Live Review: Boris, Tangled Thoughts Of Leaving

Having supported Boris around Australia, tonight represented something of a successful homecoming for Tangled Thoughts Of Leaving.

With a wealth of advanced skills to draw upon, Tangled Thoughts Of Leaving built towering instrumentals driven by the ever-evolving rhythms of drummer Behn Stacy and the rangy, fluid fingers of Ron Pollard on keys, his face obscured under a sweat-sodden mop of hair. While there are many bands exploring the outer perimeters of metal, no one is doing it quite like Tangled Thoughts Of Leaving, and for that they should be treasured. Most encouraging was the airing of a new, staggeringly epic piece that hints that their best is not only yet to come, but with a new double LP on the horizon, it may be soon.

Tonight was a celebration of the tenth (well, tenth and a bit) anniversary of Boris' breakthrough album Pink, which was played in its entirety and mostly in order. Instead of opening with the twinkling beauty of Farewell, possibly their best-known piece, they dropped a veritable anvil by opening with the deathly ominous Blackout, before firebombing us with their most aggressive psych-punk numbers. Guitarist Wata in particular was in outrageous form, impassively peeling off classic riffs and volcanic solos embodied with her patented "hot sound", which flowed like bubbling hot audio-lava. Compared to when Pink was initially released — when they were somewhat insular and reluctant or possibly too shy to try out their English — tonight showed how Boris' stage presence and communication has bloomed. Even Takeshi Ohtani, who never used to say a word, commanded us with James Ellroy-esque brevity to "drink more beer. Make noise".

Despite the infamous title track being dispensed with early on, Boris seemed to burn brighter than ever with increasing intensity, culminating brutally in a perfectly executed Just Abandoned Myself; a psychoactive, trance-inducing plunge into vast undulating waves of overdrive and static. Remember that scene from Interstellar where our protagonists are threatened by waves several miles high? This was the noise equivalent. Its final collapse and metamorphosis into Farewell, perhaps Boris' prettiest tune, was almost like relief, or a sweet release, at least until the driving low riff came crashing in, transporting us once again to nirvana. The reaction from the room was unequivocal; sheer joy. By the end, we all felt ten (and a bit) years younger.