Thurston Moore – Union Chapel, London
The Sonic Youth guitarist stares down the barrel of a mid-life crisis
Words Steph Kretowicz
Leaving a trail of devastated music geek fanatics in the wake of his October split with wife and Sonic Youth collaborator Kim Gordon, Thurston Moore’s second solo performance this year at Islington’s Union Chapel takes on new meaning. Again presenting in the religious sanctum of the Pentecostal church, it’s as if the emotional uncertainty of Demolished Thoughts has reached its difficult conclusion. In spite of the confessional setting, Moore is unrepentant as he drags the heavy themes of self-doubt back into the melancholy of mid-life crisis. The newly single 53-year-old idol swaggers on stage, smartly dressed in a grey suit, pin tie and brown sneakers; his droopy hairstyle, unchanged since Sonic Youth’s no wave days, complements an ageless face and boyish charm.
Mumbling some dry witticisms and dedicating a ‘Happy Birthday’ to friend (and ‘Slit’) Viv Albertine, it’s hard to tell whether Moore’s detached manner and demure interaction serve to dull the all-too-exposed nature of sparingly encrypted songs about his personal relationships. The rest of the band, comprising harp, violin, guitar and drums remain deferent to Demolished Thoughts producer Beck’s psychedelic vision, but there’s an undercurrent of ‘keeping it real’ that can only come from Moore’s personal sense of brow-furrowing cynicism.
As a vision of the androgynous post punk puritanism of his past, it’s fitting that Moore is to be revisiting the music of his younger years the following night in the significantly less-refined surroundings of the Electric Ballroom. He’s to be performing his 1995 album Psychic Hearts all the way through. Taking the opportunity to try some tracks out, Moore drolly pronounces, “we kinda know ’em” before launching into one of many Patti Smith / Yoko Ono tributes with ‘Ono Soul’. The unruly grunge spirit of that era translates into unrestrained percussion from hitherto minimal drummer John Moloney, as well as piercing instrumental zeal from Samara Lubelski’s violin. Encumbered by her harp, Mary Lattimore serves as a reminder of Moore’s continued and active interest in new music and musicians, having seen her perform with ex-wife Gordon’s favourite, Kurt Vile. The rich tones of a twelve-string guitar for ‘Space’ calls to mind Vile’s own cosmic trips in songs like ‘Overnite Religion’.
A spoken-word intermission provokes a heavy sigh from Moore as he relays a poetic account and imagistic snapshots of sexualised rock mythology. Turns of phrase like “punk lover” and “thrashed by temptation” convey an overpowering sense of loss and nostalgia, doubtless experienced by any person looking back and reassessing a life’s work, in a medium primarily associated with youth. Psychic Hearts opener ‘Queen Bee And Her Pals’ is dryly introduced as Moore’s “pro-royalty” song, a quip he follows after a pause with, “I figured, what the fuck?” If by royalty Thurston Moore is referring to himself, and by “what the fuck?” he means to question the significance of his creative achievement, then an adoring sell-out crowd and two encores is his answer.
