Yelle @ A38

After waxing lyrical yesterday about the presence of space in Icelandic music, today I should tackle another rather country specific sound, namely French electro. Allowing myself a gross generalization, since it’s Friday and I can claim I’m mentally tired or something, French electro generally sounds more cerebral than it’s Anglo-Saxon counterpart, but is not as rigidly engineered as the German one. So it’s the kind of music you can admit to listening to without compromising the pretence of a sophisticated taste, but it’s so much fun nonetheless.

Reading through the French press (another one of those sophisticated things you can do on a Friday), it does however seem that Yelle is apparently more successful abroad then in her homeland, and not sparing you the well nobody is a prophet in their own country part, I can only confirm that the Budapest crowd definitely loved her.

It probably helps that she’s one of those artists who don’t consider electro to be an excuse to sit behind a keyboard and/or Mac, but music that should be performed and especially danced to. The fact that she does it all in splendid red metallic leggings is just the icing on the cake.

Emilíana Torrini @ A38

In an autumn of raucous sold out gigs, there was something positively soothing in the subdued atmoshpere of Emilíana Torrini’s concert. The crowd was a bit slow to gather and only really filled out the ship’s hold during the first song, but even so, there was always plenty of space to move and breathe, both physically, but mentally as well. Come to think of it, Iceland has quite an impressive number of internationally acclaimed acts and they all sound very similar- not necessary the same, but there is a general feeling of space in their music, from the giant endless space with possible erupting volcanoes of Sigur Rós to the quiet space in your backyard of Emilíana- though she probably does have a far vaster backyard than any of us in and around Budapest.

The only drawback of music that gives you space is that, if your mind is just a bit hyperactive, even when it slows down it will still find so many little useless items to cling on to. In no particular order: Emilíana always sings with her eyes closed. Or almost always so let me try and get a shot when...nope, not this time either. But her shoes, oh her shoes are amazing, best shoes to grace the A38 stage in a long while. Or maybe ever. Such lovely shoes. And the girl from the opening act (Naked Woods it was), her tattoo is not bad either. Emilíana’s band, they seem to be English speakers, but the guy at the keyboards looks like a Viking, is he a Viking?!

I can only hope and presume that wandering through an Icelandic landscape of dried lava fields stretching to the horizon, there won’t be much to invade your mind and that’s where music that gives you space functions best. Unless Emilíana comes with those shoes. 

Triggerfinger @ A38

For a country teetering on the brink of de-country-fying itself one of these days, Belgium is doing quite fine on the musical front. Not only did they produce the sublime dEUS, but they’ve also unleashed Triggerfinger on the unsuspecting continent, prompting us to immediately google their home town of Lier- it’s close to Antwerp, mind you, dEUS are form Antwerp, so yes, it seems Antwerp is a good place to be if you’re musically inclined. Or if you want diamonds, and I will stop myself from any ’musical gem’ puns before they really get on your nerves.

So these three fine gentlemen of Lier (I am now at the part where Wikipedia’s Lier entry says it is famed for its beers, yet will stop before I really ramble off topic) have a fondness of Budapest we can only approve of and admire, and make regular stops in our fair city, be it during Sziget or on a foggy autumn day. Since I am on a roll here for bad jokes,  I will mention how Belgian the weather was. Very very Belgian.

There was an overture to the Triggerfinger awesomeness, by way of a local act called The Adolescents- who probably still are just that, but definitely sound and look like that, and might actually grow into something palatable once they’re not really that anymore. On this evening however they were mostly suited for a beer round and a ’guess who in the front row is a relative of the band’ game.  Everyone was the safest bet.

Triggerfinger’s front row was a rather different affair altogether, and sadly included that one twat that ruins every concert by assuming that his enjoyment of it is the only thing that matters. It’s absolutely normal to go a bit haywire to Triggerfinger, but banging yourself to the sound system repeatedly when the organizers begged you not to is a tad daft. I will therefore call all my pictures of his blessed activity, in a modest tribute to the Flemish masters, ’Concert Still with Dumbass’ and move on to what really matters.

So this is where I insert a long diatribe on just how wonderful Ruben Block is with a guitar, and just how unfair it is to Mario and Paul to only blabber about Ruben, and that it basically defies logic that only three people can create such sonic havoc on stage and how brilliant it is that the silliest critic of the evening complained about the fact that there’s only three of them and their songs are too long. Well, that’s the whole point my friend, and if you object, then you don’t deserve to behold the snakeskin magnificence of Monsieur Paul’s boots.

Oh, and did I mention how wonderful Ruben Block is with a...okay, nevermind, here’s the extensive photo material of another brilliant A38 evening.

                                                  Photos by Kuntay Bahtiyar and Iulia Notaros