Man of Moon play out a powerful yet eclectic set that signals fresh impetus for the band’s new line-up.
Since their beginning Man of Moon have been a standout live act. The Scottish two-piece possess an extraordinary talent for cross-pollinating genres and styles but their sound is not hybridised, rather they are a synthesis of their influences; a pure sonic distillation of what has come before. You hear the mesmeric drones of Mogwai, the dynamic shifts of Radiohead, the harmonic angularity of Tool, the industrial amalgam of Nine Inch Nails, the snarling coarseness of Kurt Cobain’s vocal delivery, even hints of Pink Floyd’s austere and abstract lyricism. Man of Moon are so much music in one band. And yet they’ve always sounded uniquely themselves; there is deep intentionality in every song’s construction. When founding drummer Michael Reid announced his departure from the band in 2021 fans were understandably concerned. The duo’s intuitive energy and chemistry was so fundamental to their appeal, to their success, any line-up change risked undermining the project. Without hesitation though guitarist and vocalist Chris Bainbridge has carried on into the next phase of Man of Moon, touring and recording with an unequivocal drive and creative vision.
The band’s short run of Scottish dates this month begins at Edinburgh’s Cabaret Voltaire, one of the many underrated cellar venues off Cowgate. As gloriously soul-swelling as it is to witness Man of Moon playing the likes of Glasgow’s Barrowlands, as they first did in support for The Twilight Sad some years ago, stepping inside this otherworldly sandstone vault, beneath layers of the Old Town, confounds your senses in the best way possible. There is an enveloping intimacy in the darkness that invites the audience to move cautiously, if at all, to breathe calmly and to focus slowly. It’s a perfect setting within which to practice deep, transcendent listening.
Opening the show is rising talent Berta Kennedy, a performer and producer who is fast making a name for herself on the live circuit while being nominated for BBC Introducing‘s Scottish Act of the Year, and picking up the prize for The Sound of Young Scotland at last year’s SAY Awards. Performing with a four-piece backing band, her sound leans into the jazzier side of R&B with trippy electronic and live beats, punctuating moreishly rhythmic lyrical phrases. She’s jazzy in the sense that Jeff Buckley was jazzy. The overall live delivery is slightly fuller than her recordings and some songs have a tendency to meander to the point where there is a “Grace”-esque finale. That’s never a complaint or criticism. Often times a six or seven song support set can feel foreshortened in small venues; Berta’s feels appropriately filled out. She encourages the crowd to move closer to the stage and the density of the room immediately heightens the anticipation for what’s to follow.
When Man of Moon walk on stage they’re met by an almost tangible cloud of excitement. The dark, closeness intensifies with the added weight of noise. It’s instantly loud -saturated – with Bainbridge’s vocal suspended in the solution. The audience erupts in seemingly silent slow-motion, their existence now contained within the moment and the music. The Road lurches with forceful swagger into a dreamlike crescendo before Rust emerges, pulsing and chiming with urgency. The band stand backlit by video projections, all programmed live to fuel and feast off the energy in the room. Ride The Waves swells from moderate vibrations to an all-out crashing tempest as serene scenes of sound waves and sea carry the visual metaphor. Bass-driven, this song resonates on a cellular level, but never loses its clarity in the swampy fuzz.
There is minimal chat from the stage, save for a brief interlude where Chris mentions that their new album has been recorded. The audience appear to be caught off-guard but the interruption, and barely respond with hushed awe. The new songs are hard, heavy, occasionally melodic, and welcomed with renewed excitement like the first warm afternoon of spring. There’s depth and spaciousness along with some ferocious drumming. Iain Stewart invests his whole physicality into his playing and the way Man of Moon transition from meditative shoegaze to violent metal – and make it sound completely natural – is staggering and beautiful to behold, so much so I actually blush. The slow-burn layering of This World elicits whoops from the crowd at each escalation, its density remaining nuanced until its explosive and dramatic climax.
Fierce disco number Strangers closes out the set in appropriately sweaty fashion with fists and drinks in the air and ragged hair matted to red faces. This is followed by deafening applause ricocheting off the low stone ceiling and chants of “ONE MORE TUNE” that seem never-ending until they evolve into “HERE WE, HERE WE, HERE WE FUCKING GO”. Five minutes pass with the house lights on, the clock strikes 10pm and still there is no sign of the band returning. The crowd are in too high spirits to riot but there is physical disappointment in the room when someone eventually steps on stage to turn off the ringing amps. We file out onto the street, dazed by space and time, grateful to have been bound by something so enigmatic, rich, vibrant and ethereal. Grateful to feel tiny and insignificant in the presence of so much music.
Words and pictures: Kendall Wilson @softcrowdclassic