Narc. Magazine Online
Reliably informed
Lee Fisher enjoys a cleansing maelstrom of noise and emotions courtesy of One Leg One Eye
Image: One Leg One Eye by Lee Fisher
Despite being constantly busy with his remarkable doom-psych-drone project Smote and now also being the guitarist in the mighty Bong II (… electric boogaloo), Daniel Foggin is also notching up a few gigs as a solo, noise table artist and, unsurprisingly, it’s superb stuff. Reviewing pure noise sets is tricky, you’re denied the usual reference points (“I liked the song about the lass”, “that saxophone was unnecessary”) and you’re left with sensations. Over around 30 minutes, Foggin gave us a kaleidoscope of throbbing, pulsing, cycling harmonics, deep rumblings, unearthly tones and a cataclysmic bass tone that I haven’t heard since the last time I saw Sunn O))). His set gave me a heady rush, itchy teeth, troubled internal organs and a strange sense of bliss.
Ian Lynch’s ‘Irish blackened-deconstructed-folk project’ One Leg One Eye, now expanded to a duo with the addition of George Brennan, is a far different beast from his band Lankum, although Irish folk is very much still in the mix, alongside harsh noise, alarming soundscapes, and the ever-present drone (very much a base element of Lankum too, of course). As Brennan works his magic on a table-top crammed with boxes, Ian switches between Uilleann pipes, a hurdy-gurdy (customised, I think) and his voice. Vocal snippets and field recordings are dropped in and out, and Lynch’s keening vocals relate what must be a sorrowful lament in a sean nos style. At times I’m reminded of Nurse With Wound at their darkest and least Dadaist (Salt Marie Celeste, perhaps, or Soliloquy For Lilith. There’s a tremendous sense of place in what One Leg One Eye do – it’s all redolent of lush green windswept hills, ancient rocks, stone circles. There’s dread and sadness here. Horror too – chanted voices, cracking bones, summonings from beyond. Lynch pushes his instruments far beyond the boundaries of folk, Brennan conveys melancholy and alarm with punishing low tones and drones like a relentless gale. The sound builds and fades, threatening to become overwhelming, an elemental roar, then falls back to Lynch’s simple, plaintive pipes. By the end, the sound is a maelstrom and Lynch is on his knees, rocking back and forth, manipulating his pedals. It feels climactic, apocalyptic. And then we’re left with the sound of the sea ebbing and flowing.
The cleansing power of beautiful noise. It’s a balm for the troubled soul.
