Darren Cunningham’s music, a sprawling electronic labyrinth of sound, is nothing if not challenging. Indeed, it often seems that as quickly as he finds a groove and begins to develop it, he whips it away, a cavernous drop or subtle shift in sound quickly pushed into the space left behind. A live set from the celebrated technician is rare, and this appearance has had a troupe of salivating devotees slipping over their own anticipation for weeks. The dingy room is filling fast as he struts onstage, gold chains clinking as he bends over his equipment. A tall, black-clad figure swathed by the anonymous covering of his hood, Cunningham is starkly intimidating before he even makes a sound.
The distorted vocal that introduces his set does nothing to put us at ease. Truncated and interspersed with blasts of white noise, it is oddly compelling. Satisfied with the intro, Cunningham makes it his mission to beat us into submission. The house lights remain oddly bright, bathing him in an unsettling half-light so that the intensity of his expression is laid bare. He flits between poring over his desk like a diligent student to suddenly jumping backwards to dance his way round the peaks and troughs of his music. The bass comes close to suffocating, but is used economically enough to leave the crowd straining for more. Interspersed with the more conventional moments, it builds intricately, inflicting an unrelenting, powerful hold. Barely pausing for breath, there is no let up in the aural bombardment; Detroit techno, dub and jungle are each toyed with, manipulated with dexterity to form a series of sticky cobwebs of sound.
Vocal hooks are dispensed with in favour of crunchy textures, and ebb and flow is controlled beautifully. Never allowing us to truly relax, he somehow conjures an atmosphere that is frustrating, bewildering and exhilarating all at once. His recorded output, particularly last year’s album ‘Splaszh’, offers a window into a musical force that not many of its peers can match, yet to experience Actress in a live setting is something else entirely. He leaves with a cursory nod and a clap after finishing with what felt like an unfinished sequence, disappearing into the shadows.
Words by Ben Homewood
