People have been blaming the Internet for the imminent death of the music industry for years. But it’s hard to see how magical events like Saturday night’s sold out Sleep concert at Vancouver’s Commodore Ballroom could ever have happened without it.
Hardly a household name in the band’s first incarnation through the 1990s, the last few years have seen a new generation rediscovering their uniquely noisy charms on line. Their songs (spearheaded by the one semi-professional video they actually made) now count their youtube views in millions.
Reformed, re-inspired and bolstered by probably the finest promo shot in music history, the aesthetic of Sleep’s cultural revival is simple. Slower equals heavier.
The band planted their flag from the very beginning, opening a marathon set with an abbreviated version of their most infamous track, “Dopesmoker.” The recorded version of this one song clocks in at 63 minutes, but it didn’t mean they were rushing an unrelenting live version that came to an end after a mere 22. “Dragonaut,” the closest Sleep ever came to a hit, flew past in under ten minutes, guitarist Matt Pike and bass player Al Cisneros gently nodding their heads in unison to the crunchiest of riffs, accompanied by drummer Jason Roeder’s jazzy swing.
It was heavy metal Jim, but not as we know it. The punishing volume and Black Sabbath sized riffs were there, but in the place of the genre’s traditional bombastic showmanship stood three musicians focussing their intense energy entirely on their art.
Revelling in repetition, Sleep understand that when a riff is truly great, it’s worth playing over and over and over again. Hypnotically grooving at a leaden pace through tracks like “Aquarian,” “Sonic Titan” and “Holy Mountain,” at times it appeared that time itself was slowing down. Straddling the line between metal and mysticism, Cisneros would repeatedly close his eyes as he lost himself deeper within the groove, aided by plumes from what was perhaps the smokiest rock crowd ever gathered in Vancouver.
“Please keeping smoking the grass and hash, it smells great up here,” he whispered, one of the few words from the stage all night beyond a few perfunctory thanks yous.
It goes without saying that the combination of volume, repetition and glacial pace isn’t for everyone. This is meditative metal that demands that the listener surrender to its power. As the concert moved deep into its second hour, it became impossible to tell how long the immense riffs were running for. One minute? Five minutes? It barely mattered.
Profoundly heavy and loud to the point of disorientation, by the time Sleep left the stage, accompanied by a tidal wave of feedback, the stunned crowd couldn’t even roar their appreciation. They’d been on an exhausting physical and spiritual journey. There was no encore. There was no need.
Sleep came, saw and conquered while delivering a truly unique musical experience. And an early candidate for the Vancouver concert of the year.
