It was in about the 20th minute of my first drone metal gig, when a woman near me collapsed and was carried out, that I thought the genre might not be my cuppa.
It was Easter Sunday and I was standing near a fire exit in a dark warehouse on the outskirts of Bristol surrounded by long-haired beardy men dressed in leather, being bombarded with very, very loud guitar noise, wondering if I would ever hear again.
Dressed in a green mac and cord trousers I looked like a cop, badly undercover, but I had paid good money to be there just like everybody else.
For most of the Easter gig the noise in the room registered around 120 decibels, equivalent to standing next to an aeroplane as it takes off
Drone metal, or doom drone, for those not in the know (neither was I until Sunday) is a subgenre of metal in which the musicians produce sounds at the loudest possible volume, repetitively and at length. This Easter gig lasted about 90 minutes, sans interval, and for most of that time the noise in the room registered around 120 decibels, equivalent to standing next to an aeroplane as it takes off. Rest assured I took a pair of complimentary earplugs from the bar on arrival (some enthusiasts conspicuously did not).
As the first sonic fusillade hit, my clothes actually seemed to go rigid, then pulsed along with the anti-melody emanating from the enormous amplifiers on stage. When I placed a half-drunk can of lager (Dutch courage) on the bar, it too began to vibrate, stammering out of my reach.
The band, Sunn O))), have been pioneering this particular art form for a quarter-century without my noticing. I was asked along by a friend’s delightfully bohemian family, the kind of “try anything once” people I wish I could be more like.
Yet despite my fairly conservative musical tastes, I began to settle into the experience. Well that was my only way of dealing with it, and as the tsunami flowed over us, wave after sonic wave, I got some enjoyment out of the seemingly indistinguishable clatter.
Afterwards, my friend characterised the gig as a sort of Satanic version of compline, the Christian choral ritual designed to cleanse the soul. Others had different views. When the lights went up and the droning stopped, a chap at the back shouted “play another song!” Different strokes, different folks.
