25 years ago Japanese metal giants Boris released their aptly-titled sophomore studio album Amplifier Worship; a landscape-terraforming ode to the power of volume and frequency. Drone, Doom, Sludge, all of these genre tags are descriptively accurate yet un-encompassing of Boris’ prolific sound. The crawling, crushing dirge of Amplifier Worship is periodically punctuated by ascendant psychedelia, sharp minimalism, and expansive noise. Speed is used sparingly and intentionally, and no sound is too jagged. It is a spiritual expression of convulsive revelry, communicated through the medium of manipulated distortion.
The smoke-covered stage at the Ramova Theatre demanded reverence well-before Boris emerged from the haze. The two drum kits facing one another, the massive gong center stage, the double-neck guitar standing like a totem in front of a massive 4-piece Orange amp. While waiting in brutal anticipation I couldn’t help but notice how young the crowd was, as I was unsuspectingly surrounded by teenagers, all of whom seemed sincerely enthusiastic about an album released a decade before they were born. Has this band, who were considered avant-garde upon their inception and have rejected accessibility ever since, found an unlikely gen-z audience? Has the zoomer generation embraced drone metal, or have Boris simply entered the rateyourmusic.com-driven digital canon of “Good Music?” Either way, it was invigorating to see such extreme music be embraced and supported by the youth.
Boris emerged as the beginning drone of album opener “Huge” saturated the air. Double-neck bass/guitar player Takeshi appeared as the platonic ideal of a rockstar in an all-black outfit that landed somewhere between Lemmy Kilmister and Johnny Cash, while lead guitarist Wata provided a contrasting splash of color in a striking deep-red dress punctuated by a matching oversized bow in her hair. As they slowly turned the volume up on their guitars and the room became bathed in toneless feedback, drummer and lead singer Atsuo emerged draped in black robes and face paint. Atsuo then raised his hand toward the sky as if requesting permission from god before bringing it down as the guitars hit their first earth flattening chord.
The experience of live drone metal is the experience of being lost in the ocean with no event horizon in sight. If you succumb to the lack of known form, if you look for the traditional structures you’re familiar with to ground the experience you will undoubtedly find yourself disappointed, frustrated, maybe even confused. But if you close your eyes and find rhythm in the waves as they overtake your shoulders, if you allow yourself to be carried by it, you will find that the sea has direction. As you lose hold of the traditional forms, you find something sublime. It is this auditory experience that gives credence to the second word in Amplifier Worship‘s title. This is not to say the music is formless, far from it, it is meticulously punctuated tension, a tension that is released like fluid exploding out of a pounding cyst.
Boris are clearly aware of this dynamic within their music, as Atsuo methodically raised his arms in an act of worship during his throat-y, almost inhuman vocal performance. The resilience of his tone during such an abrasive vocal disaply was admirable, and his shadowy showmanship was on par with (or better than) any metal vocalist I’ve seen. During the many extended sections without vocals, Atsuo sat behind the second drum kit and added another layer of pummeling percussion to the monstrous sound. Double-neck player Takeshi provided quite a bit of vocal work as well (just as he did on the album) and just the visual sight of seeing him play bass guitar and rhythm guitar at the same time (occasionally while singing) was impressive to say the very least.
Lead guitarist and keyboard player Wata received her spotlight moment during the second song titled “Ganbou-Ki” in which she manually manipulated her guitar delay and distortion to create what I would describe as a “noise solo” that was equally captivating in creativity and technical skill. The next (and shortest, at only seven minutes) track “Hama” features the first fast section of the record, powered by driving guitar grooves that clearly show The Melvins’ and Fu Manchu’s influence in the band. It was at this point that the mosh pit started, and continued well into the next track “Kuruimizu,” which begins as an energetic hardcore punk song.
Though this beginning is a welcome and exhilarating change of pace, it isn’t even the greatest departure the track takes from the rest of the album. The back half of the song features a gorgeous, rising guitar harmony that borders on shoegaze and post-rock territory, positioning each interacting note as stars in an ever-stretching sky. This is my personal favorite portion of the album, and I couldn’t wait to see it live. It’s not just that I was satisfied, I was stunned. The guitars sounded beautiful and sharp like razor-lined rose petals, and the deep blue lighting danced through the heavy smoke creating an audio-visual incandescence that was truly euphoric. A deeply moving live translation of one of the most delicate moments in Boris’ expansive discography.
Depending on who you ask, the album closer “Vomitself” is either the most boring or mind-expanding track on Amplifier Worship. This is due to the incredibly sparse vocals and percussion, as the foreground of the track is primarily populated by blanketing harsh noise. Seeing Atsuo wield the noisemaker (I’m not quite sure what the apparatus being used was) to create sound like a rabbi wielding a yad to read the Torah gave meaning to the atonal static. This was not a concert for fans, but a ritual for a congregation. All hail the amplifier hiss, the drone will lead you home.
Photos by Miki Matsushima