Comet Is Coming + Leaftcutter John
This was the third time I’ve seen The Comet is Coming in less than six months, and I think I’ve finally managed to make sense of it all. After a summer schedule of festivals in which you’d be hard pressed not to bump into them, they’ve embarked on a tour that suddenly seen folk sit up and take notice. Hugely talented, immensely charismatic and somewhat otherworldly, it was a pleasure to finally see them with a roof over my head, in a packed venue where their adrenaline fuelled, frenetic performance style made so much more sense than on a sunny summer’s day.
Before that, there was someone else I’d seen before, albeit unwittingly, only days before on the final night of the London Jazz festival. At the Barbican, Leafcutter John performed with Michael Wollny’s band, playing an instrument of his own invention - an exfoliated umbrella with ping-pong balls stuck onto the spokes of its exposed endoskeleton. Needless to say, I was keen to find out what he was going to get up to on his own. It turned out to be marvellously bonkers, and surprisingly theatrical, with a performance that involved Poundland torches and a board covered in tiny blue sensors, filmed from above for our viewing pleasure. By rhythmically casting light beams back and forth over the sensors, he was able to construct music out of sounds that he reportedly recorded on the Norfolk coast. The resultant noise was far more tuneful than you would have any right to expect. Wiser counsel than I described it as Fuck Buttons meets Jean-Michel Jarre, and I’m still not sure if that amounts to a criticism or a compliment. I thought it brilliantly loopy and closer in spirit (if not in sound) to Thomas Truax - which just for the record is definitely a compliment.
Such a benign and disarming start to the evening left me ill equipped for the interstellar onslaught of the headlining trio. This pleasingly odd threesome played the part from the outset, performing under aliases and dressed to impress. Danalogue – aka Dan leavers – seems to nominally lead the band, in as much he does the talking, but he still talks very little, letting the music set out their stall. A hooded creature that only latterly emerged, he seemed to squeeze thumping great noises from his keyboards, bouncing around with vigour and energy. Betamax – Max Hallett to his friends – hammered away at his drums with a hypnotic combination of ferocious energy and remarkable precision. Most imposing of all was King Shabaka - saxophonist Shabaka Hutchings – parping away with manic intensity that defied characterisation. Together the sound was astonishing, invigorating and on occasions a challenge.
Dan Leavers kicked things of with layered synthesised sound that developed into rolling waves, allowing Hutchings’s saxophone to gently build into the spaces left with an growing sense of expectation, before the fireworks started. A series of high-energy tunes followed, that had an unusually hip crowd (I’ve never seen so many Hoxton beards and top knots at the Arts Centre) twisting and turning from the outset. This is what it’s like, I thought, to see the band in front of their admirers. With Hallett pounding at his drums with astonishing speed and Leavers’s bass synth shaking the foundations of St. Swithin's Church, this felt more like a religious revival meeting than a gig. As for what they played, I sort of recognised the odd tune – Summon The Fire was quickly and efficiency delivered early on, Neon Baby really got things going, while Birth of Creation sorted out the men from the boys. I’d be fibbing if I suggested I identified much else. Much of what we heard was eminently danceable - though a tendency to veer off into full blown freak out tested the skills of the most nibble of feet. The noises Shabaka Hutchings made could be particularly challenging, and I’ll confess I sometimes retreated back from the simple pleasures of enjoyment to the foothills of chin stroking admiration. Popping out for a comfort break it struck me how many people had sought refuge in the bar. We chatted animatedly about how good the band were, but how necessary brief respite from the racket was. Most of us went back in, though, and wisely so, if only to catch a superb encore that I am fairly sure was Journey Through the Asteroid Belt.
At first glance, The Comet is Coming is a no more than a pleasingly daft name. But on closer inspection, it means rather more than you might suppose. As Dan Leavers explained in one of his rare addresses to the crowd, things are coming to a head, and perhaps to an end. Whether that’s impending apocalyptic climate change or simply getting older, things don’t last forever. Here was a clarion call to get on with your life, and to do what you need to do, because the comet is coming, and you aren’t going to stop it. These blokes certainly practise what they preach. It brought to mind what The Specials said, all those years ago. Enjoy yourself - it's later than you think.
