Nothing better than the occasional reality to fend off with a serving of insanity. The Ghent cult band Shht supplied to the deafening evidence.
Whether postpost – or postpostpostmodern is, we want to our not so declare. The fact is that the twisted Ghent company Shht incongruous musical styles rücksichtlos to each other thread. Frank …
Whether postpost – or postpostpostmodern is, we want to our not so declare. The fact is that the twisted Ghent company Shht incongruous musical styles rücksichtlos to each other thread. Frank Zappa on a Camino, The Beatles with a lsd-tablet too much, Kanye in the waterpark, or just Evil Superstars with a bunch of johnnysynths: something like that.
Is the five a quirk of the time or is he the right band at the right time? No one who still has a bump to this or that stijlgrens, who cares one day, a shirt of Iron Maiden and the next day one of Wham!, which are not less like to trip on stairs than on a false schlager. And that also know Shht, that sludge combines with dreampop, avant-garde, cabaret, and exotica.
The invariably in beige overalls-cloaked group stood for a while, live to losbollen, but now also has the album Love Love Love under the arm. Then he explains to the noise of tyres, rear are highlights surprising fluctuations ontwaar you even songs with head and tail, such as ‘Soup’ and ‘Mao’. On the stage, transform that, the kids were back in unguided projectiles. All they had in Leuven or just need to feel out of their straight jacket to emerge.
So did ‘Africa’ with his opera-like ahahaha, Fischer Price-synths and flamingoposes still some pain to the eyes and ears. Mainly because it is just a bit too much as a while standing smartphone sounded. Already pulling the kids are there today, also no bag.
His drive gives both Shht out of a bunch of synths, three pieces when singer Michiel Renson not on a pendant-nestingbox talking. Built on a sound that is sometimes distorted elektropunk of Justice reminded: a sharp guitar, a lusty bass and drums which hardrockmokers went hand in hand with kermiscalypsobeats in the eighties all were wrong.
The cover of Queens ‘Bohemian rhapsody’ reminds of the antics of Devo, and landed between plastic and hilarious. That pivotal part of clanging kitsch was still surpassed by the theatrical ‘Masterpiece’: a dope funkriff where Kevin from the Gym out from the wings to jump, and with his six-pack should roll. ‘And I’m praying everyday/ Menage à trois soufflé’, he sang, his muscles bundled in white searchlights. A hilarious pitch to our lichaamscultus?
That humor makes Shht interesting. Between the swishing synths, and the distorted heliumstemmetjes by you would almost forget that their songs are also about something. ‘67’ looked bewildered to our retirement age, “J’ai décidé d’être heureux/heureuse” was the unbearable lightness of being down with the trouble as ‘Salami, salayou/ La vie est fantastique, pique-nique’. So, and now we are back to the issues of the day.
Shht, seen on 27 november at The Depot