sized screens, positioned vertically on a table behind MC Ride. A woman exposed her naked body and red leather gloves, flames engulf a car wreck and strange occult like symbols. The images are intentionally shocking and confrontational. Like their music.  After all, their album art for No Love Deep Web was an erect penis with the title written on it in black texta. Lost Boys took their sound deep into the dark abyss of experimental underground electronica, it became almost like some form of satanic ritual. 

Bodies smashed recklessly into each other with violent enthusiasm. Others were thrown across the sea of heads. Many crowd surfed onto the stage where a single security guard tried in vein to eject them. As if guided by the "Fuck Off" (entry) stamp on their wrists, they ignored him and danced wildly on stage before stage diving back into the fray. Trademark electronic whirs throbbed, building the energy up and up for The Fever (Aye Aye). Hill built the song up with a simple bass snare combo before unleashing a frantic flurry of rhythms when it dropped into the first verse. MC Ride reciprocated, jumping around in a crazed state as he shouted "I got the fever". The electronic sounds they unleash in The Fever are absurd. One lunatic got on stage, pulled his shirt over his head and front flipped back into the crowd. MC Ride then decided he'd had enough of the stage invasions and grabbed some intruders, throwing them back into the audience aggressively. His crazed eyes, thick beard and rough prison-style tattoos would of been enough to deter most sane people.

I've Seen Footage dropped its funky underlying sample that sounds awfully similar to Salt-n-Pepa's Push It. It's an awesome sample. It should be noted here Death Grips production is brilliant. Live though, their so loud and heavily bass orientated that you often miss the brilliant sounds they have on their studio albums. Instead, you get an onslaught of sound that wows you at the very heaviness of it. I've Seen Footage was a great comedown to The Fever. Until this point it was incredible to note that Zach Hill hadn't broken rhythm once, there were no song interludes or breaks of any sort. Just flat out drumming. MC Ride threw himself around to the onslaught of sound, holding his mike as a weapon as he shouted vocals at his fans. 

Hill stood suddenly for the intro to No Love. He drops down with fury to slam his foot on his electronically programmed bass kick, launching sub bass so deep and forceful I felt my brain vibrate in its cocoon. Even MC Ride drops to the ground under its weight. Hill rises and drops again and again, smashing his tom with his clenched fist again and again lifting the intensity to absurd levels. The lyrics are shouted by MC Ride at the audience. His voice so absurdly deep, the words are hard to distinguish - bar the line in the chorus "madness, chaos in the brain." Fitting.


Finishing on the heaving bass of Lock Your Doors, they walked off as MC Ride's voice echoed repeatedly into the silent abyss. The crowd stood, shocked at what they'd witnessed. They hoped for an encore. It was never going to happen. Their dormant bodies confused after 50 minutes of straight aural onslaught and physical abuse. Like Death Grips, they'd given every ounce of energy they had. Death Grips live show was something that - like the first time I heard their music - left me wide eyed, jaw dropped. Their music is so confrontational and dark, yet they manage to drive it home live with this raw aggression and energy that crosses the boundary from being weird and fucked up to being shockingly awesome. Their sound is next level. Their live show takes their next level sound next level. Death Grips - holy shit!

Outside In Festival promised a tantalising lineup of exciting new and established alternative electronica. It was so good; they knew no one would want to leave. Thus, stamping a ‘no pass outs’ sign across the foreheads of staff and security – weirdos. Initial confusion on the triple stage set up in one venue was quite self-explanatory: they had three good dance rooms. The courtyard GoodGod Courtyard sending chilled beats floating into the afternoon sky as a teaser for what was inside. 

A sign above a small door to the side of the courtyard read ‘The Factory Floor’. No it was not a sweat shop work floor. It in fact led to a small, dull room that was completely black. Floors, walls and ceiling. When crammed full it became quite clammy, or in Collarbones words “it’s so moist in here I can barely think.” The only light emerged from a large screen projecting images behind the stage, and a single laser shooting beams of green light into the crowd’s line of vision. It was packed. Polygraphia fumbled around with their glitchy electronic sound; the duo moving from drums to guitar to sample pads in a bit of a mess. Their beats as slightly off cue as their image; the lead singer’s bowl wonky bowl cut giving him the appearance of a tall human mushroom. Their saving grace was a single green laser that entranced everyone as it cut mind boggling shapes in the air through a thick layer of smoke – stars, cylinders and bars all produced in three trippy dimensions.

