Mute, but hardly quiet...
Having seen Roger Waters on Thursday night, I went straight from work to meet Lianne in Camden for the start of the Mute Weekender (trying not to think about the 300-odd quid Waters and Mute tickets cost between them).
I was hoping the first night would be a lively show as six hours sleep and a hangover meant I wasn't entirely in the zone for experimental noodlings. Luckily Recoil had clearly been briefed, and were playing a hits set, which got even more jolly when Nitzer Ebb joined them onstage for the last three tracks, including an excellent Family Man and deconstructed Personal Jesus.
Nitzer Ebb themselves reappeared a little later, after I'd had a couple of pints and was feeling more chipper, and played a cracking set of classics. Douglas McCarthy is still one of the coolest frontmen in music, though I'm puzzled why Bon Harris dresses like a cab driver in a musical.
Lianne headed home after Ebb, while I was planning on staying for NON and Carter Tutti, but the queue to get into the studio was so long I couldn't be bothered, and left after chatting to Paulo, Caroline, Chris, Ally and Zazz for a while. At any oher venue I may have been annoyed that the second room was so small, but the Roundhouse is such a beautiful venue and so perfect for this event that it's hard to blame it for its layout.
We were feeling a lot more lively on Saturday, and got to Camden quite early, but decided on a slap-up lunch at La Porchetta rather than the early acts, before meeting up with Debbie and Rodney. So the first band we caught was The Liars, who everyone else hated, but I rather liked in a sort of shambolic Birthday Party/Buttholes/Primals spaz rock sort of way.
The Residents, following them, were enjoyably strange and creepy, but a long and quite leisurely set eventually lost my interest. The lead singer is quite mesmerically odd though.
Next up onstage, Vince Clarke and chums were certainly the most poppy part of the weekend. Firstly a slim and youthful-looking, though obviously nervous Alison Moyet joined Clarke (who now looks like Robocop with headphones on) for three Yazoo numbers including Page in your Diary and Don't Go - live she really has one of the best voices I've ever heard.
Following her, a rather peculiar looking Andy Bell appeared - still buff, though with rather a beer gut and a fair bit of plastic surgery, which with his twirling around started taking him close to Nathan Lane territory. Still, he was in great voice and an excellent showman, and they played the four Erasure songs I like, although it did make me realise the drop-off after those is fairly steep.
This section finished with Feargal Sharkey (who really does look like he's been locked in a sarcophagus for the last couple of decades) popping up for a run-through of The Assembly's 'Never Never', which sounded pretty much the same now as it did back then, and rather a nice surprise.
The night was rounded off by the mighty Laibach, who put on one of their best sets ever, percussive, martial and stomping, with a reasonably populist setlist that finished with powerful run-throughs of Geburt Einer Nation and Warm Leatherette (which Recoil had also played). Managed to resist strangling a fellow audience member who I heard say "It's a bit of a rip-of of Ramstein, isn't it?", but only because I couldn't find him in the dark.
All in all a truly awe-inspiring three days of music. Time for a quiet, relaxed Sunday I think.
I was hoping the first night would be a lively show as six hours sleep and a hangover meant I wasn't entirely in the zone for experimental noodlings. Luckily Recoil had clearly been briefed, and were playing a hits set, which got even more jolly when Nitzer Ebb joined them onstage for the last three tracks, including an excellent Family Man and deconstructed Personal Jesus.
Nitzer Ebb themselves reappeared a little later, after I'd had a couple of pints and was feeling more chipper, and played a cracking set of classics. Douglas McCarthy is still one of the coolest frontmen in music, though I'm puzzled why Bon Harris dresses like a cab driver in a musical.
Lianne headed home after Ebb, while I was planning on staying for NON and Carter Tutti, but the queue to get into the studio was so long I couldn't be bothered, and left after chatting to Paulo, Caroline, Chris, Ally and Zazz for a while. At any oher venue I may have been annoyed that the second room was so small, but the Roundhouse is such a beautiful venue and so perfect for this event that it's hard to blame it for its layout.
We were feeling a lot more lively on Saturday, and got to Camden quite early, but decided on a slap-up lunch at La Porchetta rather than the early acts, before meeting up with Debbie and Rodney. So the first band we caught was The Liars, who everyone else hated, but I rather liked in a sort of shambolic Birthday Party/Buttholes/Primals spaz rock sort of way.
The Residents, following them, were enjoyably strange and creepy, but a long and quite leisurely set eventually lost my interest. The lead singer is quite mesmerically odd though.
Next up onstage, Vince Clarke and chums were certainly the most poppy part of the weekend. Firstly a slim and youthful-looking, though obviously nervous Alison Moyet joined Clarke (who now looks like Robocop with headphones on) for three Yazoo numbers including Page in your Diary and Don't Go - live she really has one of the best voices I've ever heard.
Following her, a rather peculiar looking Andy Bell appeared - still buff, though with rather a beer gut and a fair bit of plastic surgery, which with his twirling around started taking him close to Nathan Lane territory. Still, he was in great voice and an excellent showman, and they played the four Erasure songs I like, although it did make me realise the drop-off after those is fairly steep.
This section finished with Feargal Sharkey (who really does look like he's been locked in a sarcophagus for the last couple of decades) popping up for a run-through of The Assembly's 'Never Never', which sounded pretty much the same now as it did back then, and rather a nice surprise.
The night was rounded off by the mighty Laibach, who put on one of their best sets ever, percussive, martial and stomping, with a reasonably populist setlist that finished with powerful run-throughs of Geburt Einer Nation and Warm Leatherette (which Recoil had also played). Managed to resist strangling a fellow audience member who I heard say "It's a bit of a rip-of of Ramstein, isn't it?", but only because I couldn't find him in the dark.
All in all a truly awe-inspiring three days of music. Time for a quiet, relaxed Sunday I think.