Gong + Snorkel

Since Daevid Allen created Gong in the late sixties, over fifty people have contributed to the band's distinctive sound, with only the likes of Steve Hillage, Bill Bruford and Tim Blake gaining significant subsequent recognition. Instead, the influence of Gong has spread its tentacles far and wide, creating a Gong family tree that stretches from the psy-trance of System 7 to the Japanese psychedelia of Acid Mother Temple. For many, Daevid Allen was key to the band's identity, but even he was absent for much of the time. He's certainly absent now, having passed away in 2015. The current line-up has been in place for nearly ten years. I saw them shortly after his death, seemingly intent on creating a new and exciting direction, unwilling to poke about in the back catalogue. Since then, some of the older material has crept back into the set - albeit heavily modified - but this is fundamentally a new band that, based on the evidence presented at the Arts Centre, are attracting a markedly younger audience.

Before they took to the stage we were treated to a 40 minute set from Snorkel. Calling the offering from a support band a treat, as I'm wont to do, is often a euphemism for being positively inclined towards a plucky young band doing their best, while the crowd politely listens, secretly wishing them away so we can get going with the music we've actually come to see. Not so with Snorkel, who were an absolute revelation. I was astonished to learn they've been around since the noughties. How on earth have they escaped my attention for twenty years? Supposedly sitting on a line between Krautrock and Lee Scratch Perry - the comparison is a quote from Rock a Rolla - I can sort of see that. But I'd reach for their aquatic bedfellows Squid if looking for parallels, particularly when it comes to Luke Kulukundis's piercing vocals. And those polyrhythmic grooves - their phrase, not mine - resonate with the emphatic pulse of Holy Fuck at their most insistent. With Frank Byng thumping out complex drum patterns, Roberto Sassi channelling hints of Talking Heads, and Ben Cowen drenching the room in delicious soundscapes - this was a headliner level performance over far too soon. Blimey, Gong, follow that.

Gong did exactly that, taking to the stage with the insouciant confidence that comes from being, ironically given their antecedents, the most stable Gong line up in the band's history. As always, Kavus Torabi proved to be a personable and charismatic frontman. His vocals did vary, but he's such a lovely, positive fellow it would be churlish to make too much of the odd duff note. Perhaps he says this to all the venues, but he appeared to genuinely enjoy performing at the Arts Centre, the spiritual undercurrent of a deconsecrated church resonating with his cosmic sensibilities. As we've come to expect, this incarnation of the band unapologetically draws from newer material with All Clocks Reset and Choose Your Goddess from 2023's Unending Ascending. Exemplars of the two settings the Gong dial gets turned to, the former was a hippy, trippy tune close to Allen's original concept, while the driving rhythm of Goddess had a Led Zeppelin intensity, albeit leavened by Ian East's noodling sax.

We were also served a decent helping of brand new material. Stars in Heaven was only released on Bonfire Night. "Sing along, if you want to," suggested an impish Torabi, tacitly acknowledging that material from Bright Spirit - not due for release until next year - would be something new and unknown. In truth, I would be fibbing if I said I keenly recognised much more from the set anyway. As Torabi sang of Miniature Worlds and Tiny Galaxies the temptation to drift into a semi dreamstate proved nigh on irresistible. Fabio Golfetti's lead guitar awakened memories of Discipline era King Crimson, while Ian East's parping brought to mind Nik Turner on a good day, but for the most part I was away with the fairies. I think we got Master Builder. And was that My Sawtooth Wake? The one flowed into the other, so I couldn't be sure. Only the faux end of the evening - all encores are bullshit, in the words of Kavus Torabi - broke the spell, after which one last, magnificent swansong that I failed to identify but hugely enjoyed, brought the evening to a close.

When people pass on to the Great Green Room in the sky, there usually comes a tipping point when it's not the same band anymore. The Dead Kennedys without Jello Biafra? The Buzzcocks without Pete Shelley? Dr Feelgood without anyone? It just doesn't seem right. And yet Gong, despite having had a revolving door installed into the dressing room, seems to transcend the trifling issue of personnel. I wonder if they are at the vanguard of something we are going to see more and more of as, frankly, folk start dying off. In Fever Pitch, Nick Hornby wrote of his obsessive love of Arsenal. Yet over time the management changed, the players changed and even the home ground changed. So what is, exactly, Arsenal? Its trophies? Its tradition? Its supporters? Perhaps we should think of bands in the same way. Something that transcends the individuals, perpetuated by its music, its ethos and the appreciation of its loyal fans. Judging by the pockets of loon dancing and youthful faces at the Arts Centre, the current Gong lineup, having grabbed hold of the baton as it was passed to them, were cheered to the finish line by folk that probably weren't even born when the Pot Headed Pixies first came from the planet of love in their flying teapot