### Ulver: 2010-02-10

#### 04/03/11 || The Duff

Who: Ulver When: 10th February, 2010 Where: The Scala, London, UK

Ulver toured Norway not so long ago as well as a select number of locations around Europe, the first time they’ve performed live in some 13 years. I missed the chance to see them hit the UK the initial occasion, and due to management mishandling and Garm’s (Garm, Garm “I’m even peaceful when I’m shitting bricks” Garm) consequent disgruntled outlook towards a minority of the British people (I think termed “assholes”), I sighed inwardly and thought the likelihood of witnessing a spectacle such is an Ulver live show (having checked out YouTube clips and dribbled profusely over my keyboard) slimmer than my short n’ not so stocky John Silver on a cold Winter’s morning after a coffee and a couple of smokes. Then they announce a return to the land of generally awkward folk with a full blown specialized tour. Hmmmmm I have an erection.

This was the second time I had made the trip up to London in a week having caught Decapitated’s reunion tour just the previous Monday (karma sure was being my dick in a pot of lukewarm honey around then I say), and the venue none other than the accommodating The Scala where I had soaked in the tumult of a Nile set list. A couple of Red Stripes and a neglecting of the over-pricey merch (not even the female tees were any cheaper, inferior though women are with their “mental issues”, “weak bladders” and “birth pains”), and I headed on in to check out the support acts. The first was, surprise, an electro-ambient band (more of the former) mixed with the drone I can only most closely associate with Sunn O))), drone generally being a fat pile of shit. They looked Swedish and that was that; they probably weren’t Swedish.

The next band up was a solo artist in a black garb, reminding me of a necromancer or conjurer of black magics but in a concert venue just a fucken asshat who liked to rove the bevy of front row titties but didn’t want people to know where his eyes were scavenging, or what his hands were molesting belt-level. The music he was creating was, to put bluntly, pants, as it consisted of the use of an enormous mixing desk of which he used the “loop” feature for every single fucking song, essentially running up waves of vocal noise that could be replicated by many but would sound ridiculous deprived of volume and the resonance offered by the concert room, following up with chants or spoken sections that could be mistaken for anything – the energy was flat despite the lust for his anus to be a vessel by which malevolent spirits could enter our dimension, and although people were nodding their heads appreciatively, I got the feeling they had little clue of what they were admiring, instead siding with common belief that the man was a visionary, unique and sidelining the fact that the music was ghastly and the result of a one-trick pony with little on offer to begin with.

Ah, Ulver, how we loved thee. Before the show, because I couldn’t bring in the full jewel case of “A Quick Fix of Melancholy” (in my top three albums of all time), I simply placed the insert into my pocket hoping it wouldn’t get too crushed; well, noticing Garm sidelining the venue talking to fans with the know-hows-of-whens-and-whatnows, I got an erection just by the splendour of his vision, creasing the thin, fragile slip of card in several places because my cock isn’t as minuscule as I may lead on for the sake of readership chuckles. Then his indifference at my presence encouraged me to cum all over and inside the sleeve’s material. Looking down, I thought were I to just run to the toilets and get some tissue pa-… then I came again.

And then Ulver took the fucken stage. Tracks ebbed and flowed, Garm taking centre-front stage and running as if on air, hitting the audience with his emotive, incredibly forceful yet delicate vocals that are remarkably genuine on disc – the fact he emulated them so well in a live setting took me aback, as generally so pure they are that I figured replicating them entirely by himself would be a tough course of action. As a backdrop to Garm and the real drummer, who played amazingly I might add, was a video of people and things and stuff, most strikingly of all the Nazi regime and its “follow-in-numbers” mentality (when people applauded it, I thought “Errr… you’re applauding yourselves, you retardo hypocrites…”), and the very end cut, some twenty minute piano crescendo that moved I’m sure so many in the room going by the energy at the time, all with a picture of a young boy on display, possibly an image of the innocence stolen from youth by an impure world.

On either side were the electronic support, two to Garm’s left turning and twisting shit and one to his right in kinda Indie clothing (I guess?) turning, twisting and sticking his dick into shit. I might add that, if you think Ulver to be too high-brow for this live-review, and that such language would make Garm spit into his cornflakes, then I would urge to remind you they posted my first review of “A Quick Fix…” on their website so many years ago, REJECTING ALL OTHERS! Although now the website has been updated… They played, aside from the unknown closer, cuts off “Shadows of the Sun” (“EoS” and “Like Music”, if memory serves me correctly), “Blood Inside” (“For the Love of God” and “Operator”?) “Themes from William Blake’s The Marriage Between Heaven and Hell”, “Perdition City” (not “Lost in Moments”, I’m guessing because Garm covered most of the instruments other than the drums, which were limited to percussive anyways, so a sax was probably off the menu), a medley of sorts as well as “Little Blue Bird” – NO FUCKING “EITTTLANE”!?!! But then my jeans were already in quite a state.

The crowd stayed on, but the band came back out only to say they weren’t such to perform encores. Very graciously, they exited, and I was left with the thought that I’d witnessed something immensely special, transcending death/thrash concerts I’d seen in the past – the energy was one very settled, all-surrounding. Went easy on the booze, a couple of shifty opening acts, merch that was completely useless to me and the omission of “Eitttlane”, combined with the fact I’d finally seen one of the most uplifting bands of our time leaves this with a:

9 magical evenings out of 10.