- Huntleys & Palmers Audio Club is an anti-club in some ways, with a booking policy so focused on bringing producers and bands of high musical quality rather than BPM that you sometimes wonder if it might do better, financially at least, if it put some of its shows on as conventional gigs instead of club nights. Current 93, Threshold HouseBoys Choir, Nite Jewel and Gold Panda, not all of whom attracted the crowd numbers you might expect for their H&P shows in the past year or two, come to mind, though other guests such as Oni Ayhun, Alex Smoke and Ewan Pearson worked predictably well in the club environment, and should tell you that H&P's selective tastes don't preclude it from a good old fashioned dance on occasion. Whatever opening times he chooses, it's to be appreciated that there are people like Andrew Thomson, the brains behind the night, still taking on the financial risk of booking acts like these where others would go for a cheaper, surer, less interesting thing.
The rampant variation and strict quality control at the heart of H&P made electronic renaissance man Matthew Dear—DJ, remixer, experimental pop auteur, plain-speaking minimal techno trouser-rubber (check those Audion track titles), acid-touched electronics adventurer—a perfect fit for the night's third birthday celebrations. Part of the UK tour to promote the recent Black City, this was Dear in electronic pop virtuoso mode, complete with three-piece band taking in keys, percussion, guitar, bass and trumpet.
Their set covered much of Black City and bits and pieces from 2007's more immediately accessible Asa Breed, with a version of that album's "Fleece On Brain" notable for being allowed to spread into its full, freeform freakout potential over ten glorious minutes. The mid-set Black City trio of "Slowdance," "You Put a Smell On Me" and "Little People (Black City)," the latter positively crackling with creative energy, neatly illustrated the riches to be found on the new album with a little persistence. A faster, rockier version of Backstroke's "Tide," with its liberating "I don't care about you any more" mantra, and a beguiling cover of The XX's "VCR," were delightful surprises, and Asa Breed's "Don and Cherri" made for a fine finale.
The odd grumble about the sound had, I suspect, less to do with actual sonic deficiencies and more to do with the fact that saying: "yeah, but the sound was terrible" a bit too loudly at the end of a show is certain folks' code for: "I am the bearer of a keen and unflinching critical eye. My detached unwillingness to give myself too readily into enjoyment is balanced by a dry wit and hefty penis. I am worth getting to know in the upstairs bar area." I certainly didn't notice any major problems, and there were no complaints from the band member I spoke with afterwards.
Nowadays split between Glasgow and London, this is likely to be the last H&P north of the border for several months. Its forward-looking, thought-provoking, occasionally astonishing nights will be sorely missed this winter.