Ten Years Of ATP: Porn

“Porn is “An act of dark genius...... the true hesher sound of taking drugs to make music to take drugs too”.”

That’s from the glossy ATP brochure. But I wasn’t high, and I can’t say I needed to be. I was recovering from a bout of food poisoning which may have bent my brain a little. If anyone was outside chalet W1 on Atlantic Wharf between the hours of two thirty and nine and found themselves wondering if it was the quarantine chalet, that was just me vomiting 10 times at 20 minute intervals with a fever. Good times.

The set began with Tim Moss massaging a loud, loping riff on his sonic masseuses table. Seems like a lot of Porn starts out that way. All sorts of pedals and things I don’t understand caused subtle shifts and colours to appear and disappear in the space-rock continuum that was briefly channelled into the centre stage. This was my first ATP and quite possibly my last. The only other time I have been in this room was to watch a Blues Brothers tribute act with a gentleman I accompanied to Butlins on holiday a few years ago.

So how did this compare? Quite favourably, though I don’t think my good old companion would agree. In a way they were a kind of Blues Brothers tribute act themselves. They even managed to shoehorn a strange Pantomimic aspect into their set without interfering with the music’s primal jiggery-pokery. After what felt like ten minutes, ten almost blissfully black minutes, of the crunching, droning oscillations two drummers walked up to the double kit set up, sat down for a few seconds, counted themselves in, did a double stoner metal splash-thud and promptly left the stage again.

Another two drummers did the same, and then another two and then… and then one dude hung out, doing some rolls and some elaborate cascades. None of them gave the kick drum any slack at all, but this guy seemed to have a personal vendetta. In that time J Mascis and Dave Curran had sidled on stage and were biding their time. Bearded dude kept playing, and something seemed out of sorts. Cue Dale Crover from the Melvins, presumably telling the dude that it was high time to leave. Dude rattled the sabres a little more then handed over the sticks, which Crover promptly used as a slide on the unsuspecting Curran’s four strings. Less a slide, more a riot shield to the face.

And then he got into the business of drumming alongside a companion I know not the name of. How did he drum, well the brochure calls it “the aural equivalent of shooting heroin while peaking on blotter acid”, which I’ll have to take ATP’s drug-hip word for. The set encompassed what seemed to be two interwoven semi-composed jams, both building from thick sludge to riff sludge and sliding back down to the abyss again. Mascis looked newest to the groove, consequently it was most enjoyable to watch him get loose for the first time on the two chord thug-chug that erupted from song 1.

The rest is a delightfully thick blur. An enjoyable set which skewered me so finely that I chose not to come back fifteen minutes later for The Melvins. People thought I was stupid for doing that, but I knew what I was doing. Moss ended the set as it began, on his own with some feral swirling loops and feedback. Many people had already jumped ship to see Battles downstairs, others were placed on pause by Moss’ decision to leave unobtrusively while the loop played out. Do we clap now? Now? Now…?

It let to a petering out that sealed the deal. Seemingly splurging out heavy jam tribute fare, Porn managed to naturally subvert and inspire where many others failed with greater effort.

Porn ATP Photos (From: Stu Green / shot2bits.net):