Nights Of The Abyss II |
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I arrived in Waregem -- a middling city in the southeastern part of Belgium -- early in the evening of Friday the 24th. In the city square I came across a group of Swedes having drinks in the shadow of the large looming church, which constitutes Waregem's natural center. Upon my request they kindly gave me directions to The Steeple, where the Swedish label Cold Meat Industry for the second year was putting on a two day festival of dark electronic music. Following their instructions, I was delighted to be heading for the outskirts of town, away from the hustle and bustle of Waregem's commercial quarters, and soon found myself walking along the walls of quite an impressive cemetery to my right, feeling the soothing presence of death's peace emanate from the other side in the warm evening air. At first glance, The Steeple neither appeared the size nor the forum to house the buzzing crowd of black clad, sinister looking Cold Meat fans. In fact, from the outside, the place looked like nothing so much as a typical local water hole, conveniently located next door to the race track, for the losing visitors of that establishment to find shelter and drown their sorrows. However, a steady stream of people was spilling into the place through a second entrance located immediately next door, and as it turned out, this entry led into a much grander facility behind the weather-beaten store front. The room was already rather packed with several hundred people, most of whom at this point was busying themselves at the bar to the right of the entrance, and the row of record dealers' tables lining the wall to the left. At the far end of the room, a couple of roadies were running the last checks of the stage and equipment, carefully followed by the eyes of those fans who had already secured themselves the first row. I had time to briefly make a round or two of the establishment, cast a glance into the record bins and purchase a glass of beer, before the lights dimmed, and a thick stream of dark and twisted electronic sound began to flow from the stage. A sampled voice was heard, bidding all present welcome to hell, and reminding to have the three copies of one's form filled out correctly and at the ready. Two young men dressed in black leather and fish nets, with chains hanging from their garb here and there, their obsidian hair shaved at the sides, and teased into feathery plumes on top, had taken their positions on stage. One occasionally punished a set of synth pads, while the other -- at long intervals -- sounded a gong. At length, as if summoned by the hypnotic, reverberating sound of the gong, a third person entered the stage. Immaculately dressed in dark pleated pants and matching ironed shirt, with a black tie knotted around his neck, his blond hair cropped close to his scalp, and a cold, discerning look in his eyes, this forbidding presence took his place at the microphone. A chain and metal plate was suspended from the ceiling to his left, and at times he would slap the chain against the plate, producing a steely, rattling sound, as of slaves at the oars of a galley straining against their manacles. The trio on stage was No Festival Of Light, who had been brought in last minute to replace Arcana; their performance was a stark and powerful opening to the festival, and one that was rarely equaled throughout the two days. Resembling some strange cross between a preacher and a right-wing leader, the young man at the microphone proceeded to read from scripture. His voice and stern facial expression intensified, as he progressed line by line through the verses of the good book, culminating in an indignant series of whiplash yells: "...eye for eye!...tooth for tooth!..." Towards the end of the set, he laid aside his book, and -- over the droning synthetic background ambience -- attacked the suspended metal plate with some sort of handheld grinding machine. However, no gesture or action could have further enhanced the power of his sermon. |
Approximately half an hour elapsed between No Festival Of Light's exit, and the appearance of Hazard on the stage. Seated in an old wooden chair, with his samplers and other electronic gadgetry spread out in front of him on an equally archaic table, Benny Nielsen proceeded to conjure up his fantastic soundscapes, lingering on the knife's edge between true celestial cloud wanderings and utter horror. Colored lights and lazy pillows of smoke enveloped him throughout most of his set, as he sat in his shorts, sweatshirt and baseball cap, his glasses pushed back on the bridge of his nose, a headset crowning his head, and with great concentration pored over his various mechanical gizmos. A respectful calm and silence descended upon the audience, which in lieu of a strong visual focal point on stage, had no other choice but to let Hazard's evocative music take them on a journey towards the within. The experience was a strange one, and certainly, in all respects, not what one would expect from a Cold Meat Industry act. Yet, it effectively managed to communicate the music to the audience, and as such could not be termed anything but a success, even if many undoubtedly had wished for a more active stage show. |
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| most versatile of the acts on the first day,
utilizing not only synthesizers and samplers, but also cello, guitar and acoustic
percussion. In their very stage appearance, as in their lyrics, Sanctum
had a transcendent air about them that helped to close the night on a positive and joyful
note, while also serving as a nice balance to the apocalyptic atmosphere of the festival's
opening. |
