- When it comes to internet radio, East London station NTS is the gold standard. Its programming is unique in its diversity—you're just as likely to hear drop-in sets from major league DJs as you are off-the-wall experimental fare (in 2014, NTS hosted a daybreak show that featured live field recordings from an active volcano). So while the lineup for the station's weeklong fifth birthday celebration looked wildly divergent on paper—the throughline between Awful Records' Playboi Carti and Trevor Jackson is a squiggly one at best—it made sense under the umbrella of such a proudly eclectic broadcaster.
The opening concert was a particularly enticing prospect, largely on account of its rarity. In the 30 years since Gigi Masin released his debut album, you can count the times the ambient cult hero has played London on one hand. The heartwarming narrative that swirls around his resurgence, bolstered by close friendships with the loveable Young Marco and Red Light Radio/Music From Memory's Tako Reyenga, suggests he's an artist people like to champion. Plus, the music is fantastic.
Dalston's Café OTO was heaving, the air thick with either incense or extraordinarily powerful cologne. Though the bar can squeeze 150 people, only about two dozen chairs were pulled up close to Masin's grand piano, which was a touch inadequate; those without seats perched at the back on upturned Westmalle crates and strewn cardboard boxes. This lent the gig a ramshackle charm, as did a frantic (and visible) last-minute scramble to get the correct QuickTime loop loaded onto the projector. Masin, meanwhile, patiently rocked back and forth on his chair.
Those backdrop visuals proved an inspired choice. Masin's style of undulating, serene ambient falls pretty close to the kind of music that, through countless nature documentaries, has become synonymous with aquatic imagery. The slow fades of turtles, coral and porpoises matched beautifully with the plaintive piano and overlapping drones, much of which featured, fittingly, on 2014's Talk To The Sea compilation on Music From Memory. Masin also sang a little, doing so with curious restraint—you could see the emotion etched across his face but you never quite felt the full force of his voice.
It wasn't just Masin keeping movements to a minimum. Beyond a few heads rested on shoulders and patient sips of wine between songs, barely anyone stirred the entire hour. But people weren't drifting off. Most eyes faced forward with intent, closely studying Masin's every move. Whenever someone made a noise or got distracted, they were met with glares of annoyance. (Case in point: I got flicked in the temple for taking notes on my phone.) It was exactly the kind of reverent audience that Masin, and NTS, would have hoped for.