Shellac-1024x896Shellac in Whelan’s on November 20th 2013

The now customary Shellac mid-gig Q&A session isn’t something that generally throws up many insightful nuggets, but it’s never less than entertaining. Tonight’s revelations are more enlightening than most previous, so let’s get the most pressing audience question out of the way. Kim Gordon’s panties are, Steve Albini surmises, leopard print, based on his anecdote that the one-time Sonic Youth bassist used to carry a spare pair around in her jacket pocket to hurl at cock rock bands who were getting too into themselves. There are many more issues discussed, of course, but aside from their onstage shenanigans and top class banter Shellac are one of the most dependable bands in the business. In fact, it is safe to assume that Shellac will never play a bad gig.

When Albini isn’t engineering records or hanging out with Lil Bub – “the Marilyn Monroe of deformed internet kitties” – himself, Bob Weston and Todd Trainer take the Shellac show on the road for no other reason than they can…and for shits’n’giggles. On this jaunt they’ve brought with them cellist Helen Money on support, who takes to the stage alone. What follows is a unique approach to the instrument, as Money angles the cello at the floor to elicit a drone. She uses pedals to layer abrasive, distorted chords, manoeuvring the cello to pull different charnel textures from its form. The set revolves around Radio Recorders, whose dense ambient tones move around a hardcore drum sample, never less than orchestral yet befitting a Dario Argento soundtrack. It’s a form of post rock not a million miles away from Slint, or Godspeed You! Black Emperor – even Shellac – with the slightest of twists of the cello’s body yielding a feedback whine as broken strands fall from her bow.

It’s a traditional Shellac stage set-up with Todd Trainer’s drums front and centre, flanked by Albini and Weston. In a lot of ways their set revolves around the drummer. His colleagues disappear into the wings during Steady As She Goes, still playing, to let Trainer do his thing before Albini launches himself head first back into the fold. Watch Song sees them pick up drumsticks and lash the cymbals at either side of Trainer until that sound is all there is; Trainer leans back to hit the cymbal set up directly behind him before the other two line up at his back like The Stooges – the ‘Three’, not the band. The fundamental bad travel advice of Chris De Burgh’s Don’t Pay The Ferryman is discussed at length before an incendiary Squirrel Song, and one over-zealous amateur film-maker is berated by Weston for recording the gig (I don’t wanna be in your movie!”). Another vocal joiner-in’er is gently ribbed by Albini, who stops Prayer To God to inform him his accompaniment is somewhat of a distraction.

This is all part and parcel of the Shellac experience, a gig where folk aren’t afraid to chip in on the to-and-fro that flows on and between stage and crowd. End Of Radio is Trainer’s moment in a night of many. He rises slowly, snare drum held aloft, walking around the stage rat-a-tatting and hurling sticks into the air. It’s an extended version, with Albini going on a lyrical flight of fancy cataloguing pirates, dragons and…Chris De Burgh. As on record, their songs are coiled tight like a spring, with expanses of air between the crunches of guitars and the snap and thunder of Trainer’s restrained style. The violence within the songs is implicit, a notion belied by the sheer amount of fuck acting that peppers their live shows. A new album is imminent in ‘Dude, Incredible’ – let the Shellac roadshow roll ever onwards.