Pete Wall
Adding to the rarefied atmosphere is the support slot for Massachusetts heavyweights Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean, who have just put out one of the meanest and most compelling records of the year.
Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean open with zero hesitation. The stage is drenched in red light and inky darkness, and from the first note it’s obvious they are not messing around. They launch straight into ‘Reverse Baptism’ with no fanfare and set the tone immediately. There’s a formidable solidity at the core of the set, with that iron spine running through everything they do. There’s absolutely no room for filler or fluff, just direct, punishing intent. They keep crowd interaction to a minimum, which only adds to the sense that this is all about their crushing, sludgy sound hitting as hard as possible.
It’s no exaggeration to say that the playing is ridiculous across the board, but the drummer stands out. He’s mesmeric and the positioning of his kit closer to the front of the stage to accommodate Sumac’s setup only adds to the power of the performance. It feels like he’s one hit away from snapping a cymbal in half at any given moment. The band locks into a deep, savage groove and just rides it throughout their set with total assuarance. It’s a lean, ferocious showcase that keeps eyeballs glued to the stage and ear protection close at hand. Even with the frontman boxed into a tiny slither of stage space, nothing is lost. The sound carries the room, with its density and heaviness completely dialled in. You do not land a slot like this by accident, and Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean smash the assignment to fragments.
By the time Sumac come on, the room is very much ready for it, but they still somehow manage to push things up another level. The volume alone is enough to overwhelm the uninitiated, but this is a room that knows exactly what they’re in for. Remarkably, the band sound weightier and more all-consuming than the last time they played the Exchange, and that bar had been set extremely high. The setlist is tight on paper with ‘Arcing Silver’, ‘Yellow Dawn’, ‘The Stone’s Turn’, and ‘Image of Control’ but, perhaps even more so than on record, each track expands and contracts, pulling you ever deeper.
To continue an apparent theme of the night, the drumming is unreal. Not just heavy, but expressive in a way that keeps everything moving with an infectious level of flair and swagger. It gives the set a real sense of direction, even when exploration takes over from the riff worship. The bass tone is also suitably massive, bolstering everything around it. In combination with the virtuoso guitar work from the shamanic Mr Turner, it creates this huge, moving wall of sound that has the audience in the palm of its metaphorical hand. Within the roughly hour-long set, which feels like three hours and thirty minutes all at once, there are moments where it seems like the whole thing might collapse into chaos, but Sumac are in complete command of their art.
That balance of order and near-chaos is what makes Sumac so vital as a live proposition. They take their time and let things breathe and build, which makes the heavier sections land even harder. It demands a lot from the crowd, but if you give yourself over to the experience, then it’s completely absorbing and deeply rewarding.
After sounding the final feedback-drenched notes, Aaron Turner steps away, then comes back to the mic and speaks to the crowd. He talks about how we’ll all return to the stars one day, and that while we are here we should treat each other with love. Such straightforwardness could feel out of place after such an intense and complex set, but it lands perfectly. The sign off gives the whole night a life-affirming human warmth to go with all weighty technical excellence.