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Adventures in industrial techno: Inside Maquina’s first UK gig

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I don’t believe in wearing earplugs at gigs, it’s like wearing shades for stargazing, or suncream in a tanning salon. However, this strict principle would’ve rendered me deaf had I watched the Portuguese minimalist psych rock band Maquina unprotected at their first UK show, debuting at the The Lubber Fiend, Newcastle. Their sound is such a loud rumble of entrancing tones that you could’ve been stood four streets away and had your fillings rattled loose.

The frenzied Lisbon band, consisting of João (guitar), Tomás (bass), and Halison (drum and vox), were enthused to find themselves on British soil, ready to transform its airways – perhaps forevermore – with a volley of what can only be termed ‘stargaze’. Like its sneaker staring predecessor, their unique brand of music aims to entrance. But rather than doing so in a downcast wishy-washy wave of sound, Maquina offer the inverse and look to the heavens with a thunderous roar of industrial techno.

It just so happens, that I had highlighted this particular gig as one that might interest my retired, avant-garde old neighbours. So, when the night began with opening act, Holy Braille, removing her top and floundering around the stage in a see-thru bra, a peculiar aura surrounding the evening was firmly established. Our wholesome, cross-generational friendship was confronted with its first bout of lurid hedonism.

That sense of abandon is also palpable in Maquina’s sound. Heady riffs pulsate with a captivating repetition causing the odd member of the crowd to spontaneously break free from a gentle nod and flail like a car dealership inflatable. Meanwhile, the band – looking exquisite – jam on, flopping their mullets in rigorous jabs as though they’re being possessed by a rather cool daemon. Any awkwardness over the recent toplessness dissipates in a haze of potent riffing. The whole audience, a humble few handfuls, is under their spell.

‘Under their spell’ is not a mere cliche either, whether it is a conscious decision or not, the band play into the trance-inducing capacity of repetition. While their sound is far too full and forceful to be considered traditional minimalism, they certainly adhere to its tenets of stretching an idea out. In the process, they gather you up in a swell.

In psychology, this is called the Mereexposure effect whereby, in the simplest sense, we like things that we’re familiar with because they enable a sense of safety and understanding. In the case of Maquina, despite the music’s gaudy disposition, we can cosy up to it, feel embalmed by it, then delve into the layers and micro-dissonances in their live instrument mentality. Each new note in this repeating mass is an orchestra unto itself. It’s both ordinary and enigmatic; extreme and simple; a riot and an operation of crafted control.

This brooding sense of science and fuzzy exhilaration makes for a show that finds a pit of depth and thrills in a few bars, nodding heads, and sporadic bursts of raving. Ideal for an independent spot like the Lubber Fiend, an everyday oasis of liberation that proved the perfect little place to welcome Maquina to the UK—a band to blow your ears off, bewilder your mind, and get your neighbour’s toes a-tapping.

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