It doesn’t matter when I get to work on Saturday, or most days, so Friday I found a Feargal Sharkey cassette and rocketed to Kensington.

Upstairs, Gack lumbered over a table and applied careful weight and quick punches to pedals like a 1970’s sci-fi technician. The careful few minutes of static and delay are in touch with Red Desert’s alienating blend of electronics and machinery, and centre on a hypnotic throb. Against the projections of forests and caves, the dread compounds, and I wanna watch the first Evil Dead, where Ash is earnest and doesn’t have a chainsaw hand. [I liked it a lot]

No change to the looping direction, Beard Closet turns the white room from a horror set into a nature documentary on forgotten virtual realities, and then drifts unnoticed towards violence. I’m interested to see what he learns to do with two amps. I was hoping for Pissed Jeans-style massive sounds, but it was hard to pick out the discrepancies between the twin tones. [I liked the best bits of his Gladstone set better, but this one was better throughout]

Oh, Satin Warship, I laughed. Remorse creeps up and then my memory chokes it down. The delay on the Squier’s directionless rattles maintained thirty seconds of maybe it’s a joke. The androgoblues could work by accident under specific situations maybe? It would need a lot more don’t care to overcome how bad everything was. I laughed, and then I left. [I’m glad I was there]

Satin Warship, Beard Closet, and Gack at the White House, April 1, 2011.