Dirty Three

The Nineties marked the definitive twilight of the “arena” bands, of stadium-filling rock and mass hysteria. Pensioned off, or at best left twitching through their final senile spasms, the stadium-packing dinosaurs watched rock splinter into a thousand streams, retreating into the underground but gaining in autonomy and expressive variety. The independent scene benefited most from this, with a generation of bands who, thanks in part to the new communication opportunities offered by the internet, quickly managed to impose their sounds and trends, at least within their respective “niches”.

Something similar happened with post-rock (or instrumental rock, call it what you will), born almost by accident in the basements of Chicago or the small studios of Louisville, and swiftly elevated to “cult” genre of the decade. A catch-all category that often includes Dirty Three as well, though perhaps more for a certain “attitude” than for the actual outcome of their music. The story of the Australian trio is nonetheless emblematic of the post-rock generation: three musicians with no commercial ambitions whatsoever, who grew up as globetrotters split between session work (most notably with fellow countryman Nick Cave) and touring support slots (with Beck, John Cale, John Spencer Blues Explosion, Pavement and Henry Rollins, among others), before one day treating themselves to the indulgence of putting their jam sessions down on CD.

Almost under their breath, Dirty Three quietly honed one of the most significant styles of the decade: a chamber folk-rock that fuses free jazz, blues, country and avant-garde psychedelia with a "post-punk" temperament not far removed from early Cave. But reading their music solely within these (or any other) coordinates would be misleading, so indefinable is their sonic horizon.

After a couple of long-form works ("Sad And Dangerous" and "Horse Stories"), Dirty Three embark (ahem...) on their most ambitious project yet: a concept album about the sea, produced by none other than Steve Albini, guru of American indie-rock. Recorded in Chicago at Electrical Audio Recorders, "Ocean Songs" is a nautical serenade in ten movements, for drums (Jim White), guitar (Mick Turner) and violin (Warren Ellis), with the latter as the undisputed star of the show. Much as John Cale did with the viola, Ellis redraws the role of his instrument within the rock idiom: no longer a byword for "classical" elegance, in the bony hands of this possessed performer the violin becomes, if anything, the Devil's instrument once more, an alternative to the electric guitar (the comparison with Jimi Hendrix isn't so far-fetched) that is even more searing and violent. Starting from hushed opening phrases, Ellis, together with drummer Jim White, unleashes terrifying crescendos in which the strings of his "victim" seem almost to snap, whipped by a fury that recalls the sabbaths of Amon Düül far more than the romantic pieces of Black Tape For A Blue Girl. Tortured and subjugated to rock's depraved nature in this way, the violin loses its original innocence, yet without giving up its most mournful, sorrowful vibrations. And it's precisely within those vortexes of infinite melancholy that Dirty Three seem almost to be paying tribute to another great "visionary" of music: Ennio Morricone.

Openly "dirty" from the very name, the Sporco Trio's approach never loses sight of a sense of balance reminiscent of their "classical" training. Credit is also due to Mick Turner's rhythm guitar, which binds the band's sound together. Turner is also the author of their album covers, evocative visual translations of their music (which in turn is often "visual", painterly) rendered in a few dense, colourful brushstrokes that blend into one another.

A celestial mermaid against a pastel-blue background illustrates the cover of "Ocean Songs". And "Sirena" is also the title of the opening track, introduced by Turner's understated, subtly jazzy guitar arpeggios; Ellis's violin manages to hold its own with just three chords, before locking horns with White's drums; from there, a first gentle crescendo builds, embellished by overdubs of violin and viola chasing each other in elegant flourishes.

With the gates of this submerged Atlantis flung open, Ellis carves out the deeply sorrowful melody of "The Restless Waves", with White's cymbals mimicking the sound of waves breaking against the cliffs. "Distant Shore" further softens the mood, conjuring a mirage of boundless horizons, while minimal guitar phrases lay down a carpet for the violin's arabesques. The latter, multiplied through overdubs and left to float in long drones, is the undisputed ruler of the nine minutes of "Authentic Celestial Music", the album's tour de force, on which — as on the following "Backwards Voyager" — guest David Grubbs contributes piano and harmonium.

The onomatopoeic use of instruments is one of the hallmarks of these "ocean songs". So on "Black Tide" the drums mimic the undertow, the violin the sea breeze, the guitar the lapping of water. The sinuous textures of "Last Horse on the Sand" and "Sky Above, Sea Below" are, by contrast, the calm before the storm of "Deep Waters": sixteen minutes of torrential jamming, in which White's free drumming and Ellis's obsessive violin duel each other, eventually whipping up an imposing wave of sound. Finally, on the closing "Ends of the Earth", Ellis splits his time between violin and piano, generating a series of subtle sonic oscillations, barely rippled by White's brushes.

If American post-rock is fundamentally "music of the metropolis" — cerebral and alienated — Dirty Three's music is the soundtrack to vast, empty spaces, like those of Oceania. But it's also music for states of mind. Sailing aboard their vessel, all contact with reality is lost and one quickly slips into a contemplative dimension. "Ocean Songs", indeed, exudes an enchanted lyricism with the sour tang of sea salt and the dark hues of the deep. It's as if waves crashed among the notes, the wind blew, gulls and sirens sang. It's inevitable, then, to be overwhelmed by that melancholy which takes hold of anyone sailing the oceans or gazing at the sea from the shore, ideally at sunset. An intense, moving record, a world away from the self-indulgent virtuosity of so many bloated instrumental epics of the Nineties.

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29/10/2006