Master Musicians of Bukkake | Shit & Shine | Bill Hortiz - Corsica Studios, London, 26 April 2010

I’m body searched before being allowed in. Not sure what they’re looking for. Experimental rock crowds don’t tend to cause trouble.

Bill Horitz plays guitar, but only in the sense that’s the basis for the noises he creates. He never plays it conventionally. Maybe he doesn’t know how. He makes it sound like an oud. He samples himself then plays over the top of it creating raga-ish drones.

He puts some weird device on the frets, I’ve no idea what, allowing him to strike low end notes. For a brief moment there is some conventional playing then it’s into the slow tones of Sunn O))) doom. An electric toothbrush appears and it’s vibrating casing is pushed against the strings creating a high-pitched whine.

Horitz set continually evolves as he seeks different ways to coax new sounds from the guitar. Drum sticks and a cymbal are shoved under the strings. What look like surgical clamps are fastened to the frets. Shrill chirrups, shimmering tones and bass reverb turn into the sort of malfunctioning guitar solo the Dead C specialise in.

Shit & Shine have set up in a small side room. Wherever you stand you’re next to an amplifier. They start quietly. A bit of electronic gadget noise wash. Then the pulverising begins. Five drummers lock-in on a simple rhythm. Two bassists grind away. More electronic noise washes over the as the drummers beat slowly mutates.

The singer, dressed like a Licensed to Ill era Beastie Boy, continually chugs beer. He clutches a toy rabbit to his chest. Sometimes he screams at it. Behind him two other band members are wearing rabbit eared balaclavas. It’s like a twisted, sinister, take on Donnie Darko. The volume and repetition is exhilarating.

Back to the main room for Master Musicians of Bukkake. You can barely see for fog of dry ice. A bell tolls. The Master Musicians dressed as satanic beekeepers - long black robes and veiled faces - are summoned to the stage. They are all dressed alike except the singer whose face is obscured by a Peruvian death mask.

Their sound is like a darker more primal Popol Vuh. Droney, murky, this is rock as incantation. Music as sacred rite. Ancient rituals, processions of druids, temples reaching towards skies, crowds thronging awaiting the rituals of sacrifice.

Hey Colossus | The Art of Burning Water | Diet Pills | At A Crawl - The Grosvenor, London, 16 April 2010

I arrive as At A Crawl are finishing their set. I don't hear enough to really pass comment.

Next up are Diet Pills. They seem to take an eternity to start. Various members of the band busy themselves doing nothing. Old school hardcore, grind. Bass, drums and vocals. The singer stalks about, swinging his arms around wildly, screaming into the microphone. Most of the audience look on disinterestedly.

I admire the commitment to his performance. I wonder how much is genuine and how much is affectation. I think about whether I should be considering this. How much of this matters.

Before they started Reign In Blood played over the PA. Not everyone can be Dave Lombardo, but this band's sound doesn't take off. The drummer needs to have more fireworks.

I saw The Art of Burning Water about 4/5 years ago supporting Knut. I can't really remember much about them. They've a meaty guitar and bass sound which slaloms from sludge crawl to screamo noise. They have a female bassist. I start to think about Jo Bench.

I'm underwhelmed by the bands so far. I wonder if I made a mistake in coming. If maybe I'm getting a little worn out by noise rock. Then Hey Colossus begin their set. The drummer has real attack, the rhythms are a brutal, pulverising, jack hammer, machine press. The guitar cuts through the industrial pounding with the piercing shrill of a circular saw through sheet metal. My faith is confirmed. I am a believer again.