- Matthew Barnes, AKA Forest Swords, has never been just about the music. The elegant illustration on the cover of 2010's Dagger Paths EP echoed the unusual tactility of his sound, where earthy guitar riffs and ritualistic rhythms evoked the physical touch of wood, metal and stone. A graphic designer by trade, Barnes then branched off into scoring films and contemporary dance. His music is powerful on its own, but it reaches new heights when paired with his singular visual aesthetic.
Last Wednesday, I was excited to see the visuals for Barnes's live show at Village Underground, but also curious to check out the warm-up act, new Hyperdub artist Klein. Forest Swords has a totally distinctive sound, and on the basis of Klein's set, she might be able to make a similar claim. Taking to the stage with a group of friends, she cut through the crowd noise with a looped yelp that dissolved into sampled applause. This was followed by 40 minutes of mangled vocals and abrupt bursts of piano, set against an anti-rhythm of frustrated loops.
It was confrontational music, less because it was abrasive (though it was), but more in the way that Klein teased shards of catchy R&B vocals or mournful keys before stifling them again, refusing to satisfy the crowd. Strangest of all was her group of friends, who, silhouetted against projections of a boiling red sky, danced, chatted and took selfies, as if we were in an alternate world where this was normal house party music.
Klein's provocative set meant the crowd were gagging for a little melody and rhythm by the time Barnes appeared. Accompanied by a bassist and a VJ, he immediately launched into a well-honed run of tracks from Engravings and Compassion. "Ljoss," with its feathery lead and beat like a rattling door, was an early highlight, while the staccato strings of "Raw Language" made his arcane rhythms feel danceable.
Barnes contorted as much as danced, mouthing along to the fractured vocals that haunt each of his songs. Some of the newer material lacked the subtlety of his earlier work, but an update of early single "Miarches" was a welcome surprise, retooled with a new drum track and a glittering outro.
I had expected more than lazy CGI animations for the visuals, though I was still taken aback by the beauty of the projected imagery. Each track had a distinct aesthetic, with film of weathered objects, natural scenes and angular dancers shot with grace and imagination. A man's torso cut to a crawling beetle, a flaming hand and a craggy coastline—as if each was linked in a way I couldn't quite define. The audio and video felt as if they'd been designed in tandem. It raised the bar well above any A/V shows I'd seen before.
More than anything, the visuals captured the world that's always sprung to mind when I listen to Barnes's music—a rugged landscape of ley lines, runes and ageless oaks. All musicians occupy a space between tradition and modernity, feeding on the past to build the future, but few look back further than the heyday of Motown. Barnes draws on a tradition far older, evoking the ritualised sounds of a world roamed by Druids, when magic was still in the air. He places his music in a lineage that stretches back not decades, but millennia.
Photo credit /
Daniela Montiero
