There are bands that demand your attention through sheer volume, and then there are bands like YHWH Nailgun, who seem intent on dismantling the very idea of what a rock show can be. At a packed and sweat-soaked Oxford Art Factory, the New York quartet transform the intimate room into something restless, unpredictable and impossible to ignore.
Before they appear, Marcus Whale delivers a compelling opening set. Whale’s music occupies a fascinating space between ceremony and confrontation. It is less concerned with conventional songcraft than creating an atmosphere that steadily envelops the room, and it proves a riveting way to prepare the audience for what follows.
By the time YHWH Nailgun take the stage at 9pm, there is little ceremony. No lengthy introduction, no dramatic entrance, just four guys who saunter onto the stage carrying the reputation of one of New York’s most uncompromising underground acts, bolstered by the knowledge that Nick Cave has counted himself among their admirers. That endorsement makes sense within minutes. Like Cave at his most unguarded, the band understand that tension can be every bit as compelling as release.
Their recently released second album, Magazine, has become something of a talking point. Ten tracks packed into just 11 minutes is an almost cheeky proposition, one that feels like a challenge to expectations of what constitutes an album. After all the discussion surrounding its brevity, tonight’s performance demonstrates that the record was never intended to be measured by its runtime. Instead, it functions as a concentrated burst of ideas, each one bleeding into the next before disappearing almost as quickly as it arrives.
What immediately commands attention is Zack Borzone. His performance is utterly absorbing, because he appears completely consumed by the music. There is an intensity reminiscent of watching Ian Curtis, not in the physical vocabulary of his movements, but in the sense of witnessing someone who seems to disappear entirely inside the songs. Around him, Sam Pickard’s tightly coiled drumming, Saguiv Rosenstock’s fractured guitar work and Jack Tobias’ abrasive synth textures lock together with remarkable precision, creating music that constantly threatens to collapse without ever doing so.
The Oxford Art Factory proves an ideal setting for music this physical. The room compresses every jagged rhythm and distorted synth into something almost tangible, while the crowd responds with equal measures of fascination and exhilaration. Heads nod instinctively and a circle pit erupts before the band veer sharply in another direction, refusing to settle into any recognisable groove for long. The result is abrasive but never directionless, experimental without feeling academic.
The performance is over by 9.42pm, hardly surprising given the concise running time of Magazine, but its brevity only reinforces the impact. Somewhere behind me, someone simply says, “That was sick.”
They’re right.
YHWH Nailgun don’t leave behind memorable choruses or obvious crowd-pleasers. They leave behind a feeling. Forty minutes after walking on with barely a word, they depart having delivered an enthralling live experience that lingers long after the lights come up. It is the kind of performance that will be remembered for a very long time.
Images Deb Pelser
The tour moves to Brisbane next, tickets HERE.
