REVIEW: Slint @ Electric Brixton

Slint make me feel lots of things. Good things, usually, but wrapped up in a dark, nocturnal package. There’s all sorts in there: catharsis, dread, sexiness, poetry, empathy. Also, air guitar.

And I’m not alone. Anyone I know who has ever heard Slint is usually altered in some way afterwards. My girlfriend, as joyful a soul as I’ve ever met, says they make the kind of music you could drown yourself to.

There’s a couple of thousand of us here tonight. It’s a slighty surreal – but very wonderful – experience to be in a room full of Slint fans. Most of us got here because we came across a copy of Spiderland one day and have never been the same since, but we assumed, for a good long while, that we’d never ever catch this band in concert. Slint broke up in 1991 after a very short life span and two albums that, at the time, were barely blips on the radar. But somehow or other, word got around that this was a band that had done something different, that could make you feel something without them having to say it out loud. Here was a band, we realised, that imitated no-one while countless others struggled to rip them off. The Stanley Kubrick of alternative rock, no less. Now they are back.

For a band so universally worshipped and adored, Slint aren’t big on entrances. The band shuffle onto the stage in a manner more befitting of an unwanted support act rather than the illuminati of post-rock. We are all very pleased to see them and the roar of adoration that heralds such a low-key arrival is at odds with their subdued, esoteric music. They semi-reluctantly don their instruments. A few members spend too long tuning up. Vocalist Brian McMahon will be a twitching tower of nerves for the whole evening. Then they gently begin the midnight stalking that is ‘For Dinner‘, Spiderland’s penultimate track. We’re off. It’s magical.

At one point, the whole experience is in danger of being derailed when a faulty kick-drum threatens to fling mud all over the exqusite tapestry of sounds. ‘Breadcrumb Trail’ undergoes two abortive starts before the third time proves the charm. Even during a false start, the audience is cheering them on. “Thanks for being patient,” mumbles Brian, still twitching.

Every tune is played note-for-note. Aside from the earlier technical issues, there’s no deviation from the script, but it doesn’t matter. It all sounds amazing. ‘Washer’ is tragic and divine. How can such songs, played without any sense of risk or embellishment, sound so incredible?

It’s impossible trying to quantify Slint’s genius. Even the band can’t say exactly where it comes from; the documentary on them released last year shows that their biggest interests were hardcore punk, practical jokes and recording their own farts. Whatever all this is, it’s transcendent and majestic. The crowd is hushed and reverent whenever the music plays. It all feels like some kind of communion.

There’s an unexpected treat in the form of ‘Pam‘, an outtake from this year’s Spiderland box set, but the climax of the evening is the album’s final track: the epic, terrifying ‘Good Morning Captain‘. It’s a skeleton dance topped off with a crescendo that feels like the end of the world. There’s a tsunami of feedback before the band skulk off stage only to return for the inevitable encore a few moments later and quick blast through ‘Rhoda‘. Then they are finally done, waving an amiable goodbye before the house lights go up. The audience is dazzled and engorged.

Slint have said they have no plans to make any new music. With a back catalogue like theirs, it doesn’t matter. We’ve all witnessed greatness tonight and we’ve all been left feeling something. What more do you need?