The Dillinger Escape Plan

13th May 2008: Capitol, Perth, Australia

Once upon a time, it was reported to me by Dave Lima that halfway through a Sleepy Jackson set I started fight-dancing with a total stranger at this venue. Being a barrister I'd've expected a fairly explicit description of what this involved, something at least to get my teeth into, although compared to what's going on right here I was probably being half-arsed pussy. Fuck having an ambulance outside to pick up the wounded we need it here, in between the first couple of rows desperately reaching for their idols and the kool kids holding back. It's a battlefield. Nevermind injuries, I'm surprised there aren't fatalities. A huge gap has opened between the third and fifth rows with kamikaze bandits running, throwing, wrestling each other in an orgy of violence.

Whether it's a reflection of the primeval tribalism onstage or merely an inspiration it's impossible to prove, although I expect the former. The Dillinger Escape Plan are the only band I have seen where the singer stage dives on the first note of the first song. And it's a sung note. Stage diving whilst playing instruments doesn't seem to pose any kind of problem for the rest of the band, who somehow despite the confusion manage to navigate they're way back across the erratic sea of hands. One guitarist even offers the fret-board to scrabbling crowd that they might pluck random notes from it. You wouldn't have thought he'd get it back, but he does, with masterly control. There's so much movement onstage it's hard to keep track of it all, or even where everyone is. Blink and one member has vanished from one side of the stage and reappeared on the other. I've seen the backstage area at Capitol and whilst its not a paradise, its not exactly a cage. These people act like they've just been realeased from years of punitive confinement and slow agonizing torture. Ready for war, the singer is either high fiving half the front row in one fluid movement, swinging on the overhead house speakers or trying not to get knocked over by other band mates. I have to empathise with the likely frustration of the drummer being the only one not able to plunge onto the audience's outstretched palms. He's either got the longest upper torso of any human being I've ever encountered or is managing to play in virtually a standing position. The bassist, a possible Lemmy-accolyte with his near vertical guitar neck, is the relatively calm eye that the others hurricane around. No visuals are used in this show. Even if they were you'd probably never notice.

For the uninitiated the Dillinger Escape Plan play what can broadly be termed "mathcore". Quoth Wikipedia, where would we be without it kids, "Mathcore music is usually filled with discordant, technical riffing, complex time signatures and song structures, and passionate, energetic vocals". The riffing is extraordinary, brutal and nearly constant. There's about one solo in the entire set and that's maybe the least convincing part. In the studio DEP pull off a few other electronic and borderline hard-bop stunts, which live get transmogrified into a spiralling wave of guitar frenzy. One axe wielder, don't ask me how, manages to mount the adjacent DJ booth, Precariously he beats away heedlessly at his opus, straddling his perch like Jason on the rocks fighting off countless screaming Argonauts. Head-locking a hapless would-be stage diver, the singer screams into both his microphone and ear. Twisting in visible discomfort he's eventually released where he concedes to flop back into the pit with relief. You can't take your eyes off it, not only is the band executing switches between complex time signatures so seamless it must surely require telepathy, but no one knows what's coming next.

The stage of Capitol is robed with Twin Peaks-esque crimson curtains and it feels as if we've slipped through the Black Lodge, way over to the other side. But just when you're thinking you're about to get swallowed whole in suffocating layers of abstraction, a train-sized hook comes to the rescue, pulling the horde back into pure repetitive joy. Black Bubblegum, with its Faith No More reminiscent chorus, brings down the barn. Sounding a little lightweight, by DEP standards, live its colossal; its simplicity only allowing it to narrow all of tonight's performance into brutal focus. There's no encore. Disappointing, but logical. Even if human beinsg could summon that energy twice in one night, there's no feasible way they'd top it.

Their's a collective shellshock. It's almost embarrassing. Our arses have been served to us on a plate, neatly stacked with a nice pink ribbon. The only thing I can think of that even graces the same arena was a televised performance I saw of At the Drive-In. Never again could I expect to see such single-minded bloody violence wrought. They played like they had seconds to live. A friend of mine had tickets to see them and I was due to pick one up myself. The gig was cancelled. Several weeks later they split up. I believed I'd missed a unique opportunity. Now: I don't regret a thing. In terms of onstage energy, nothing I have witnessed matches this. Nothing come close.

Transcribed by ReverendChris