ArcTanGent Wednesday – 2022 Review

The city of Bristol has quite the legendary reputation in the history of music, giving the world not just many monumental bands and artists, but birthing entirely new genres alongside them. So in having a fourth day of ArcTanGent, a Wednesday, for the first time ever, an opportunity arose to celebrating the local scene and some of its innumerable, innovative even, alternative acts. I arrive on site, get my tent set up, judge just how much of a black hole my data and phone signal will perish into, and wander over to the arena. As this is a day for early bird ticket holders only, it makes sense that a large section of the festival site be inaccessible at this time. But for how much the site has shrunk since 2019, the fences make the change fairly noticeable. One thing that has grown however, is the size of the Elephant In The Bar Room stage, that confidently can house an elephant this year, maybe several, and is where we find all our bands for Wednesday’s line-up. This is what went down on ArcTanGent Wednesday.

From the sense that plenty of folks are here early already to watch Lightning Sharks open the festival, many could still be pinching themselves that they are even present on these familiar grounds, being the first edition of the festival since 2019. At first glance, having a hardcore-powered noise rock troupe, with an entourage of inflatable sharks adorning both sets of cabs, open the festival at 2pm wouldn’t have been my first choice. It is however, the shifting influences of math rock, post rock, some blackened elements, a little sludge creeping in here and there, and the occasional treading into progressive territories, it begins to make sense. Varying passages of their music offer sniffs of the music that ArcTanGent hosts beneath their banner, and Lightning Sharks’ presence and performance is the warm hug at a family reunion you receive. Between their evident happiness to be there and playing, and a toddler doing laps of the front barricade, the abrasive assault between relentless roars becomes life-affirming. Lightning Sharks took on the challenge of opening a respected, unique entity of a music festival, with gusto, and they were ultimately successful in doing so.

Much like the mysterious cephalopods themselves, on stage, My Octopus Mind are difficult to put inside a box, because they have a remarkable habit of finding a way to escape. At occasions too many to count, notes were made on an evolution or different facet of their sound, and I simply gave up. Their first words, asking the crowd how their nipples were, should hopefully give some indication of how… unusual their performance was. Tell me the next time you hear a double bass player pull off guttural growls inside hastening, violin-tinged math rock. That being said, their brand of psychedelic funk, if it can even be dubbed as so, was curious yet rousing and recalled elements of Claypool and his billion side bands, the early Battles material, even going as far as Beefheart-esque in stature. ‘Experimental’ and ‘avant-garde’ are words bandied about ArcTanGent like finding pebbles on the pavement, but in describing My Octopus Mind, it truly feels warranted. A fascinating watch.

 

 

For all of My Octopus Mind’s abstract whimsy, The Road, not named after the Cormac McCarthy novel but the literal life of touring and being on said road, are a more straightforward beast. As straightforward as defining post-doom anyway. This Bristol duo’s sludgy foray feels a little light on sonic density for categorically a heavy genre of music, whether that being amiss or a technical issue, yet their musical layer building eventually makes up for that. Not to take anything away from their gradual blasts of destruction once the grind moves into motion. Atmospheric segues do punctuate between their songs, and arguably, stripping the guitar back from a ten-tonne hammer to a colder stab of unease serves as the finest moment of their set. Having The Road on at four in the afternoon where sunshine streams through all sides of the tent did no favours for a genre that thrives in darkness, yet they did their utmost given the circumstances. 

Unfortunately, I miss Olanza due to hunger overriding my primary desires, but I return to witness Mutant-Thoughts’s spacey grooves and melodic hooks aplenty. Energetic from the get-go, Latin-flavoured, syncopated tribal rhythms run through synths, elements of post-rock, and something psychedelic-laced, to create what resembles some form of progressive, hip-shaking hardcore. Think a more synth-focused Glassjaw, or if Enter Shikari devoted even more time to becoming a pop band. Vocally, comparisons can be drawn to Muse and Claudio of Coheed & Cambria fame, if he ever had some opera training. While these are loose descriptions and flippant comments, nailing an exact rendition of their music feels a disservice. As they traverse more than a generous serving of pumping alternative genres and do it extraordinarily well. Their allotted half hour dissolves away in no time at all, leaving beaming faces, and this reviewer certifiably entertained. 

 

 

Modern Rituals deliver an extra slice of guitar-driven grooves afterwards, though the manner in which they do blurs the lines somewhere between stoner rock and punk. Their music does also stray into progressive territories, incorporating math rock and some shoegaze moments, making their music the most easily digestible group to take the stage so far. Featured recent airplay on Radio 6 Music certainly backs that up. For what they provide, they have great energy on stage and continually get more raucous as they wrap up. The tone gets heavier too eliciting a few headbangs from the growing crowd. While their sound bears some sort of resemblance to Slow Crush, they don’t stand out tremendously, but that may have more to do with the sheer boundary-bending displays from some of the bands before, and some yet to be discussed, rather than the strength of their own artistic merits. Keep an eye on them however, Modern Rituals will be a name you’ll see a lot more in the future. 

