Massive Attack
Riverstage, Brisbane
Tuesday, 23 March 2010

They wield a back catalogue that makes lesser artists tremble, and they're not afraid to use it. British trip-hop production duo Massive Attack close out their first Australian tour since 2003 with a commanding performance at the Brisbane Riverstage that delivers on all fronts: sonically, visually, and emotionally. Speaking to The Vine on the eve of their Perth show nearly two weeks ago, Grant Marshall - a.k.a. Daddy G, who forms half of the core duo alongside Robert del Naja (3D) - spoke of how he's learned that "you’ve got to give people something that’s quite memorable". Check that box.

Take a song like 'Teardrop'. It's that rare kind of musical composition whose impact is felt across generations, gender and race. Tonight, it's performed by longtime Massive Attack collaborator Martina Topley-Bird, whose talented, vocal loop-heavy support slot proved a fascinating precursor to the main act. Their most distinguished tune has been reworked into an arrangement comprising little more than a backbeat and her beautiful voice that sings of love, loss and hope. It's a touching moment for the thousands stood in silence, and as the song climaxes, I decide that it reaches a summit of human expression through music that few others can lay claim to.

Massive Attack don't make noise just for the sake of it; in equal parts, they inspire introspection and a wary examination of the world around us. Giant LED video screens are catalysts for the latter mindset: during 'Girl I Love You' - which marks reggae singer Horace Andy's first shaky-voiced appearance on stage - economic expenditures are compared (feeding an African family for a week vs. UK MP bathtowel budget; iDiamond mp3 player vs. a third-world social worker's annual salary), while during set closer 'Inertia Creeps', incomplete newspaper headlines scroll before being wiped ('Pauline Hanson emigrates to..'; 'Drunk, stoned man abducts koala...'; 'Bingle: who bloody cares?...'). At times, it's overpowering, as the human brain can't devote equal resources to listening and reading simultaneously. I'm put in mind of watching The Chaser's CNNN in years past: focus too hard on the jokes in the news ticker, and you miss the spoken gags.

Underneath the video screens, there's a lot going on: the live band - who aren't introduced throughout the show - comprise bass, guitar, keys and two drummers, while 3D flits between pitch-shifting his voice at front of stage, and a seated producer/sound manipulator role. They open with unfamiliar 2006 b-side 'United Snakes', and from the first moment, the sound is well-mixed, loud and clear: no small feat, considering their intricate, layered output. 3D and Daddy G trade verses on classic Mezzanine cut 'Risingson', which evolves into an electronically-edged, distorted guitar-led rave. 'Futureproof' is the sole 100th Window to appear, and alongside Topley-Bird's plaintive 'Psyche', it's one of the few moments lacking energy - until the band storm into another heavy jam, which prompts 3D to dart side-of-stage and take it all in.

Deborah Miller sings 'Safe From Harm' and 'Unfinished Sympathy', and hits an improbably high, spine-tingling note in the chorus of the latter. It's a highlight among a set filled with them. Mezzanine's sinister-sounding title track arrives right after 'Teardrop', and somehow it's more powerful than anything that came before. They're touring their fifth full-length, Heligoland; album closer 'Atlas Air' is the penultimate encore, and represents one of the most hypnotic grooves they're written in their 20-plus year career. Based around a circular keyboard motif, the song includes a sustained outro that has even 3D applauding the band's efforts. He dedicates 'Karmacoma' to the two Kookaburras that have remained perched in the rafters high above the stage all night. At song's end, all 10 performers linger on stage, mirroring our applause. Horace Andy shakes his dreadlocks happily. Topley-Bird and Miller smile and wave. 3D and Daddy G are the last to leave, arm-in-arm. After nearly two hours, it's been - like G said on several occasions, while commending his bandmates - lovely.

by Andrew McMillen