Guitar Wolf – Ruben’s House November 27, 2017

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13th Floor concert reviewer Ruben Mita was in an enviable position last night. Instead of going out to review Guitar Wolf on their current NZ tour, the Japanese rock & roll trio came to him, playing in his lounge.

Here’s Ruben’s report…

A Guitar Wolf gig, from what I’ve heard from reliable witnesses, is always a spectacle. The Japanese “Jet Rock and Roll” band have been treating New Zealand audiences to their famously wild performances periodically since 1999, when their first ever Auckland show got shut down by noise control.

Given this track record, the prospect of noise control getting involved was something I acknowledged when accepting an invitation for the group to play in a West Auckland lounge, specifically my lounge, between dates on their 2017 tour.

Thankfully, and almost miraculously for a Monday night, noise control stayed away. This is possibly because several neighbours were invited along themselves, though with a deck facing out over a valley towards the Manukau harbour every house in the area was treated to the free listening experience.

However, as anyone who has seen them in any-sized venue can attest, the listening is only one dimension of a Guitar Wolf gig, the other being their strong visual aspect. The trio (original guitarist and singer Seiji, drummer Toru and bassist Hikaru) took their places at their instruments after ascending the stairs and wading through the small but dense crowd in full black leather and rubber lizard heads. The reptilian heads came off as they started playing, which is a good thing or they likely wouldn’t have survived in the heat of the small space.

The group’s dedication to the art of performance is beyond admirable, rich with many iconised classic-rock poses of the past but bursting with vital energy. The experience of viewing this in a living room was slightly surreal, a clash of situations that imposed moments of film-like performance on a cleared-out Titirangi room.

Guitar Wolf aren’t a band whose impact is exactly lessened by the traditionally awful acoustics of a roughly square room with one wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. The sheer volume of the guitar and bass may have drowned out much of the unplugged drumkit and transformed the vocals into just another intermittent buzzing frequency, but this was clearly never going to matter. The group played non-stop through an ever-changing medley of leathery punk and rock’n’roll cuts, loosely changing rhythms before falling back into frenetically fast breakdowns.

The energy with which the three musicians apply themselves to even a small private sideshow shows the conviction that is central to the band’s drive, and I was more than grateful for that dedication. Likewise, nobody could ask for better or more respectful guests to host for three nights be they “jet rock’n’rollers” or not. On stage and off stage, or even without a stage at all, the three leave an impression.

Ruben Mita

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