Reviews

Massive Attack

Point Theatre, Dublin

Massive Attack redefined the lines drawn between rock, dance and electronic music with Blue Lines and Mezzanine. Their latest album, 100th Window, was written by only one member of the original line-up, Robert De Naja, whose bias is more towards the electronic end of the music spectrum, and this is reflected live.

Here, the loudest cheers and, for the most part, the best performances were reserved for songs from the earlier albums. Massive Attack's music has always revolved around the rhythm section, and with musicians this polished it's easy to see why. However, in the few songs that really needed melody above rhythm, song above beat, they failed to produce.

Teardrop was a shadow of itself, the bass grating between the guitar harmony and the percussion; although a talent in her own right, Dot Allison was certainly no match for original vocalist Liz Fraser. Thankfully, this clash was not evident in Unfinished Sympathy, played during the encore.

This is a small complaint, and Massive Attack did admirably what they do best; epic songs with a monolithic low-end, complemented by soaring guitars, keyboards, vocals and other assorted paraphernalia. They set out their stall early, with the powerful Future Proof opening the night. Inertia Creeps pulsed and growled, Small Time Shot Away shifted and grooved, and Angel was every bit as menacing as expected, with a build and kick you felt in the chest.

This band are all about professionalism, and there was little banter between songs, save the obligatory thanks and an anti-war message. Massive Attack mix their music with politics, and a massive screen streamed military statistics, weather reports, binary code and text messages throughout the show. Visually it was the centre-piece of the concert, and very intelligent, in that the content mixed global statistics with individual figures, the information tailored specially for each gig.

An intense, brooding performance showed that collectively and singularly, Massive Attack are still several bends ahead of the musical curve.

- Laurence Mackin

Moya Brennan

Monkstown Church, Dublin

Fittingly, Cúl Aodh sean nós singer, Iarla Ó Lionáird provided support to a chanteuse whose vocal cords have been absent from airwaves and concert halls for far too long.

Despite battling with tonsillitis, Ó Lionáird delivered a tidy gabháil of songs hammocked by that magnificent cavernous voice, (a voice which, he wittily noted, is all too often associated with "depleted uranium-type songs"). His sinewy frame could have been overwhelmed by the yawning surrounds, but Ó Lionáird's been too long on the podium to let mere architectural flourishes undermine his repertoire, which included a beautifully funereal reading of Ailiú Na Gamhna and a lilting lullaby, Tóg Braon Do Seanduine.

Brennan has been absent so long that we had almost forgotten just how pristine her voice is. Freed from the long-time scaffolding of Clannad for quite a few years now, Brennan's been quietly picking her songs, and evolving a sound that claims kinship with the past, but still manages to claim a piece of turf that's all her own.

Brennan's considerable stage presence grew exponentially with every song, those vocal cords soaring towards the upper reaches of the choir stalls, and with the support of an exceptional band, she confidently trawled through her back catalogue and aired an eclectic mix that included Harry's Game, In A Lifetime and the stalwart drinking shanty, Níl Sé Ar Maidin.

Fionán de Barra's guitar, Éamon Galldubh's pipes, flute and low whistle, and the fine fiddling of a woman called Sinéad (whose surname escaped this reviewer's eardrums) ebbed and flowed in lunar tidal waves of magnificent compliance.

Brennan welcomed Ó Lionáird back on stage for a ragged duet on Siúl A Rún, but surprisingly, their two voices almost jostled with one another in search of a shared space.

With the superb backdrop of the stained glass windows, and lighting that intuitively reflected the music, Moya Brennan refused to do wrong.

Quibbles, if any, might have been confined to the heady environs of the church which suppressed the natural instincts of the punters who might otherwise have stepped out in unison during the encore.

 - Siobhan Long

Ulster Orchestra - Rumon Gamba

Ulster Hall, Belfast

Miaskovsky - Serenade Op 32 No 1. Prokofiev - Violin Concerto No 1. Borodin - In the Steppes of Central Asia. Borodin - Symphony No 1.

Nikolai Miaskovsky is something of an enigma. Notwithstanding his prolific output, which includes 27 symphonies, few of his works are at all well-known (outside Russia, at least), and his subtle and elusive art lacks the obviously striking qualities of his younger contemporary Prokofiev.

But perhaps he just needs performances of the order of this account of his 1929 Serenade. Rumon Gamba's flexible, positive phrasing breathed life into Miaskovsky's wayward melodic lines, and his attention to dynamics made every detail count, without overplaying the music, and sustained interest through the longish slow movement.

The familiar In the Steppes of Central Asia, on the other hand, lacked atmosphere, and although Gamba attacked Borodin's First Symphony with vigour the composer's sometimes fussy rhythms did not always gel. In the Prokofiev Concerto one would have liked less diffident playing from the soloist, Ilya Gringolts.

 - Dermot Gault