When Dylan Carlson’s pioneering drone collective last visited the city of Leeds they managed to wrench an eternally memorable performance out of the soulless, echo-laden shipping crate that is the backroom of The Well; no mean feat indeed. Now pulling solely on material written after their reformation in 2005, the band are no longer the mysterious drone doom collective who affected Stephen O’Malley so much he christened Sunn O))) after Earth’s choice of amplifiers.
But first, warming up one very small spot on stage is Õ Paon, who initially looks terrified at the prospect of making any sound at all; perhaps hoping if she stays quiet for long enough no one will notice her performing with what seems like a vicious cold. Timidly using loops and delicately plucked, rudimentary bass notes she eventually lets her voice soar from its wary cage, making for a startling listen. Despite the very basic nature of her songs, the subtle nuances of her hushed French-Canadian voice that she weaves in and replays with the pedals at her feet give them graceful wings and leave you wondering whether it is for better or worse enjoyment that you only understand flecks of the entirely French lyrics.
Stripping it back to himself tonight, Phil Elvrum (Mount Eerie) then ascends to the stage, twelve-string in hand, smile on face. Most of the songs played lend themselves fantastically to the lack of any rhythmic backing but the inability to hit the right pedal at the right time keeps everything a little too jarring. What would have been a warm and flowingly seamless set of short songs and instrumentals at the feet of a classically trained ballet dancer turns into a frustrating experience under Elvrum’s humble boots.
As proven on last year’s Leeds outing, Earth’s potential to hold an audience spellbound doesn’t end with front-man Carlson’s fearsome handlebar moustache. Dressed in a tight-fitting waistcoat and looking like a tobacco chewing extra from Deadwood, Carlson and the rest of Earth take the stage behind their respective instruments, the most notable of which is a large 'cello wielded by the amazingly and somehow appropriately named Lori Goldstone.
Despite a portion of the nether regions of the audience insisting on chatting through the set, Earth set about weaving their minimal, country-inflected sounds into the room and cementing the reality that the amount of attention given to their subtle and repetitive instrumentals is directly proportionate to reward. 'The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull' is billed drily as "one to dance to" and gets deserved cheers as the atmosphere built by felt-hit cymbals and a twanging Telecaster increases. However, music this sparse and slow insists on the microscopic precision of a watchmaker from the collaborating musicians, and unfortunately Earth sound sloppy on older tracks like 'Tallahassee', which plods through with a few missed beats and corresponding cringes.
The 70-minute set is mentally and physically gruelling due to the heat in the audience and the crawling pace of the songs, but the best number actually appears as the encore. Introduced as "something we wrote a couple of days ago", the song showcases Carlson and his entourage putting their purported love of improvised music on the chopping block and pulling it off completely with a beautifully twisting folk/drone pastiche that sounds like Michael Chapman playing with two broken hands.
Although not as hypnotic as their last Leeds appearance, Earth end their set at the Brudenell on an indisputable high and at the same time plant the seed of anticipation for what they will have concocted the next time they visit.