To mention anything about ‘extinction’ in a review of Dinosaur Jr would be slightly crass, right? But, sorry, it can’t be helped. The sight of J Mascis stood motionless save for stoically hacking at his guitar, two metres of gray hair swishing either side of him like a pair of basset hounds ears, is too mind-blowing to overlook. Someone preserve him and place him behind glass in the Natural History Museum, please.
Cliched, ageist jokes aside, Massachusetts’ veteran trio Dinosaur Jr are stronger, louder, whinier and riffier than way back when they were sharing spliffs with Kurt Cobain and tonight’s gig could be safely deemed to be classic stoner grunge at its very finest.
The setlist relied heavily on material from Farm, the band’s 2009 comeback album, but considering they have a massive 25-years worth of material behind them inevitably it was old material that resulted in what passed for a mosh pit followed by a few empty ale beakers being lobbed from a balcony.
First things first, and the opening support slot belonged to Yuck, who as a band straight of the starting blocks could easily pass for the offspring of tonight’s eagerly anticipated final act. Maybe it would be an overstatement to suggest it was like Dinosaur Jr cloned with the addition of two females and the 21st century, but Yuck embodied the true nature of early-90s dirge garage.
Next up were Built to Spill, providing the genuine early-90s dirge garage. After the exuberance of a nubile and budding Yuck, they unfortunately appeared to be slightly strained, but were nonetheless silky smooth and beautifully synchronised.
As the Dinosaur Jr emerged on stage, lit by suitably moody blue lighting complimented by a nicely retro smoke machine, the razorsharp atmosphere was smashed by J Mascis thrashing into action, literally churning out song after song, honed to perfection – would it also be clichéd to compare them to a fine wine? – creating an intense wall of distorted noise.
As much as the whole set was mesmerising and delivered with effortless finesse, Freak Scene and Feel the Pain were two highlights. Sadly omitted were Start Choppin’ (that particularly pained-sounding one that everyone knows) and their cracking Cure cover Just Like Heaven.
Verbal discourse was kept to a level only to be expected of three socially awkward garage geeks, though at one point mighty Mascis mumbled what passed for a display of gratitude before launching into a lengthy encore involving a six minute squeaky, oscillating guitar solo.
You’d be hard pushed and frankly tasteless not to be impressed by Dinosaur Jr live. Their sound is frighteningly tight, sounding infinitely better than on CD. However, if you were to be cynical, critical and a misery, the band could be perceived as going through the motions, a curse put upon any old-schoolers who innocently chose to reform our of good will, as opposed to financial awards, nostalgia or boredom.
Not that this means we shouldn’t welcome their comeback with open arms. There is little new fangled modern music around at the moment to rival Dinosaur Jr’s indisputably angsty, cerebral rock and, of course, the best riffs this side of Seattle.
Natalie Hardwick
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