Psychic Tv

Genesis P. Orridge is a genius, and we already knew that. Seeing him live still makes quite an impression, in his slightly clumsy yet ultimately assured movements, with his charisma, with the whole weight of his past, his bodily metamorphoses, the sufferings he has endured almost without flinching, which have marked his whole tormented life, clearly visible in the visuals right behind him. Tonight history becomes an evident mask of pain and transcendence in the shape of a combo, Psychic Tv, assembled by the minstrel who founded the legendary, essential Throbbing Gristle.

They make their appearance onstage with an honesty and charisma rarely seen live, looking like an even more dishevelled version of the Shaggs, with that wildly colourful hippie look of survivors of the drug-addled storm of the late Sixties. They launch straight into tracks from their latest, remarkable work titled "Mr. Alien Brain Vs. the Skinwalkers", released last year on Sweet Nothing/Cargo Records. In fact they play the whole album; we immediately recognise the opening track "The Thin Garden", a sweet, brief, dreamy carillon-song that sounds as if it came from the pen of a reconciled Lou Reed, the true obsession of this English musician transplanted to the States. Then, one after another, come the other tracks: the tragic "No Good Trying", with lyrics worthy of another great dropout like Syd Barrett, and then the smooth, post-Stooges blues of "Trussed", complete with organ weaving through it all.

Bringing back and animating the band's acid past is then the techno-oriented, very 80s "Papal Breakdance", as if a resurrected Joy Division had started playing drunk, all synths, under the effect of heavy doses of spoiled ketamine. The ghost of the great Silver Apples hovers restlessly in the air of this incandescent live set, which leaves us stunned, almost surprised to find ourselves in the presence of musicians with such refined, omnivorous taste, capable of recreating distant, almost forgotten atmospheres. But we should have expected as much from someone like Mr. Genesis P. — after all, his pedigree speaks for itself. Then comes an unexpected Mogwai–style version of a masterpiece like "Pickles and Jam", the peak of the act, with its dreamy, repeated guitar embroidery, held up by Alice Genese's circling bass, and by the once again pained, evocative, chanting voice of Genesis P. Orridge; a tormented journey into the deepest abysses of our consciousness. Words fail.

Worth mentioning too is the Stones-like "Foggy Notion", a long excursion through a text by the ever-present Lou Reed, tucked away in some distant corner of memory, in which David Max's guitar tears along at full speed, proud to be so out of step with time and trends. Next comes a tribute to his late partner, Lady Jaye Breyer, who died a couple of years ago in his arms: "I Am Making A Mirror" is pure pop voluptuousness in a Velvet-esque vein, one that Nico would have loved. "New York Story" is, once again, a heartfelt tribute to the atmospheres of "Velvet Underground & Nico"; on record, production and mixing were handled by Michael (Young God) Gira: guitar drenched in the usual effects, keyboards galore, and lyrics with a heroin flavour, ça và sans dire…

The set lasts a little over an hour and twenty minutes; at one point Orridge even jumps off the stage to hug a fan he'd singled out since the start of the concert. After a very brief pause, the band returns to close out in style an evening we won't easily forget. So it's only right to say it once more: class is, indeed, not just water…

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