Songs heard on fast trains

Our gig at Strathclyde Union was reviewed on this superb website:


It had been a bit of a bewildering day or two. I’d practically fled England as things collapsed behind me with the dust licking at my heels like all the best disaster movies. My uncertain employment situation forgotten, somewhere on a train heading through the sun-flecked lowlands today I managed to switch off all the noise – and just to make sure, I decided to replace it with a whole different kind of noise this evening. I’d not even thought much about this rescheduled St.Andrew’s Day show, but with a spare hour between arriving at Central Station and checking into my digs for the weekend I decided to drop into the Union to see if tickets were left. The place was in chaos, with the bands gear arriving and clogging the foyer – but the kindly receptionist took me into her tiny office and sold me a ticket. She was most concerned I’d still got my bags with me and wanted to make sure I knew where I was going before I left, and had all the directions. This is one of the reasons I love coming back to Glasgow.

So, wandering back to the Union tonight through a barrage of text messages from people back home having a tough old time, I’m wondering if I’m too old to be trawling around Student’s Unions? Eight flights of stairs convinces me I definitely am, but before I can get too maudlin about it Kasule take the stage. I knew nothing of this band – and they weren’t about to impart too much information either. Indeed, I had to resort to Twitter later to discover exactly who they were. By all accounts they’ve been away for a while, springing up in the difficult few years when I’d all but abandoned music, disappearing and then being coaxed out of retirement in the past few months. I was struck first by the projections – strange rural images which centred on a wind turbine, then a stream of Factory Records related images – classic Peter Saville sleeves, scenes from the Hacienda, close-ups of the wild-eyed face of Ian Curtis. I wondered if this made any sense to the majority of the somewhat fresh-faced crowd at all? The parallels didn’t end there – Kasule‘s music harks back to those early New Order recordings – when they hadn’t quite found their slick, eighties identity and the harsh edge of the late seventies still permeated the sound. There was stark electronic percussion, a rumbling undertone of bass and guitar work which varied between a sparkling, light cascade of sound and a crashing wave of post-rock noise. The projections faded into a montage of shots of the late, much missed John Peel – and it all made sense. I could imagine him loving this and playing it gleefully, knowing that it wouldn’t be easy listening, but that some of his listeners would understand. I still know very little of this band – least of all where one song ended and the next began – but I’m almost tempted to leave it that way, and preserve the odd, unsettling but dizzyingly varied mystery of Kasule.

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