A DJ can be loud but it’s difficult for that loudness to become anything more than volume. When guitars are loud, they’re straining under a mechanical force, groaning at the tug of strings, the bending of pitch and the raw distortion that contorts to a human cry.
Standing drunk in a tavern near midnight, I looked into a strangers eyes and we drunkenly yelled the lyrics to “Forever” at each others faces. The lead singer of Iceage stumbled in a rage but maintained the collected cool of a weathered Johnny Depp. I felt, in that moment, complete elation. As a side note, I was really quite drunk, enough that the spewed out vocals of Elias Bender Rønnenfelt sounded near angelic. That aside, it occurred to me at once that rock music can’t be dead.
We need the creation of cacophonous noise. We wont always be satisfied when it’s peddled to us by the knob twiddling middle man. With all due respect to DJs, there’s something lost in a performance that doesn’t reveal its tricks. We see a man behind a laptop but the musical process is hidden, the laptop is not an extension of the performer but a shield that numbs the connection with the listener. The sound may still be filtered through dozens of digital effects but the fingers on the fretboard don’t lie; they bear the soul. When a performer controls all aspects of the sound at every moment, it ceases to be mere sound; it becomes a voice.
I realise this all sounds very old fashioned and you’re probably picturing me as a beer-gut dad rocker, reclining on a throne of ACDC records, but what I’m defending here is not musicianship or dated genres. I’m defending the creation of sounds against the replication of them. A sound made from scratch holds the most entertainment in a live setting, but it also gives the audience more of the performer, warts and all. To me, a cello sounds best when it’s playing higher than its natural register. The way it labours to make sound is the same struggle inherent in human vocals. It’s the intensity that let’s us feel the emotions. It’s also why trained singers are often poor at making listeners feel something; they’re always in their natural register.
It’s fair to say that Elias of Iceage has no natural register. Every vocalisation he makes sounds as if he is wrestling with something stubborn and exceedingly unnatural. It’s a desperate duel between voice and guitar, but ultimately they don’t feel all too antagonistic. They’re both working to the same end: conveying feeling.
My next post will be a couple of rock-ish albums that I enjoyed last year, obviously including Iceage’s stunning “Plowing into the Field of Love”. Have a drink or twelve and listen to ‘Forever’ below!
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