Dead Meadow – The Drop, London – 14/4/11
4/5
By: Thomas Hannan
There’s a lot one could hate about Dead Meadow – the self indulgent solos, the name ‘Dead Meadow’, the fact that every gig of theirs feels like you’re watching a band perform in a lava lamp. And indeed, the reasons to love them (which I truly do) are hard to pinpoint. But I’ll spend the next few paragraphs giving it a go.
Ok, so hugely engrossing performances like this one at teeny tiny north London venue The Drop are definitely a part of it. Seeing this kind of big bad rock music played in a room that becomes uncomfortable if it’s got more than fifty people in it (and there must be double that here tonight – they’re actually climbing up the walls) really does feel like a ‘tell your mates you were there’ sort of evening. Indeed, why they’re even bothering to play somewhere so small is pretty baffling. But everyone here’s having a blast, not least the band themselves.
And having dwelt on it a while, I’d say that last point is probably the source of my admiration. The glee Dead Meadow take from the ridiculously un-cool, couldn’t be less hip music they make is completely infectious. Rather than willing the improvised ‘jam band’ moments of their sets to wrap up quickly, you start to revel in the ludicrousness of each and every dual guitar solo being pushed past the mark where it starts to wane to become actually kinda funny. It’s not pointed out often enough, but there’s definitely a sense of humour on display here – or maybe just an unabashed, childlike love of the oft-derided medium of psychedelic rock – that isn’t given its dues.
There are examples of great songwriting, towering riffs and a drummer who despite not even being mic’d up manages to kick the crap out of his kit in a manner that reverberates in your ribcage too. So, quite a lot to get excited about. But save the talk of things like their considerable melodic prowess for discussions of their records – live, Dead Meadow succeed because they’ve found a way to make their own indulgences seem like communal events, with the audience egging them on to disappear further and further in to joyous absurdity.
Artists in this article: Dead Meadow
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