Current 93

A full 17 years have passed since the Current 93 vinyl of "Swastikas for Noddy" started spinning in my mind, and it's as if it never stopped. Their music has marked the years of my life and provided an astonishing soundtrack to my obsessions. Having listened to them for days on end, with undiminished passion, has given rise to an intimacy with their music that goes beyond mere "sound", one that embraces the essence of things and takes shape as a phantasmagoric, shared vision.

Following Tibet's artistic path has also meant following the human and spiritual trials that led him from Darkness to Light – traces of which can be found in the immense “Of ruine or some blazing starre” – trials that repeatedly brought him close to a physical death he both feared and exorcised, as the wonderful “Bright yellow moon” attests.

It's inevitable, then, to think of him as a friend, as one of those people who, when they speak or sing to you, aim straight for the heart, laying themselves completely bare, without holding anything back.

Tibet is a lucid, transparent soul. And so it is in a state of mind bordering on mystical hysteria that I find myself in the marvellous Teatro Juvarra. An unexpected place, hidden behind a sturdy wooden door; you'd never imagine that behind it beats a venue so singular – as singular as the music of Current 93 – and that makes me smile.

The theatre is very minimal, bare and spartan; the acoustics are excellent, as becomes clear when Tibet pulls the microphone away from his lips and lets his voice resonate all around the room; this happens two or three times, right in the middle of songs, and it makes the performance even more evocative. A commendable choice by the organisers, given the huge demand for tickets, to simultaneously screen the event on a big screen set up in the bar area in front of the entrance to the theatre hall.

Serving as prologue to the evening is Simon Finn: he has an incredible voice, beautiful and powerful, which gives its best in the visionary ride that is “Jerusalem”, the closing track of his roughly 40-minute mini-set. His emotion is plain to see, especially at the start, and he turns out to be very shy as well. Few words and considerable embarrassment in the face of the continuous shows of affection and esteem that Tibet pays him throughout the Current 93 performance; Tibet tells us about how he met Simon, and how hard it was to track him down, given that he was even rumoured to be dead, and then their eventual meeting, thanks to David Toop, in Montreal. Tibet bows before him before performing one of his songs: “Courtyard”.

A striking choice of music served as backdrop at the start of both sets. I couldn't tell you whose ancestral female voice filled the room, but it was truly moving, like listening to an Eastern version of Gregorian chant; for many it will have been absolute tedium, but for me it was further confirmation of how deeply immersed Tibet has lately been in these sacred, liturgical chants.

Heralding Tibet's messianic appearance on stage are Finn himself – guitar –, Joolie Wood – violin, flute, transverse flute –, cellist John Contreras and Maja Elliott on piano. The first thing that strikes you is that they're all barefoot and seem to have stepped straight out of the cover of the Incredible String Band's “The hangman's beautiful daughter”, a photo that Current 93 themselves imitated for the artwork of the album “Earth covers earth”.

The notes are unmistakably those of Simon and Garfunkel's “Sound of Silence”, rendered in chamber-music form, as the link confirms. A surprising choice, but in keeping with the genuine passion Tibet has for the music of the '60s and '70s, as shown by the recovery of hidden gems such as Sand's “Golem” and Simon Finn's own “Pass the distance”. David makes his appearance in bohemian guise, elegant, with a bottle of white wine in hand.

A few verses whispered with real feeling before sliding seamlessly into “Time of the last persecution”, a track featured on the 7" sold at the recent Toronto concert. A heart-rending violin settles over the melancholy notes of Elliott's piano, while Tibet writhes, almost possessed, letting his emphatic voice ring out into the air.

Without a moment's respite, and in a kind of trance, we find ourselves wrapped in the funereal drapery of “It is time, only time” from “Soft black star”. Many of the songs performed come from this album, which Tibet considers one of his best, and which for sheer intensity I'd place alongside the pitch-black “Imperium”.

The first blow to the heart comes with “Maldoror is ded ded ded”, simply harrowing. Tibet's voice soars in all its intensity and drama. It's at this point that many in the audience became aware of being part of a rite, a dark, private ceremony strewn with quotations, references and experiences.

Tibet sings, curses, unfurls himself, straining into an intimate voodoo, and we're fleetingly touched and absorbed by it. The brief “Antichrist”, resting entirely on piano, again from “Soft Black Star”, leads us towards another of the evening's emotional peaks: “Calling for vanished faces II” is pure balm for the heart. Wood's desolate flute, Elliott's swelling piano, David's possessed voice, masterfully struck at the strings of the soul. The audience follows, rapt and enraptured, through the entire duration of the ceremony orchestrated by this extraordinary visionary who, now bare-chested, repeatedly comes down from the stage to draw us into an imaginary embrace, as though we were his disciples.

Then comes “Bells”, and “Black Flowers, Please” from “Swastikas for Noddy” – the version performed is the one featured as the B-side of the single sold at the Toronto concert –, and unexpectedly there followed an enchanting version of “Niemanswasser” from “Sleep has his house”.

The heart tightens and bleeds, pierced by Wood's harrowing violin. But Tibet won't stop surprising us, and once “Soft black star” ends, he dedicates it to a girl sitting in the front row, visibly pregnant, wishing that she might hum it, like a lullaby, while rocking her newborn. Truly enchanting.

After “Mockingbird”, also from the album “Soft black star”, came “Alone”, the closing track of that claustrophobic, dark record that is “Imperium”. A song with desperate, chilling lyrics in their merciless clarity, in their raw analysis of human fate. “..even death is better than this usefull life…”. Pathos through the roof. The synth gives way to Elliott's obsessive piano and Finn's bleak guitar arpeggios, saturating the air with the purest emotion.

To ease the sky-high tension came the sweet, consoling "Whilst the night rejoices profound and still". The curtain fell and the audience, ever composed, reverently silent and attentive, burst into an unrelenting wave of applause, seduced by Tibet's charisma and the searing intensity of the music on offer. Among the crowd were many foreigners: Germans, French, Spaniards, testament to the genuinely cult-like following the "current" commands.

I was struck by the scar on Tibet's belly, as if it were a display of human fragility, and by his choice of white wine to quench his thirst (in Naples back in '91, I recall him sticking exclusively to wholesome fruit juice!).

The return to the stage for the encore is dazzling: "Courtyard" by Simon Finn, from his 1970 album, reinterpreted with real mastery. Nearing the close, Tibet gives us a moving "A gothic love song". The emotion is sincere and palpable. And so the farewell is entrusted to the dirge "At the blue gates of death", a wry, mocking finale in pure Current 93 style.

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