The Acid, Cargo, London review • DIY Magazine

Seeing The Acid live is like being caught up in a spider’s web; once you’re in, you’re stuck. But it’s a complicated process, all that weaving. Too complicated, in fact, if some self-damning between-song observations from the band’s Adam Freeland are anything to go by. The producer claims everything’s “gone to shit” towards the show’s endpoint. That’s not matched in the audience perspective. Down below, there’s a dazzling lightshow and an immersive soundtrack designed to shadow any on-stage hiccups.

But this is a baby step; The Acid's second show so far. High standards are understandable, all members are established in their own right with collective decades' worth of experience. Frontman Ry X is the complete flip side to Freeland's frustrated quips. He gives veritable Oscar speeches midway through the set, giving claim to an intuitive process that's "beautiful" when fleshed out. It's clear that in every fabric The Acid are a beast made up of very different creatures. But together they create what they've been striving for; electronic music made from scratch on stage, each fragmented part a product of the night.

When it works, it's like very little else out there. Grayscale visuals and illuminated soundtrack in unison, this is a fragile process that rewards its makers and onlookers when everything's in its right place. It can punch too. 'Creeper' is all strobes and bursts of noise, the darker embrace to The Acid's traditional cuddle. 'Fame' sounds like an Atoms For Peace song that stumbled out of Thom Yorke's grimmest thoughts into a more welcoming home.

As Ry observes, the odd mistake is human. And from the outside barely a single error is noted, especially when it's being played by a band without a full-length to their name. Without question: These might be baby steps, but these aren't mere toddlers we're dealing with. That much is brutally, brilliantly evident tonight.

Tags: The Acid, Reviews, Live Reviews