One thread throughout ArcTanGent this year is the inclusion of more electronic-forward acts, and for the best part, Luo perform as a live synth and drum duo for their time on stage. Make no mistake, keys player Josh Trinnaman has an electric guitar to hand. One song does inject a rush of tech metal to their ambient textures and glitchy instrumentals. It honestly feels more akin to a live IDM show, with an air of Aphex Twin and Big Lad about it, but less extreme in execution. That being said, Barney Sage behind the kit is staggeringly good in his ability. Many moments also recall early The Algorithm shows, before transforming into a completely live outfit, those past phasing and filtering of frequencies weaving seamlessly throughout their set. Stated to be a ‘heavier’ set than they normally play, as heavy as chilled, airy pads, bright keys, and jazz meter twitches go anyway, both men clearly have finesse in their craft, and are creating something truly compelling. The mise-en-scene of the setting sun lent itself well to what they played too. Public reception seemed polarised, though I personally loved it. 

Whether you’re ribbing an audience or not, you have to respect the cajones of Mother Vulture, for not only riling up interested observers, which does reward them with the festival’s first mosh pit, but for poking fun at the time signature they’re playing their music in. Which for math rock fans, and there’s an abundance in ArcTanGent’s core audience, might be a little on the nose. Still, for their snark and swagger, their brand of heavy hardcore rock, and hyper-animated demeanour are outrageously alluring. Much like a trainwreck in a kaleidoscope.  Sleaziness also exudes noticeably as they play, which suddenly makes me miss The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster. That said, vocalist Georgi Valentine’s prowess is more in tune with Bruce Dickinson, or Mike Patton even, than Guy McKnight. When your band manages enough mayhem that your vocalist is… somewhere in the crowd, and your guitarist finishes the show atop the bar counter, that’s a hell of a reputation to build.

Leave it to Memory Of Elephants to quell any more rebellious behaviour for the time being. While nowhere near as inciteful as Mother Vulture, their sound was as sizeable as the recollection of their tusked namesakes. Playing the kind of math-soaked instrumental rock that tips the cap to Russian Circles, though far less intrinsic in presentation, their boisterous and punk-like musicianship that has kept them buoyant for a decade is tremendous and joyous to witness. If unfamiliar with this trio, think a more chaotic Royal Blood, or virtuosic Them Crooked Vultures. Though they are very much their own beast. A definite aura of stoner rock flows throughout their performance too. Certain passages of their playing invoke desert pursuits across the night, imagery certainly aided by the arrival of the evening. Completely progressive without being pretentious, may their adventures in sonic exploration continue for another decade.

 

 

While still in distance of the stage, but food-focused once more, a near full Elephant In The Bar Room tent plays host to penultimate act Sugar Horse. While on the outskirts, their sombre, loathsome, slowcore dirge is equal parts enrapturing and bloody petrifying. The kind of mountainous, churning post-hardcore that vibrates bones into dust if exposed to for too long. Yet it makes their music all the more enticing because of it. The pace is always brooding, calculating, and erupts exactly when required, but has sparse atmospheric segments that are at times, just as unnerving. That’s even before mentioning their quiet/loud dynamic, fronted by a vocal range that is frankly incredible. Why they drip with the kind of distain for their musicianship I’ve yet to get my head around. Having the biggest crowd of the night suggests otherwise also. Yet for a band not long with a debut album out and about to tour with some huge names, the future looks everything more than bleak for Sugar Horse.

 

 

Wednesday culminates with cult hardcore jesters The St. Pierre Snake Invasion, disappointingly, with half the crowd present than before. Attendance aside, they remain in good spirits, tongues firmly in cheek, and deliver a career spanning set, which features cuts not unearthed in some time. Curiously, a keyboard sits on stage, though whether its purpose as to make a ghoulish noise at any given moment when required, or for the allotted minute and a half it’s actually used for in their set, still remains unclear. It’s worth noting, that part of the minute and a half is utilised in brand new music, from a forthcoming album to be released sometime next year. Accursed notes or not, at least it represents an evolution for their sound. For merrymakers not familiar with their brazen, rowdy party, they spin a story or brief history between songs, so everybody is in on the joke. This of course includes Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Talbot, an infamous incident that accidentally gave the Idles frontman far more exposure than perhaps intended. Nonetheless, their 45 minutes with ArcTanGent feels like a hero’s welcome, their punches hitting with a Gallows and Refused-like sting, balanced with the wit of a Frank Turner or Jamie Lenman. You could argue for all their incendiary promise that it feels more restrained at this late in the day. However, everything The St. Pierre Snake Invasion give, the crowd gives the payload back threefold, which speaks volumes for just how beloved they’ve become over the years on the festival circuit.