SAVAGES
Trinity, Bristol | November 7th
In a feverishly filled converted church on a drizzly Thursday evening, around 700 people stand and wait for four women who right now, right this second, represent the most important band in Britain.
The rattling immediacy of a bassline welcomes the figures to the stage in an ominously hanging mist. They cut lean, jagged shadows. The first crash of a cymbal and searing guitar deluge brings everything into focus.
There’s something irresistibly vital and timeless in Savages’ steely, graven image, something with aligns them with the great bands. The swaying yet rigid vision of lead singer Jehnny Beth; the dead-eyed severity of the wingers, guitarist Gemma Thompson and bassist Ayse Hassan; Fay Milton’s powerful permamotion. Just in the way their debut album Silence Yourself defied grouping and definition, these individuals are their own moment, their own example. And if that record thrilled and unnerved in equal measure, that sensation if multiplied manyfold by their live show. Make no mistake – it’s no coincidence Savages became universally talked about on the strength of a single single. This is a live band.
From the trundling post-punk of Shut Up, to Strife’s exercise in restraint which careers into the jarring single-chord halftime of its meaty chorus, Savages hit hard and true. But equally, Waiting For A Sign’s deathly dirge and pining cries, as well as a cover of Suicide’s Dream Baby Dream, are profoundly moving.
Jehnny Beth’s notoriously stolid, unyielding intensity has evolved into a more rounded sense of showwomanship. She flails, she smiles, she interacts. She descends from the stage to break up a fight between two middle-aged men. The band’s innate sense of melodrama is never forced, and the venue’s sound is impeccable, totally faithful; rhythm section strikes as one, while guitar reverb extends meticulously, quivering into openness and stopping exactly. Guitarist Thompson’s subtle manipulation of space is astounding, her constantly inventive and technically flawless playing provides a constant highlight.
The hardcore splash of Hit Me and the already-iconic Husbands lead towards a conclusion. Beth stands, tense yet smiling at stage front, recounting a potent anecdote about a mild-epiphany which led her to a simple adage not to “surround yourself with cunts.” And the band lurch forward again, with the singer’s jaws clenching and contorting with every intonation of “don’t let the fuckers get you down.” This may not be news to you, it certainly wasn’t to us, but in the old-fashioned art of performing music live, Savages are pretty much as good as you’ll ever see.
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Words + Photo: Rich Bitt
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