I’ve recently reached the age where I’m no longer young enough to believe that my big break is coming. When you’re 18 or 19, you can always say, “Oh yeah, I just need to hustle a little harder, I’m sure by the time I’m 20 or so my band will have gotten signed,” or, “I’ll be writing for a household name music magazine.” Except now I’m 20, and I’m realizing that more and more of the artists I look up to are the same age as myself.
Probably the most glaring example of this is black midi, a group of 19 and 20-year-olds stirring the pot with their unique brand of noisy, mathy experimental rock. I caught them at the Rickshaw Stop in San Francisco, in support of their debut record Schlagenheim (2019).
Not long after we zig-zagged our way to the front through a sea of bearded white dudes with flannels and ironic tee shirts, the music playing over the PA was replaced with some ominous, droning ambience. After the first three or four minutes, it became fairly clear that this wasn’t just some other choice cut from the sound guy, and the anticipation built. All of the sudden, after ten or fifteen minutes, heavily bitcrushed, sped up samples of pop hits blared, heralding the arrival of the British quartet. After taking the stage, they wasted no time launching into Schlagenheim’s opener “953.” The aforementioned bearded-flannel dudes started up the pit, and we were off.
With surgical precision, black midi treated the crowd to more or less the entirety of their recorded output. I have to say, they were one of the tightest live bands I’ve seen in a long time. And I saw Between the Buried and Me one time in high school. Even more remarkable was the sheer range of the sounds they were able to create; they certainly didn’t give the impression of wide-eyed youngsters on their first US tour.
Unfortunately, the show had to stop, but it was more of a grinding, unexpected halt than a “Thank you San Francisco and goodnight.” Guitarist Matt Kwasniewski-Kelvin’s amp blew out before they got the chance to play fan favorite “bmbmbm,” much to the disappointment of my flannel-wearing compatriots. Bassist/vocalist Cameron Picton apologized, said “One sec,” and then the band exited the stage, never to return.
To be honest, I can’t even say I feel short-changed. The rest of the set’s versatility, technicality, and mosh-ability more than made up for a missed song or two. If you get the chance to catch these young Brits in a town near you, it would be foolish of you to pass them up.
Written by Kieran Zimmer