MATT ELLIOTT / RATATOSK / ROKA | LIVE REVIEW
Clwb Ifor Bach, Cardiff, Fri 7 Nov
The rain cometh and the rain cometh relentlessly with no mercy. But why would you let soaked shoes and the slowly rising muggy odours (no offence) of your fellow sodden music enthusiasts dampen your spirit for such an exemplary display of live music?
Roka are a pretty much brand new, pretty much mysterious three-piece. Google couldn’t come up with anything that corresponded with the moody fervour this lot dished out. The lead singer, whom I might recognise were I more clued up on his former band Saturday’s Kids, has a sweet, sombre vocal that contrasts nicely with the gritty textures the band musters up. It’s still early days for them but the already interesting repertoire they’ve conjured up shows them to be well versed in melancholy, both in its angry and more delicate formats.
The unassuming presence of Ratatosk, aka Rhodri Viney (when not joined with Andrew Plain for the unhinged spectacle that is Right Hand Left Hand) is ultimately one that should be basked in at every chance you get because he hardly ever does a live show. After all, how can you justifiably deny yourself of someone who can make a fantastically eerie noise from a handsaw and a violin bow or a screwdriver and a guitar (forgive my ignorance on these things)? Initially giving us long passages of airy, brooding pensive song he thereon layered further mystical atmospherics using loop pedals. Disregarding the occasional shakiness, it was strangely beautiful, unveiling his quietly fertile imagination.
With a voice booming ominously around the room and a highly accomplished, fiery flamenco guitar playing style, Matt Elliott slayed the crowd beckoning them into his cryptic realm of dark, mysterious folk. He is clearly a seasoned artist and one that doesn’t shy away from unleashing full authority into his sound, straining his neck as he exuded a noise so frighteningly deep and powerful it sounded like Leonard Cohen on steroids (particularly when he embellished with a low octave pedal). The pains of his sorrow-stricken music were further amplified with the build of bemoaned harmonies and extra instrumentation heightening the tension to a point where it felt as though an unseen undead Gregorian choir was enveloping the room. Terrifyingly good.
As I mentioned at the beginning, the audience turnout for this concert was mediocre at best, which was rather frustrating as so many people missed truly amazing music. Perhaps the proposed onset of gloomy material was too much to bear for most on top of the foul weather and I might be inclined to empathise, were it not for the outstanding musicianship and exhilarating performances I witnessed.
words CHARLIE PIERCEY photo CETROBO.COM
