Tag: prog rock

Two people asked me in Frome what the music scene was like in Devizes. I replied it’s great, but by comparison it’s conventional, and this was prior to witnessing the sublime close encounter which was Henge…..

Before you read further, note, I use the word “weird” as a compliment. But yes indeedy, those friendly aliens, who take the term space-rock literally, landed their interstellar craft at Frome’s glorious centrepiece The Cheese & Grain last night for an eccentric, electric showdown of universal proportion. It was, in short, out of this world.

Excited about catching Henge live after fondly reviewing their album Journey to Voltus B in January, it was every bit as enthralling as I’d have imagined. The Cheese was brimful of kindly weirdos akin to the rooftop scene in the popcorn-munching abomination that is Independence Day; other than no one punched an alien like Will Smith! From aspiring space cadets to ageing hippies and middle-aged ravers, Henge remotely charged their plasma ball hats and casted a musical tractor beam over them, compulsing them to dance.

With phasers set to fun, Henge launched their wild show much like the energetic take off sequence of their latest album, and I pondered if they plotted to play out the album and be done with it, as is a common occurrence for established earthbound bands; not a chance, us humans were bequeathed a cosmic, extraterrestrial proportioned party.  

There’s a space journey narrative to the album which includes an Orb-esque plodding ambient period of hypersleep, a convenient opportunity for them to avoid, and divert the live journey to play some past album tracks, to keep the show’s pace consistent. These aliens of superior knowledge and proficiency made a wise choice, the place was positively throbbing.

Here’s the music which should’ve been playing in the Cantina scene of Star Wars. Here’s the music which would’ve caused both Miles Davis and Eat Static to have seizures. It’s jazzy, uptempo electronic skullduggery somewhere between prog-rock and trance techno, perhaps, or rather, in a field of their own playful invention.

Yet to pigeonhole it would take a textbook of notes. Henge are toytown, rave vaudeville, a guitar circus in space; they’re alien, unique and clearly on a higher plane of existence. The beauty of them is, they want to share it with you, lovingly. As a spectator you are welcomed on their, what’s best described as, an encapsulating musical space trip.

They analysed our planet, took a murky sample of the River Frome, and advised on the best path for the future of humankind; seemingly to demilitarise and direct its funding towards either ecological revitalisation or space colonisation, and they mastered it hilariously with a peacenik singalong finale.

But they did so as they did with everything, an uplifting sonic musical experience, the likes I’ve never seen before, and I’ve raved with glow sticks at Longleat’s UFO Club, partied worldwide, done, dusted and worn the T-shirt out of many a groundbreaking festival. This was on another planet, truly fantastic; please abduct me again sometime soon!

I’ve seen some weird street theatre in my years on this planet, but I awoke this morning, trying to recollect if I’d ever seen any musical band as weird as Henge. I’d like to say I hadn’t, but an earth half-hour prior I witnessed the support act.

A rib-tickling one-man-band Mancunian hedge monkey called Paddy Steer, who, dressed in the single-most bizarre illuminated space-wizard costume ever, delighted us with a set of experimental percussion and low-fi fluctuations, the likes you’ve never heard before. If Henge owned the mothership, Paddy was his own microsatellite, orbiting a stratosphere of his own mind-bending imagination, and it was as equally mind-blowing as it was hilarious and engagingly original. 

Paddy Steer has found a new level of eccentricity. They broke the mould when they built this alien Gandalf come Frank Sidebottom, on a mushroom journey to Lala Land with S Clay Wilson, and his music is inspired by the fable of it. Making the Mad Professor seem sane, he kept a perfect instrumental harmony as his decorative kit wobbled and a billion and one leads dropped out of their ports, much to the frustration of the sound engineer, but with nonchalant precision and scratch of his wizard beard, Paddy amused the audience by continuing nonetheless, profoundly. It was something to behold and impossible to wipe the smile off your face until Paddy had packed up and returned safely back to Discworld.

Together they made for the kind of fantastically bizarre gig you’ll never find in Devizes, unless you intoxicated yourself with mushrooms and imagined the whole thing. It remains to be fact, Frome is the diverse local centre for counterculture and the eccentrically creative; Henge and Paddy fit like a glove, if The Ozric Tentacles were born here. But it was my second night in Frome, after a Dad’s taxi adventure saw me drop the kids off at the Cheese for Lucy Spraggan on Thursday, a kind of Gen Z Lily Allen.

Lucy Spraggan on Thursday, local rural skullduggery with The Wurzels on Friday, and space adventuring rave circus aliens Henge on Saturday, The Cheese & Grain is punching above Frome’s weight. To trek elsewhere in the town might not be as bustling, but certainly doesn’t disappoint. From the Merlin Theatre to The Sun and 23 Bath Street, entertainment options are vast here, but when in Frome, I did as the Fromans and found solace while waiting for the kid’s gig to end, at the Rye Bakery by Frome station.

Here’s a hidden gem wine bar, pizzeria and generally cool hangout away from the live music tourist trail, hosting music Thursday and Saturday nights, in which our own Jon Amor Trio appear on the 24th. For our entertainment on this particular Thursday some groovy modern jazz was supplied proficiently by a quartet called Fushal. They were wonderful, the whole scene is, I might relocate and call this blog Fromzine, if only those aliens of Henge would land here again!     

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