Review of Jackie O Motherfucker, Bristol, UK with Six Organs of Admittance
https://freq.org.uk/reviews/jackie-o-strange-brew/
Jackie O prove to be less wayward than in past viewings, the noisy freakouts replaced by a mellow campfire fuzz that is rather agreeable. A show of shimmery frets and arrowed harmonics carpeted in the subtle ebb of swirling effects. The bayoneted brilliance of Tom Greenwood’s words hazily biting that drumless flow. Set-wise it’s a dreamy compilation of tracks from Ballads Of The Revolution, Flags Of The Sacred Harp and Bloom.
A choice set of tunes, each milky in melancholic reflection, mutating observation points that instinctively glow. That circling softness of “A Mania” is a resplendent thing that jewels in jagged prose and subtle duet. Its impressionistic repeats hooking you up in an array of autumnal hues and the spiritual widescreen of the wilderness.
In between songs, Tom says his guitar is shorting; I honestly couldn’t tell — from where I was standing this tranquil tapestry had zero flaws and luckily he decides to roll with it for the rest of the show. Things then hit a dark sinuous tone on “The Corner”, a song infused with bent up shapes and drifting phantoms. The hatted guitarist, adding abstract grit to the keyboardist’s randomised shade, her hands hovering over the keys, constantly in search of the perfect fit. The vocals languid, latch-keyed to the saturated whole, candidly corrugated.
Earlier in the set, somebody requests “Hey Mr Sky”; “We’ll get to that”, is Tom’s reply and when it hits it’s bloody magnificent. The performers locked in and pushing at its heady flavour, that drizzled sway of knotted guitar and bloodshot keys sending your fingers into spidered spirals. A bountiful beauty that curves out on a sunset of fret stretched e-bow.
Saving the best until last, a yet to be released tour-bred creation breaks, a real privilege to witness. The drummer finally filling that empty drum kit behind to supply some skittering percussives as things leap from the hammocked sway of the previous to blister a shoe-gazed exit. An ace in the hole that results in a mini-merch scrum.
-Michael Rodham-Heaps-