Never so soon had the live entertainment of the evening ended, before the disc jockey began to spin a heavy set of dark power-rhythm oriented dance music that went on until just before daybreak. It having been a long and eventful day, I left The Steeple in the hope of finding a friendly bench or tombstone, upon which to steal a few hours of sleep. However, on my nocturnal meanderings through the town of Waregem, which lasted all of about an hour, I discovered several things. Not only do benches not exist in this heavenly little town, but the churchyard is kept locked at night -- and the walls do not particularly invite one to climbing expeditions. Furthermore, the temperature had dropped considerably, and soon my teeth were chattering from the cold. It was then I discovered that, had I had the wherewithal to bring a tent, or avoided spending my meager funds at the record dealers' tables, I could have found rest either at the camp grounds or the motel -- both of which were located practically within spitting distance of the venue. Instead, I found myself reentering The Steeple, fighting my way through the dancing crowd, with my aim set at the farthest and darkest corner, there to sit and close my eyes. I awoke a couple of hours later to the voice of Douglas P. singing "...but, what ends when the symbols shatter...." Ten persistent dancers were still stumbling about on the dance floor, but I could tell that the management of the establishment was getting ready to pull on the big boots, so I retreated back out into the street, and in the first rays of sunlight, paced down towards the town square. Here I found a small cafeteria, which opened early to serve the town's drinking minority, and I established myself there for the next few hours, and spent a small fortune on coffee. The rest of the day does not deserve much more attention here. I did entertain myself by counting the CMI celebrities that were out window shopping on this fine Saturday afternoon; and, I did hook up with Holger Hanraths of Vuz/Cat's Heaven for a dish of so-called "fritten" (Belgian-style French fries), and a most enlightening conversation on the genealogy of the Cold Meat Industry label, and the past fifteen years of European underground music in general. |
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| of course in part composed on synthesizers and
computers, but cello and percussion is performed live, and add a nice sense of warmth,
energy and spontaneity to the music. Brief vocal parts have been adapted from a variety of
literary and historical texts (by Poe, Huysmans and Percy Shelley
amongst others), and are performed throughout by Magnus Sundström, who is also
responsible for writing the music of The Protagonist. At this live
occasion, Ingmar Bergman's film The Seventh Seal was projected on a screen
behind the band, and helped to further accentuate the classical and literary qualities of
the music. |
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Ordo Equilibrio followed, and delivered what was possibly the most powerful performance of the festival. With a stage lit by torches and candles, and a young woman -- dressed in just the bare essentials -- seated between them with a candle in her hands, Tomas Petersson and Chelsea Krook proceeded to lead the audience into a musical world celebrating the mystique and power of nature, and universal balance. With their strong vocal performances complementing each other, Tomas and Chelsea themselves were a physical manifestation of the yin and yang. There was not a weak song in their set, and although I did not know the song beforehand, I was particularly taken with the performance of "War For The Principle Of Balance. Nature Seeking Equilibrium," which seemed to be a summation of what Ordo Equilibrio is all about. The duo was aided by one of No Festival Of Light's percussionists, and while no other instruments were performed live, no additional visual aids were used, and none of the band members engaged in any kind of "show," the sheer power of the music, and the striking visual appearance of the band in itself, more than made up made up for this absence. Great secrecy and expectation surrounded the last artist of the festival -- Mortiis. Black drapes were hung in front of the stage, to prevent the audience from any advance knowledge of what was to happen on stage for this closing act. At last the lights dimmed once more, the expansive orchestral intro to Mortiis' show blared out of |
| the speakers, and the drapes were forcefully
torn down by two menacing characters garbed in large robes -- apparently the henchmen of Mortiis,
who appeared moments later, dressed in full medieval get-up, his nose even more crooked
than usual, and now also spewing flames at intervals throughout the set. The show -- which
was one of the longest of the festival -- revolved around the fate of a fair maiden, who
was captured at the beginning, and made several escapes into the audience during the show.
Each time, she was hoisted back on the stage by Mortiis' henchmen, and
placed on a large table in the background. In between playing his snare drum and
performing his vocal parts, Mortiis would circle the table, and prepare
for some kind of morbid ritual that was postponed again and again, by the young |
lady's reluctant participation in the grisly and unholy events that had been so carefully planned with her in mind. Naturally Mortiis won out in the end, as all good creatures of the night do, and as such the evening, and therewith the festival, ended on a happy note. All in all, the second "Nights Of The Abyss" must be considered a big success. The event must have been close to sold out on both nights, the sound was excellent throughout the entire festival, and aside from the brief difficulties surrounding Hybryds, everything pertaining to the technical side of things appeared to run very smoothly. Several people expressed to me that communication with the managers of the event (Black Cave) had been problematic if not impossible, and presumably led to both Sol Invictus and Arcana canceling their scheduled appearances. Personally, I experienced similar difficulties in my attempts to contact Black Cave per e-mail and phone ahead of time. However, once at the venue, I was treated with great courtesy and kindness in all respects. |
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