I consider myself a very open-minded person, musicwise. And, as in my nature, I get easily bored and I’m always on the look for what’s new and fresh, therefore interesting to my ears, though cacophonous it might sound at the first listen. I consider it as free expression of one’s inner artistic genius.

When these amazingly weird, bonky aural collages that are often labelled under the meaningless term ‘alternative music’ get transposed on a ‘live’ dimension, though, I often get disappointed. The juxtaposition of antithetical motifs and genre-crossing that you ear from the headphones of your mp3 player, that might prove the richness of an artist’s sources of inspiration and ability in making something totally new out of it is one thing, another is the actual capacity in reproducing these sounds in front of a public offering an entertaining performance while conveying the same feelings of surprise and amazement that the album gives.

After all music was traditionally born as a performative practice, in the sense that inherently entailed the performance of the artists on stage, to prove their musicianship and ability in actually play an instrument. Technology turned the process upside down and more and more often it happens that a musician is not able to reproduce live what his/her mind conceived mentally and Garage Band (or Ableton or the music software of the moment) gave life to.

So, where does the quality of a band lay in these days? In the musicianship? In the capacity of innovating the sounds and exploring new soundscapes? Or in the courage to dare in the lands of nonsensical successions of notes and beats ?

Oh well, this is an old story. There’s no ontology of good music anymore, and it has probably never existed. And if it were, I don’t think Psychedelic Horseshit’s performance of last Friday would get into the category.

That was actually one of the oddest gigs I’ve been to for a while. From the venue, The Victoria, a curious cocktail of British traditions, Jamaican influences and hipster decadence (really cool combo, though!), to to the line up: together with scuzzy Psychedelic Horseshit, no wave noise Sewn Leather and post-swing crooner on hip hop and break beat base DJ Dog Dick.

After waiting for, like, ever, that the ladies behind the bar serve us, my friend and I finally enter the gig room, invested by a storm of decibel in the form of unsynchronized beats and off-key shrieks. A dark-shaded guy, who curiously reminds me of some consumed star of London’s rave scene circa 2007, stands in the middle of the stage, dark shades to cover his boozey eyes. A beautiful goth looking girl taps incessantly (and haphazardly?) on a keyboard next to him, while having to avoid his attempts to kick her in the ass.

If you’ve read my review of Laced you might know that I consider that album one of the best releases for 2011 so far, and I’ve listened to it so much that the files might have worn out in my iPod. Still, seeing performing the person I consider one of the innovator of psych-lo-fi (= shitgaze) music, almost made me cry. And not of joy.

Despite knowing all the songs almost by heart by now, they sounded so different, so dissolved in that stream of nonsensical untuned backing tracks that I hardly managed to recognise ‘Laced’ and ‘I Hate The Beach’ (two of my favourite tracks of the whole album by the way). Some might call it pure self-expression in free form. Too me it sounded more like a free flow of beer.

Matt Whitehurst keeps screaming and squeaking on the mic, battering pedals and guitar with equal apparent carelessness. The gig finishes soon, abruptly, as it started.

My music geek friend hates it, for Matt’s don’t-give-a-damn attitude and apparent lack of ‘practical’ musical skills. I get pensive and start to wonder. I eventually decide to take it all as a kind of political statement, a piece of dadaist ready-made art, to avoid this shameful performance letting me down in my belief in future sounds. After all, Psychedelic Horseshit gave me back hope in ‘new’ music, at my first listen of Acid Tapes long time ago.

Though, when one wants to go experimental, the limit between pure genius and total crap is very subtle. And in this one, Psychedelic Horseshit risked to trespass into the latter.