New Black Light Machine
Eve Black/Eve White
N, N Minus
George Tavern, London
Saturday March 30 2008

The mighty Jah Wobble once wrote a song about Commercial Road, in east London, in which he waxed poetic about many local landmarks: 'Round and round the Rainham roundabout, in gentle rain'. Verily an obscure classic, but one place old Wob neglected to mention (although I suspect he's been in for a pint) was the George Tavern. This outwardly stolid and traditional British boozer reveals itself, once inside, to be an endearingly ramshackle watering hole for denizens of the underground art world, plus a supporting cast of their friends and followers, fops and flaneurs, art groupies and rock 'n' roll wastrels of all kinds. And that, of course, means it's a good place for a gig. Tonight the Decasia club presents a night of noise entitled Theatre Of Cruelty, so let's see what kind of cruelty the first band visits upon us. Bring 'em on, and give 'em a big hand: N, N Minus.

What have we got? Two men, a drum machine, a guitar and some fetishistic body straps - all the essential ingredients, then. The band sets up a fearsome churn and grind, a sonic soup of beats, electronics and effect-o-rama guitar in which, if you listen closely with a certain suspension of disbelief, it's possible to discern the mangled remains of Proper Songs. There's even a drum machine solo - a rat-tat-tat of fingers on the trigger buttons which certainly gives the speaker cones in the PA a good workout. Perhaps the best bit of the N, N Minus set is the interlude where the be-strapped member of the duo takes it upon himself to sing to us via a microphone plugged into the guitar effects unit. You've heard of human beat boxes? Meet the human guitar solo. Sometimes, it's hard to shake the suspicion that N, N Minus are being weird for the sake of being weird, but they have a certain mutant-pop charm that carries the show.

There then follows an 'art' interlude in which a keyboard player who has borrowed his hairstyle from Clint Boon and his scarf from Doctor Who serenades us briefly upon the electrical pianoforte, following which a random collection of individuals re-enact certain scenes from Frankenstein, complete with a very fluffy monster. Since these little vignettes are not announced (and certainly not explained) I can't tell you the who - or, perhaps more pertinently, the why. But what the hell. You go to an art pub, whaddaya know, you get art.

I can tell you this much: it's a slight relief when Eve Black/Eve White appear, as elegantly minimalist as ever, but with their uncannily cinemascope tribal electronics in mighty effect. Every time I see Eve Black/Eve White (that's been quite a few times now, and I'm not about to stop) I wonder afresh at the band's ability to conjure such a rich sound from the ether - or, at least, a small grey box with KORG written on it. But it's a mighty, rhythmic racket, the songs rolling forward like a river over rocks, two voices and technology doing serious business. I think at least part of Eve Black/Eve White's appeal is that they don't go too far into the weird-for-the-sake-of-weird zone: the entire premise of the band might be radical, but there's a respect fopr the treaditional art of songwriting and performance here, and when the band finish up on a cover of Peggy Lee's 'Fever', that fine old fifties slow-burner sounds entirely natural in the hands of the Eves. Once it's all over, Eve White (or is it Eve Black? I'm still no nearer to knowing which way round they go, as it were) turns from the microphone and puts her coat on, a humourously neat - even if it's unintentional - way of signalling to us that it's all over. I overhear a comment from the chap beside me in the crowd. He turns to his mate and opines: 'Cool!' He's not wrong.

Except it's not all over. Here's New Black Light Machine, all new wave angles and staccato poke-and-prod songs, the very model of a modern rock band. Bouncing beats off the walls, sending guitar lines out like electrical discharges, and colouring eveything with washes of keyboard, New Black Light Machine are all frayed nerves and reverse curves, jittery but clean, ragged but right. The vocals, a dead man's autochop of short, sharp verbal shocks, act almost as another layer of percussion. If I was to reach for a handy comparison (I keep them stacked up on a shelf just behind me) I think I'd pull down These New Puritans as the essential name to drop, for New Black Light Machine occupy similar sonic territory, in as much as they have a habit of rattling off their songs like a machine gun manned by a nervous soldier. Fancy footwork from the frontman, too: as he whacks his bass strings and leans into the microphone for another clipped, yelped vocal, his pointy shoes twitch on the floor as if he's got high voltage going up his drainpipes. In a way, New Black Light Machine have a job on their hands to prove their individuality in a music scene positivey stuffed with nervy new wavers playing it fast and jittery. But I think they've got the machinery to make it.

Essential links:

New Black Light Machine: MySpace
Eve Black/Eve White: MySpace
N, N Minus: MySpace

Decasia Club: MySpace
George Tavern: MySpace

For more photos from this gig, find the bands by name here.