Bo Ningen @ Royal Festival Hall

I'd been looking forward to this for weeks, and I was still blown away.

Bo Ningen played the Royal Festival Hall as part of Yoko Ono's curation of this year's Meltdown festival. Iggy and The Stooges played a sold-out gig elsewhere in the building earlier on in the evening for some lucky buggers, but actually we were all (potentially) lucky buggers today because Bo Ningen played for free for an unrestricted crowd in the Clore Ballroom.

And boy were they good value.

It was an absolute belter of a set. I'd sort of seen the band twice before - once at the Windmill Brixton, but with an unusual lineup, and once supporting I forget who, on which occasion I arrived just late enough to regret not arriving earlier. So this was my first proper time, and as I said, even though I'd seen enough before to expect good things, this was all that and then a whole lot more.

Bo Ningen play noise rock, but in exactly the right proportions. Just the right amount of noise to keep things teetering, and just the right amount of rock to keep things grooving. They're satisfying as fuck.

They played to a large crowd this evening, and seemed to enjoy the hell out of it, which set up some kind of positive feedback loop between crowd and band that kept reinforcing and reinforcing until I felt like the tendons in my neck were gonna twang loose like an overplucked guitar string.

I only just hung onto my head.

Bo Ningen are going right to the top of my 'see em whenever you can' list. This was the best gig of my year so far by quite some margin. In fact, right now I can't remember the last time I saw anything as good.

Aurora Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall

The Royal Festival Hall put on this show - Dance of the Machines - as part of its The Rest is Noise series, which 'explores the most important music of the 20th Century'. I know, I know, it's all preamble until they get to Sting, right?

This part of the series is looking at Paris in the 1920s. On the schedule today were two jazz songs separated by a jazz piano solo, followed by a Stravinsky pianolo solo, and then climaxing with George Antheil's Ballet Mecanique.

The Festival Hall decided to limit the seating for the event to the stage platform and choir stalls only, to ensure a high level of intimacy between performers and audience. This worked a treat: the hall lighting dropped to just warm spotlighting over the audience and the enormous array of instruments assembled for the Ballet, and when pianist Iain Farrington and singer Gabrielle Ducomble entered for the first song - the latter attired in 20s' style slinky black dress and elbow-length gloves - you could very easily have believed you were in a cosy little club somewhere, as long as you averted your eyes from the glorious architectural features of the rest of the hall, still dimly discernible beyond.

My dread and hope were about equal before Ms Ducomble opened up, but I needn't have worried. Subtly sexy rather than overtly lewd, she hit the perfect note for an audience that included plenty of kids (all of them thankfully very well behaved). The song was in French, and although the meaning of its title - J'ai Deux Amours - was obvious even to me, I felt a bit like Morgan Freeman's character in The Shawshank Redemption after Tim Robbins plays opera over the prison PA system (moved but forever wondering). Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the performance.

Between pieces we were treated to short films showing either real or recreated footage of 20s Paris. The first featured narration from Ernest Hemingway's Fiesta over clips of girls with more of those slinky dresses and some dapper-looking gents, reminding you that this was what Fitzgerald would later termed 'the jazz age'. These films were brief but added some welcome variety, and were used very judiciously.

After that came the piano solo and another song, but it was the final two acts that had put arses on seats. We were informed before the show that this was to be the first time than a pianola had appeared on stage at the Festival Hall, and so the sense of occasion was palpable. From what I gather having seen one in action, a pianolo is a mechanical piano that somehow converts holes punched through a scroll into the striking of corresponding strings, using the power supplied by a willing volunteer via foot pedals (although I think the player has a bit more to do than just that). It certainly looks like an odd beast, with the back end of a piano but a front end that resembles a scroll-top desk with a typewriter afixed. Even more singular-looking was the pianolist, one Rex Lawson, sporting the best beard I've ever seen in the flesh. And sure, the performance was a sight to behold, but I'm not convinced by the pianolo. To me it sounded like a piano falling down a very long, randomly sized flight of stairs. Maybe it was this particular piece, I don't know.

