Live Review: Ulver

It would be an understatement to say that Ulver's arrival to the Odeon Theatre's stage is awaited with some anticipation. Though they've been a band for 24 years, they only started doing live concerts eight years ago, and tonight is their first ever performance on Australian soil. They've come a long way from their black metal roots, traveling through a myriad of stylistic shifts every step along the way, to arrive at their recent long-player, The Assassination Of Julius Caesar; an homage to the darker shades of '80s synth-pop that sees them weaving icons from ancient history and contemporary culture into a rich musical fabric. It's another dramatic turn for their studio output, and another defined mark on their legacy.

It is barely past 7.30pm when three musicians take their places on stage and commence with the forceful pulse of opener Nemoralia. It's an extremely satisfying drum sound and the power of each beat is vividly accentuated by patterns of syncopated laser projections. It sets a heavy mood, paving the way for core members Kristoffer Rygg and Jorn H Svaeren to arrive with a hint of dramatisation, and from here it's full steam ahead. The stage becomes bathed by an impressive flood of lasers, with deceptively simple line projections inscribing patterns and symbols on a large screen behind the band. From the outset their sound is weighty, with emphasis on the low end, and Rygg's vocals come across surprisingly well for someone who rarely ventures down lyrical avenues.

As Southern Gothic and 1969 follow, it becomes evident that this set will chart the same course as recent European outings, seeing The Assassination Of Julius Caesar performed in its entirety, albeit in an alternate order and with the inclusion of Perdition City offering The Future Sound Of Music. As the performance progresses its way through the channels of the album, weaknesses begin to reveal themselves. It proves to be a task that is not quite met by the five members on stage, as the finer details and spatial dynamics of the studio effort are quite lacking. This is where the production of the show becomes a saving grace, of sorts, for what they're lacking in sound they somewhat make up for in the visual department.

Initially the line projections on the screen seem almost comical in their simplicity, but as the show unfurls it becomes more apparent how well these visuals thematically expand upon an album that maps a constellation between a number of historical events, locations, and icons. It becomes an implicit critique of the military-industrial-entertainment complex and the perpetual patterns of clinging and aversion toward desire and fear in an age of abundance and hyper-saturation. Heard is a call to a stoic embrace of "the grace of faded things." For when empires have turned to ash and bodies have decayed, what is left but the manifested symbols which inscribe themselves on collective memory? And as an extended version of Coming Home slowly trails out, Ulver leave us in a space of such contemplation, making deep inquiry into the heaviness of personal responsibility and action; questioning, what does one leave behind?