Mighty Boosh fans look this band up: Holy Balm. They hold an uncanny resemblance to Noel Fielding’s band ala Electro Boy. The man on keys channelled Johnny Two Hats, playing juicy 80s synths with stiff posture, tapping one heel to the beat. He introduced a song in a high class London accent. If only he was wearing a suit. An odd looking blonde stood as the central figure behind a drum kit, hitting symbols at random with whimsical strokes, moving her hands painfully slow, like one of those really annoying wizards in Harry Potter trying in vain to master a spell – Neville Longbottom perhaps. I’d watched enough Mighty Boosh. Time to go Fishing. 

Fishing are the real deal. A packed Factory Floor were witnessing full, well rounded and measured glitch. From front of stage I looked back and witnessed a full room bobbing their heads in unison on the beat. One of the duo grabs the mike and starts rapping. He’s white and wears his collar top buttoned with hipster glasses, yet he raps with eye opening conviction about smoking weed. His voice layered with low end to give it more attitude as he raps “I’m rollin’ double sixes, I'm rollin' double sixes. Cash in my wallet, purple in my system.” Each verse exploding with more energy, egged on by intense strobes. His vocals changed suddenly - auto-tuned to a cartoonishly high pitch. The crowd smile at its cheekiness. The songs bombastic ghetto beat causing the dancefloor to writhe ecstatically. 

A journey into the Main Room was greeted with the ability to breathe, the expansive space filled with the ghetto crunk and trap stylings of Triple J’s Lewi Mckirdy. Dressed like a grungy 90s dude with skull cap, rocking the classic high socks and skate shoe combo like it never went out of fashion. He couldn’t possibly be warming the crowd up for HTRK – their moody, down tempo sounds the opposite end of the electronic spectrum. It made no difference, starting 40 mins late after a solid half hour of technical difficulties. As HTRK start, Janine’s concerned look turns cold. Her eyes glaze over, staring dead pan straight ahead. The stage is drenched in moody purple lighting that meanders in slow circles. Images permeate the screens coming in and out of focus, often turning blank to cast the duo’s shadows onto the screen behind. The songs themselves are a haze of guitar feedback and drenched sounds, her vocals echoing dark and moody emissions into the large space. Their gloomy, ethereal songs perceived ungratefully by the impatient murmerings of the crowd.

A buzz of expectation precedes Oliver Tank. Quickly justified by opening with an amazing remix of Last Night I Heard Everything In Slow Motion, changing the structure adding new lyrics and a nice xylophone progression. His atmospheric sounds sliced only by his sweet voice in Beautiful, “I just want you to know you’re really special.” His love of Snoop Dogg made less subtle by Dropping It like its Hot, playing experimental guitar over the top. The crowd lapped it up, giving him huge props. Pretty stoked that Flume was next on.

Rapturous applause greeted Flume’s arrival “I dropped an album yesterday, so I’m gonna play some tracks off it for you”. Hells yeah he did! He opened with the signature wob, wob, wob  of More Than You Thought. It’s so filthy – the crowd loses the plot immediately. He follows up with his gorgeous Chet Faker collaboration Left Alone, the driving rhythms of Insane, ghetto rap number On Top and the fun and funky Ezra. Flume is dead set the only dance producer that can consistently make an entire crowd lose their minds and dance like lunatics. Bodies flail everywhere, thrown to and fro. Not from the hip or waist, but the entire body. Small circles emerge and dance offs ensue. Everyone loses their inhibitions because everyone is like minded and no judgement is passed. Oh, except for one weirdo girl who consistently kept trying to put her finger in my nose (what the fuck). After her fourth attempt I had to give her the flick. Almost a vibe killer. But come on, nothing could possibly kill Flume’s vibe.