So to the finale, and the piece that leant the Dance of the Machines its name. The show notes stated that the Ballet Mechanique was a piece that had proved to be literally unplayable, as the sheer number of instruments intended to be involved simply cannot be coordinated, requiring all performances to involve a degree of compromise. It didn't look as though much had been compromised here, however, as alongside the previously featured piano and pianola were a second piano, five glockenspiels, two drum arrangements, what looked like ten doorbells glued to a plank of wood, two whirligigs, three propellers, a gong, a siren, and more besides, requiring a total of 14 performers and a conductor. Just the sight of all that lovely looking stuff on the stage was worth the ticket price in itself.

And credit to the Aurora Orchestra, they put on an extremely impressive performance, all very finely coordinated and rehearsed. I doff my cap to them. Unfortunately, the piece itself is dreadful. Aside from some nice moments with the glockenspiels and some of the drums, and some fine work from the very handsome chap with the propellers (he ratcheted them around and they made a, um, ratchety noise), it was an exercise in pointless noise-making. I began to dread the drone of the pianola, and believe me, doorbells have no place in entertainment unless Jonathan Demme is involved. Ballet Mechanique is the best illustration I've yet come across that something should not be done just because it can be. I could fill my washing machine with cutlery and crockery and climb inside for the experience, and that would be a once-in-a-lifetime event too, but I'm not going to do it any time soon. And if the event in question requires a gargantuan effort, well then it's better left alone.

I'm certainly glad I attended, but I'm not sure I'd be saying the same if I hadn't had the songs and the films and the sight of all that lovely, yet-to-be-abused stuff to make me happy before the cacophany. Clever old organisers, mixing it up like that. But please, invite the Aurora boys and nice old Rex back for something a bit less teeth-eroding next time, OK?

Mitsuko Uchida @ Royal Festival Hall

A bit of a departure from my norm, this one. I bought my girlfriend and I tickets for Christmas, as Mitsuko Uchida is her favourite pianist, Schubert is her favourite composer, and his Sonata in B flat is her favourite piece. I'm yet to find any classical music that does anything to me except irritate though, so I was mostly hoping to enjoy the evening vicariously.

As it turned out, I didn't have to. Firstly, I'd never seen anyone at the Royal Festival Hall before except Squarepusher - that was pretty fantastic, but it was in the foyer area, so this was my first experience of the Hall itself. And what a mighty hall it is: enormous, decadent, and with no fewer than three excellent vibes: retro (chairs), retro-futuristic (lighting), and Soviet (box architecture).

Mitsuko herself was no less impressive. She emerged from backstage wearing silk trousers and a diaphanous blouse looking every bit the elegant Dame (as she was titled last year), and that majestic comportment carried over into her playing. That is, until some particularly challenging passage came up, at which point she transformed into a fiery sorceress, improbably conjuring immense slabs of noise with her slight frame when mere moments before there had been the most delicate, deft and intricate sounds. Then she was like a woman possessed, and the silk trousers and diaphanous blouse looked more like the pyjamas and straight jacket of an escapee on some late-night jaunt. Dame Uchida has an astonishing charisma while seated behind her chosen instrument, and to witness her play is to feel that you are in the presence of some wild genius. Simply sublime.

That said, I didn't enjoy the music itself all that much. Each sonata had moments that grabbed me, when heavier elements came immediately after lighter ones or the two were intermingled, but I think the only hope that I can now have that any classical music will ever move me rests with composers like Wagner and Mahler, whose works have that added bombast and are more akin to the music I normally listen to. As a spectacle the event was highly enjoyable, but I won't be attending classical concerts every other week from now on.

Ah well. The missus loved it, I enjoyed it, and tonight I have UFOmammut to look forward to. Bring on the psych sludge!

On the way home I listened to: my girlfriend's excited chatter.