easy to read version
Fireworks are pretty uncommon in Malaysia, so when a Malaysian ex of mine after her first experience of fireworks on Australia Day described it as like "being attacked in some wonderful way", I thought that was cool. It struck a chord. Employing the archetypal quiet-loud-quiet-loud tactic of post rock are undoubtedly trying to replicate that bombast. Playing one long uninterrupted set where each instrumental piece merges with the next against a hypnotic set of visuals is impressive, with delicate, barely stroked guitar apeggios ceding to thunder heavy assaults. It's epic and somewhat mesmeric, as each image morphs gradually. Content is irrelevant, whether the image is a flower, a ballistic missile or whatever, its the form, colour and shade gracefully dissolving. Explosions in the Sky are an entirely non-specific entity. You can take from them whatever you wish, whether you associate them with a tangible item like a blooming flower or a random arrangement of dots and shapes; the latter option seemingly the most popular. I've spent the day driving across the West Australian countryside, fathoms of endless brown plains and dust scorched vegetation and more dust. Your concentration ebbs away, wandering over the epic landscape and never-ending space. To stay focused I'd mentally compile to-do lists, prepare myself for the first of a the job I start tomorrow, note reminders of what I need to bring, try to remember where I last left the ironing board, is there's any shoe polish left and given that I'll have to wander back to the car across some dirty patches of park grass why am I now wearing my work shoes. But that's what your mind can sometimes do to this ponderous music; wander. And I have to heave it back down to earth.
There's some ungainly nod-banging amidst all the pretty lights. Perhaps one of the more subtle motivations for launching dazzling visuals is to distract from the unforgiving sight of the band itself. There's an absence of presence and little attempt to engage with us, at least nothing obvious. Maybe if I was at the front I'd be able to pick up some subtle exchanges. Though audience interaction presumably would just interrupt the continuos flow of music. At least I get a full view of the lush colours luminating. The drummer seems to play a number of variations on just one marching beat, a sort of train tracks rhythm, building steam with each approaching crescendo. I don't want to do these guys a disservice. They've honed a fetching array of sounds. You can almost always tell which way the train is heading, even if you've never taken it before, but its still a pleasant ride. You have to make the most of it, go swim in the reverberations, let them wash over your head until you're submerged in another existence, some distant place.
...and we're back from our wandering. Perhaps I just don't feel as wonderfully attacked as I'd hoped. Perhaps it's a familiarity I've developed having seen this approach before. A predictability. Or are the best aspects of this music hard to put a finger on? Black dots are forming in front of my eyes. It could be some hallucinatory side effect from the visuals. Or it could be the nine hour drive I took earlier today. The inevitable final crescendo bludgeons out. I return to the bed I've not slept in for two and half months, trying not to get my shoes muddy.
Transcribed by Reverend Chris.
outpatients.