Angels of the Mourning

photography by Jasper Coolidge/jenyk.com

At the risk of distorting facts, I can say that I was part of a moment last Friday. That moment was the return of White Magic. Five years and seven oceans from now, I can only hope to properly historicize it, but for now, all I can do is share my history and maybe yours by telling you what happened.

More than any other band in New York City, White Magic (in its orignal form with guitarist Andy McCleod and drummer Miggy Litteton, both of whom are no longer performing with singer/guitarist/pianist/aesthiste/enigma Mira Billotte) were a moment for me and, if I may take the liberty, for underground music in New York. I could go into detail about the meta-consideration I gave to their majestic In Through The Sun Door, the medicine I took to understand its demands and musings and the way I became experienced after hearing it for the first and fiftieth times, but that will all have to wait for the autobiography. Instead, I am going to tell you about a crucial turn in the musical moment we're living in right now—two folk musicians named Mira Billotte and Doug Shaw playing at a club.

Like a rainbow or a funeral on national television, a White Magic performance in New York is a rare event. Since last summer, they've only played a handful of under-promoted shows (ne "happenings") at galleries and tiny venues tucked away in BK and lower Manhattan. I should stop using the term "they" since the individuals in White Magic have since been whittled down to two: Billotte and guitarist/percussionist "Sleepy" Doug Shaw. The pair had been writing new material and playing in London since the spring and have become the subject of many conversations amongst the smokers and talkers. It's not that people want be rude and gossip, it's the fact that many others, who like me hitched their far-out hopes of how beautiful and expansive White Magic's music would become, were shocked (that's the word) that the unqiue chemistry of the orginal line up had been so radically altered. I can't say the show last Friday was the indie version of May 17 ’66 , because it was more like an acoustic May ’68—a snapshot of what was at stake for Billote and Shaw and their fans. Would there be a fight? Freedom? Musical communion? "Judas!?"

Billotte started White Magic's set by herself with the haunting "Keeping The Wolves From The Door". After the few few chords rang out, I couldn't help but think this was a message to the crowd—This is how/It was meant to be. From when I was (barely) standing, the foot of the stage, the response was complete silence, contemplation, religion. Girls burying their heads in their crossed arms as they leaned on the stage. Dudes closing their eyes and mouthing the words as each verse told the story and asked the questions. I wonder/do you hear thunder/like I do/like I do/if you know living like I do... Her lips connecting with their's. It was the old White Magic—Billotte's spell, her words, her flowing linen shirt, her rare essence commanding the air. And then, it stopped—and changed shape.

Shaw, dressed in white with a crown of ginger blonde hair that made him look like a sibling of Billotte's, took a seat on stage behind two suspended cymbals and a tambourine and began brushing out a rhythm while Billotte sat at her piano. The two didn't make eye contact with each other, but kept looking up, presumably to get the attention of the sound man or maybe a higher power whom they were offering their sounds to. As in the past, the audience was there to simply be, but they weren't acting as they had. You felt their doubts landing on the stage at Billotte's sandled foot.

The rest of the set, which contained no other songs from Through The Sun Door was a blur of instrument swapping and furtive musical exchanges between the Shaw and Billotte. Most of the new material was reminiscent of the Far-Eastern drones captured on WM's curious three track promotional CD for Tylenol. The connection between the musicians on stage was palpable, but it seemed as though the lines of droning, holy communication hit a few roadblocks inside the walls of the Bowery Ballroom. As the set went on, the crowd of diehards pressed up front were locked in their contemplative silence, but the rest of the room was crackling with an aloof temperment that was broken by the duo's cover of Bob Dylan's "4th Time Around." The performance wasn't by any means bad, but even if you knew the words, it was unknowable. It's sources obscured and its mission concealed in the duet's dual interiority. It was hard to get into, simply because it was unfamiliar and alien—the sound of two musicians speaking to each other in their own private and plaintive harmony, which is beautiful in its own right. The new White Magic was beautiful, yet altered—chemically and sonically, as the show's closer proved. The set ended with an African styled chant and Billotte banging on an empty Corona bottle with a drum stick. It was simply awesome and grounds for getting very excited about what lay ahead for the two, but the music was never able to completely lose itself. It hinted a catharsis, but only got as far as an unreality. Where was White Magic? Right here. Where was I? No idea.

Elliot Aronow

Comments

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where was this show?

[elliot]

Bowery Ballroom

[Harry]

Perhaps you should honour basic introspective rules and trust that Shaw & Billotte's evolution came about from more than a few invasive personal preferences occuring with your "sun door" white magic, as it were. The beauty of the present is Doug & Mira's intellectual focus and innovation. They are well on the road; and, as you realize, the chattering classes' voice is short-lived, nothing more. You may well want to research the source of the "aloof temperament". The NYC(BK) indie scene is a small town when it comes to gossip & change. Here in London the new white magic were hot.

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