Bowel-shuddering basslines. Drum fills that bounce off the walls like gunfire. Guitars resembling a pneumatic drill drilling into another pneumatic drill. A truly loud gig stays with you, figuratively and literally, as anyone who has spent the days after one accompanied by a troubling ringing in their ears can confirm.
Readers Share Their Loudest Gig Experiences
Last week, prompted by an old Alistair Cooke column suggesting that Janis Joplin’s group Big Brother and the Holding Company was noisy enough to cause permanent hearing damage in guinea pigs, we asked Guide readers to share their own loudest gig experiences. The response was overwhelming, with tons of memories of eardrum-piercing encounters with all manner of bands and artists, across genres and decades. We decided to devote this week’s newsletter to your stories of extreme noise terror, along with a few from the Guardian’s music critics.
We should probably insert the obligatory disclaimer here: loud gigs can be genuinely bad for your ear health. Just look at the brilliant early 80s post-punk band Mission of Burma, who had to disband for the best part of two decades due to guitarist Roger Clark Miller’s punishing tinnitus. The environments they played in were a sonic wild west, with minimal soundproofing in venues or ear canals. Thankfully technology has moved on, with earplugs readily available, though some still succumb to the cheap thrill of going unplugged.
Guardian Writers on Their Loudest Gigs
My Bloody Valentine at the Roundhouse
I saw My Bloody Valentine live a lot in the late 80s and early 90s. At one London show, the sound engineer stood forlornly at his mixing desk with his headphones off and fingers in his ears. At their 2008 comeback gig, earplugs were distributed at the door. Even wearing them, the volume was inescapable, making clothes move independently of the body. The venue felt tiny and claustrophobic. When I removed one earplug, it felt like someone slapped my left ear. — Alexis Petridis
Sunn O))) at ATP
The loudest gig I’ve ever seen was Sunn O))) at an ATP festival. I watched two men dressed as trees playing gut-troublingly loud music and decided it wasn’t worth the risk. I’ve walked out of their sets since. But volume with purpose can be transcendent. Rosalía’s Lux tour with the Heritage Orchestra at jet-landing volume caused pure panic, then rapture. Angine de Poitrine at Brudenell Social Club was so loud and lunatic it felt like being lashed to Mad Max’s rig. — Laura Snapes
The Bug’s King Midas Sound
Kevin Martin, AKA the Bug, would rather walk away than let a gig not be loud enough. In a cramped Hoxton basement, King Midas Sound produced unforgettable noise: dub turned into post-apocalyptic terror, with a slow rhythm like a giant hammer and noise seething between beats. Without earplugs, I treated myself to occasional blasts. — Ben Beaumont-Thomas
Tim Hecker at Arnolfini
In a pitch black room at Bristol’s Arnolfini gallery, Tim Hecker topped a bill of noiseniks. I stood in front of speakers and was physically pushed by decaying loops from Ravedeath, 1972. By the end, I had moved 10 metres back due to primal survival instinct. This was one of the first dates with my partner; 15 years later we’re married. My snoring is bad but not as rib-tickling as Hecker’s output. — Lanre Bakare
Guide Readers on Their Loudest Gigs
Deep Purple at Newcastle City Hall (early 70s)
I saw virtually every major rock band, but Deep Purple was loudest. I went to school unable to hear teachers and took two days to recover. That might explain why I need subtitles on TV now. — Paul Walsh
Happy Mondays at the Picket (1987)
Happy Mondays supported The Farm and were the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. My ears still hurt 40 years on. Most people stayed in the bar, but I was gripped by their chaotic noise. — Kevin McManus
Jeff the Brotherhood at Luca Lounge, Auckland
I ripped up a supermarket receipt and shoved it in my ears! Superb teeth-rattling gig. — Lainey McNee
Leftfield at Liverpool Royal Court (1996)
The bass from their Monster sound system made wooden panelling rattle and plaster flakes float down. Years later, I heard the system destabilised the building’s foundations. — Tim Barlow
Piss at Brudenell Social Club
Jesus Christ, it was an aural assault. — Francis Fowles
Swans at Town and Country Club, London (1987)
You couldn’t think of anything other than the noise. People streamed out. I stayed and now wear hearing aids. But it was extraordinary. — Keith Knight
Led Zeppelin at Hardrock, Manchester (1972)
My ears are still ringing after Robert Plant’s Immigrant Song. Motörhead loud? Not in the same league. — Myles Flynn
Nickleback at The O2
Don’t judge me! — Sharon Eckman
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