Moppy vs A Crude Mechanical – Wine Cellar: Jan 14, 2023

Moppy and A Crude Mechanical performed at Wine Cellar last night, where both solo performers brought the layered complexity of experimental musical explorers to unite both themselves and the audience with their unique and captivating sounds.

After nearly four years reviewing gigs across Auckland and a questionable hiatus, it seemed fitting that my return to covering live music was at Wine Cellar, a bar that (alongside Whammy Bar) has delivered more outstanding and genre-pushing talent than the seats at Spark Arena.

Last night was no exception, with both Moppy (Thom Burton of Guardian Singles, SoccerPractise, and Wilberforces) and A Crude Mechanical (Shane Warbrooke of The Bemsha Swing and Climate Change) performing sets that inspired the same resurgence of musical passion in me as many local artists have done in the past.

While both artists could be boxed into some bastardised experimental, beat-making, beat-layering genre, it would be an injustice to the nuance of their craft to apply such simplistic labelling to their performances.

Throughout their relatively brief, 30-or-so-minute sets, I saw glimpses of David Bowie, Neil Young, Sigur Rós, and Sqürl; genre-bending artists pushing further within their inner creativity to find beauty in the madness, creating and discovering something wild, new, and brilliantly unapologetic.

First on stage was Moppy, who elevated and then sat within the tense silence of the dotted and evenly spaced crowd. This was soon broken by high, resonating synths, as tangerine and aquamarine lighting melted on the live video feed projected on the rear wall. A simple, irregular drum beat then grew as a deep, thumping bass quite literally shook my glass of pineapple juice off a chair. Quickly stopping any nerves from the crowd, a few people began grooving magnetically before the centre stage as a sudden spike of electronic harshness cut through the air.

Synth strings resonated over his high, breathy and echoed vocals, beautifully layered into an electronic fever dream before the song hummed slowly and faded out in distortion and a warped, wobbly finish. Barely waiting for the audience to finish their applause, Burton appeared to almost magically apparate an electric guitar into his hands, announcing it was the first show (upcoming) for A Crude Mechanical and some playfully engaging banter about his love-hate relationship with being in the spotlight the nightmarish vulnerability of feeling naked on stage.

A deep, thumping bass and drum kick resonated through the room as Burton strummed his guitar beneath more high vocals, this time feeling closer to a backroom version of The Cure meets The Clash. Layers built to a dreamy, stoned, droning soft rhythm complementing the lyrics (I watch you coming down like heavy rain) as the distortion began to rise once more to an almost uncomfortable intensity alongside furiously rapid guitar strumming, finally shattering into (and I feel I’ve waited almost 30 years to say this) the best distorted guitar-chop breakdown this side of Bowie’s Sweet Thing (Reprise).

A brutal scream then pure shock silence prefaced echoed vocals and a little more banter, before the breathy harps and 80s retro-synth vibe of the third song led into another irregular drum beat and drilling whine, Burton strumming his guitar as the song slowly melted into a moment of Outer space chill. Another layer of drums smashed through this peace, heavier than before as the whirring flange of the percussion synced brilliantly with the Dance, Dance, Dance to the radio lyrics built to a near-screaming harshness and distorted finish.

Short but powerful, the set ended with Burton thanking the crowd and hyping them up for the upcoming A Crude Mechanical.

With the room now filling up a little more, an initial jazzy beat and deep bass supported a tight, sharp trap cymbal beat. This is…the technical difficulties song, Warbrooke joked, as Wine Cellar’s superstar sound engineer quickly jumped to the stage to fix the issue, sparking a sudden blast of harsh feedback and wild, joyful applause from the crowd.

Welcome to my first show [as A Crude Mechanical], Warbrooke said, it starts now, not previously. The previous beat restarted to overwhelming support from the crowd, as Warbrooke slowly drew a violin bow across the strings of his electric guitar, slow draws of heavily distorted guitar notes reminding me immediately of Sqürl’s soundtrack for Only Lovers Left Alive. Looped distortion led into a beautifully timed beat drop and placement as the guitar was struck again, a gorgeous metal-rock wailing riff weaving throughout the layered sounds.

Warbrooke practically teleported to the keyboard as he layered piano into a warm, swaying vibe from the crowd, torn between tapping their feet and hypnotically pulsating to the building wall of sound dominating the room. A harsh vibrato guitar pierced through the layers, building faster and faster until Warbrooke spun to the keyboard again, adding the finishing touches of a jazz-funk piano riff as the bass drifted out in a low, constant hum.

His second song began with a suppressed trap kick and looping piano, before a deep, intense and wobbly bass lingered over and then beneath the beat, creating a dreamy synth feel as the sound of strings again began to rise and chop away at the sustained sound of the crisp drums and keys. As the guitar slowly began to creep its way into a building crescendo of wild, tearing vibrato guitar, encapsulating what felt like the end of a film soundtrack, a lone figure sat on the edge of a building with his feet dangling over the side, staring out into the deep, rich neons of a vibrant but destructive cityscape. The final layering brought a resolute, peaceful, almost uplifting sense of sound before the high notes and sharp guitar wails blurred into violins and trailed out into more applause from the crowd.

The third song began with a long, echoing guitar that reminded me of Neil Young’s Dead Man soundtrack, building on each previous component manically and feverishly, loops on loops as more distorted guitar tore through the centre, howling with one reverbing hit after another before deconstructing itself like a motor engine beginning to overperform and fall apart.

A catchy funk-electro beat began the fourth song, trap cymbals and glass percussion almost capturing Hot Chip, before a delayed future-synth 80s guitar screech built into further distortion, the violin bow back in hand and a vision of a terrifying, beautiful, inevitable future raced through my mind before sharp crackles and synth strings rose over the physical beating of the guitar’s body.

Heavy fuzz dropped out into another long hum, as the final song (the last from the new A Crude Mechanical EP) began gently amidst joking with Moppy centre stage in the audience, and the warmth of the crowd finally felt unified and resonating across the space.

Light percussion led into deep, swallowing bass, before another perfectly timed beat drop balanced a combination of violin-bow guitar slides and crisp, rising sharp bells. Sigur Rós came to mind before the bells were replaced by sharp plucks of the guitar, right as the sound tipped to the brink of over-repetition, as the beat hit faster, drums hit harder and the audience standing before the stage moved in rhythm.

Furious, sharp guitar riffs wailing and overlapping with another loop, another return to the violin bow, finally building into a destructive harmony of distortion, retaining the beat as Warbrooke celebrated and danced to the collective soundscape, seeing Burton in the crowd and jumping to him, dancing together momentarily as the crowd happily looked on. It was a beautiful moment, with a voice next to me commenting with genuine warmth at how genuinely cool it was to witness, before Warbrookewas back on stage, dialling back the synths into one final guitar fade of distortion, applause, and gratitude for those that came out to witness it.

Because if music, and local music, isn’t about pushing the limits of what we already know into dangerous and often untamed places, where we can find beauty and unison, community and joy in celebration of passion, then what is this all for? And that was the ultimate beauty of both Moppy and A Crude Mechanical; in reminding me that the potential possibilities for creation and expression are unlimited in their scope and effect, provided we have the artists brave enough to venture out into those uncharted areas and record what they find with passion.

Oxford Lamoureaux