Wandering outside I experience the casino effect - day had suddenly turned to night. Chilled house music flows from the sound system and a crowd lap it up. A great aspect of this festival is that wherever you are, there is always space to dance. Even though it was sold out, the spreading out of the stages meant that you were never so crammed you couldn’t move. That’s what it’s all about!

Outside In was an alternative electronica festival for alternative people. The best dressed and best looking crowd I’ve ever witnessed at a festival. Next level style was everywhere you look. Everyone was there for the music and to enjoy it to the fullest. People get so into it and dance so looney that you feel encouraged to let loose and dance like no one is watching. When the music is cut on stage closer LV’s filthy UK drum n bass banger Sebenza, the crowd shuffled out shouting “rubber bullets” (best lyric). The silence is piercing - no one wanted it to finish. Especially our ears. 


Written By Andrew Nock for Music Feeds

Beard, Wives, Denim is the latest full-length release from Perth boys, Pond. It has seen the poppish indie jam outfit tick off a number of boxes, including their first release through a Major record label, as well as a meteoric rise to the top of many people's 'recently played' playlists. 

The release came from a not-too-orthodox approach to the recording process. As the boys tell Music Feeds, the team re-located to a farm near Eagle Bay, where they stocked up a small property with all their equipment and lived in eachother's pockets for two weeks, smashing out all the tunes. They found inspiration for this in the annals of rock music, going back to their roots for a record. 

The band also discuss how the presence of a major label has changed things. They explain that the best result has come from the exposure that this allows. Still making the same music, the band has found that they've received more traction from the new fans. The upcoming international tour dates have also been attributed to this. 

Performing at Fat As Butter, the boys also unveil plans for a new record / LP through Modular. 

A brash wave of juicy synthesizers and heavily distorted vocals grew in sound and texture as I was drawn into the Opera Theatre lair at the early start time of 8:30pm for PVT’s no supports, no holds barred show on opening night of Vivid Live.

Light Up Bright Fires exploded with deep, dense synthesizers, engulfing the room completely, broken by lead singer Richard Pike’s echoing vocals that lingered heavily in the air momentarily before being swallowed by that all-encompassing synth. Richard’s increasing use of vocals on newer material captures his hauntingly low tone, throwing itself to different corners of the room, and the inside of the skull, with a barrage of sounds ranging from animalistic jaunts to cries of torment and despair. Quite often, particularly in the new material, a dark, haunting atmosphere envelops their sound, forced deeper by the brooding brass section, and a minimalistic use of moody lighting.

Occasionally, PVT would explore a stretch of minimal sound, only to transform it into a roving wall of brash rhythmic innovation, with dense layering of electronics and percussion. In these moments, PVT would explore the kind of ‘structured improvisation’ that made their earlier releases so enigmatic and engaging. The energy was further enhanced by pulsating strobes, which unleashed their fury completely in time with the beat in blasts of crimson colour.

Expert lighting synchronisation complemented the mood of each song perfectly, creating a visual and aural harmony that enhanced the experience to complete musical immersion. O Soundtrack My Heart lay at the very crux of this experience, when an apocalyptic sun-like orb of light appeared and saturated the entire room with colour, tinting and distorting the moving silhouettes of the band members, ebbing and changing colour in time with the rhythm.

The new songs showcased a wider use of vocals, with a darkness that draws similarities to Ian Curtis, and even Noel Fielding (of the Mighty Boosh) with one particular new track exclaiming ‘I am electric. I am electric’ with a distinct whimsical air. Their distinct 80s influence occasionally delves into the more predictable realm of pop with more catchy vocal hooks and drum fills, which may detract from their roots a little, feeling more accessible, but less engaging than any of the old material. An understated duet with Sophia Brous on a more down-tempo number seemed slightly out of place against the high octane energy of material from previous records, but flowed well nonetheless.

A particularly memorable moment arose when PVT came back on stage for an encore and noticed some people streaming to the exits, quipping “we caught you leaving”, which drew laughter from those who’d stayed in their seats, and sheer awkwardness from those halfway to the door. Encore track Window did justice to an enigmatic live show that balanced visual elements and sound perfectly, resulting in sheer indulgence for the open mind.

A standing ovation well-deserved.

Written for Music Feeds