Penpushers, Eaters, Sileni, Bannerman's, Edinburgh, Dec 3
Penpushers should be huge. You should own all of their albums. Why don't you own all of their albums?
A showcase of Edinburgh's finest hip-hop courtesy of Incorporeal Records, this low-key gig on a Sunday night in many ways summed up both the triumph and tragedy of the Scottish scene, and the fate of so-called 'regional' hip-hop in general. Eaters kicked off proceedings, MCs Quiet Man and Laughing Gear twisting their tongues around some quality 'day in the life' style B-Boy rhymes, and veering off into some intense old-skool electro. Their product is polished as that of any megabudget bling MC you could mention. The night was closed by Penpushers,flushed with pride at the majesty of new LP 'Poltergeeks.' The integration of Jane Gilbert's vocals into their hyper-literate and melodic template is a canny move – new songs skirted Portishead / Lamb territory neatly, The Brain & Kemo's productions fitting her voice amiably. The tracks she performed with Long Face were sublime and uplifting, him accenting his vocals nasally while she trilled and soared. Obsolete meanwhile traded lines with Long Face as though performing to a rapturous crowd of hundreds or thousands, rather than for the small assemblage of friends and onlookers gathered in the back room of Bannerman's pub.
Clearly, Penpushers don't give a fuck about money or success – at least, not as much as they give a fuck about their art. This was apparent in the joy they took in their performance, the harsh vigour of Obsolete's freestyles, and the insouciant way they ruled over the tiny stage. It's mighty strange that a band this intelligent and assured languish in relative cult obscurity, while the lamest and sickest indie darlings Glasgow can dredge up are lauded by London's gutter press. What message does that send to young artists? Don't bother trying, unless you own every Talking Heads record, and can flick your fringe seductively? Penpushers should be huge. You should own all of their albums. Why don't you own all of their albums?
The middle act of the night were newcomers Sileni. Producer GungWho expelled noxious clouds of static and reverb, clattering beats falling over themselves and fighting like drunks outside a sailor's bar. MC Harlequinade, clad in all black with matching wrestler's mask, vented copious spleen across the beats and noise, his caustic observations noisily tearing asunder the dank basement air. Over an Eaters beat, his flows were impressive enough – a torrent of invective and screaming that blew everyone but Laughing gear off the stage. With Gung Who, he was an angry voice crying against a flood of furious distortion. It was nigh on unlistenable at points, which added to its' appeal tenfold. A few audience members left to get drinks, the brave, the curious and the twisted staying behind to be exposed to the deluge. A terrible beauty was born that night – full of sound and fury, but signifying something. [Bram Gieben]