Tonight, what must surely be the hottest basement in Scotland plays host to Canadian cult heroes The Besnard Lakes.
On record the band’s songs are intricately constructed but sometimes overstuffed, casting bandleader Jace Lasek as a creator in the mould of Brian Wilson in all his studio-as-instrument glory.
Live however, they’re a more dynamic proposition, with thundering drums and rock solid bass underpinning shimmering layers of psychedelic guitar.
The warmup playlist takes in Californian soft rock and ABBA and the group themselves look sufficiently authentic as Lasek, clad in tinted glasses and a Western shirt, swigs Scotch and laconically tunes his twelve string.
The set features tracks from across the bands career, from the prog-shoegaze debut The Besnard Lakes are the Dark Horse through to its even more expansive follow-up The Besnard Lakes are the Roaring Night, up to 2016’s awkwardly titled A Coliseum Complex Museum.
As show time approaches a mystical voice booms over the PA hinting at a cosmic voyage through the universe.
In such a small venue there’s a hint of Spinal Tap’s ‘Stonehenge’ to it, but the songs themselves stand on their own as powerful and immersive statements of intent, with the touring line-up of Lasek, Olga Goreas, Kevin Laing, Sheenah Ko and Robbie MacArthur spending most of the show wreathed in smoke as red and green lasers scope the crowd.
Partly written besides the Saskatchewan lake that lends the group its name, the new album A Coliseum Complex Museum has been billed as their most naturalistic record to date, but if anything it might also be their poppiest with tracks like ‘Golden Lion’ and ‘Tungsten 4: The Refugee’ bowing to the demands of conventional song structures, but it’s when The Besnard Lakes shoot for the truly cosmic that the gig becomes something special.
As the night goes on the tracks get more and more explorative, with one six note bass line throbbing and pulsing for almost ten minutes as the band hammer away at shoegazey chords.
Through the whole set Lasek is an entertaining frontman, riffing on Scottish hecklers, prescription glasses and the curative power of whale sperm and undercutting any risk of muso seriousness with an amiable charm.
Such a tiny venue makes for an intense show but two hours pass rapidly and when the band finally exit the stage after their encore, the audience cheer rapturously.
Be sure to catch the band next time they’re in Scotland, they’re a live treat.
Words: Max Sefton
