Shut up and sink into it: Mogwai and Lankum at South Facing Festival
Sometimes, you have to just shut up and stand there, sink into the moment, and say nothing. Sometimes, I wonder if I purely go to gigs to sing along, like some kind of immersive karaoke—you can’t do that at Mogwai.
“I actually don’t know a single Mogwai song,” I admitted on the long train ride to Crystal Palace. I’d heard the name, obviously, or seen it around, but never actually investigated. Then, the deeper into my role as a music writer and the deeper into my life I got, I guess, it almost became too embarrassing to finally backtrack and go listen to the hyper-influential Scottish band.
Instead, I knew Lankum songs, and I wanted to see them live again on a crisp summer evening. I figured I’d do that, standing silently transfixed, hearing their traditional folk with its gothic edge. They more than provided that as the final rendition of ‘Go Dig My Grave’ punches goosebumps into my skin each and every time, as Radie Peat’s voice is unlike any other I’ve heard, being both angelic and darkly emotional. I knew I’d feel all of that on the train over, and then hoped I’d simply feel zenned out or inquisitive enough to not get bored during a long set of songs I wouldn’t be able to recognise.
“Oh, you don’t need to,” my friend reassured me, “It’ll make no difference. They’re a stand there and get lost in it type of band.”
Things have been stressful lately. It’s a busy summer of travelling and festivals and then more standard work, maintaining a social life, all the usual life admin. I love gigs and go to a lot of them, but when that’s your job, even those shows feel frantic. You show up, you have fun, you sing along, but also in the back of your mind, you’re panicked, trying to mentally write a piece or at least constantly reaching for your phone to take notes. With word that Mogwai would be different, that they’re a “stand there and get lost in it type of band”, I decided to try something new out, which was simply shutting up and sinking into it. No notes, no considerations, just sway.
Watching Mogwai asks bigger questions of me. It asks me to consider what I like about music, what I like about gigs, what hooks me into a song and what keeps me there. Before, I would have always said lyrics, but when the only words the band utters are drenched in vocal effect, too much to make out, that falls away. Instead, I’m left with just sounds and lights and a complete surrender that the band’s music seems to pull out of everyone around me, too.
Even as some people already sporting their t-shirts sway more knowingly and are clearly already clued up on the next instrumental turns, everyone is moving the same. The crowd bobs like a sea, but a still and calm one, still safe to swim in even when the heavier moments kick in, and they kick in loudly, and a few arms raise out of the surface and into the air, or a few heads begin to bang back and forth like waves.
I just float and watch, transfixed by the players moving between instruments with so much ease or wondering exactly how they’re making these epic soundscapes. I’m blown away by the flawlessness of it all and how that smothers the crowd. I stand there, I shut up, I sink into it, and they make it easy.
Then it’s over, and we’re back on the long train home. I still don’t know the songs, but suddenly, I hear them now. Ethel Cain has just released her new record, and my friend is the first to point it out: “This sounds like a Mogwai song.” I say, “I know, I like it.”
