YEARS OF DENIAL: Live at Tank Serbatoio Culturale, Bologna

The claustrophobic atmosphere at Tank Subculture is reminiscent of a brutalisy Berlin rave bunker, and at odds with the warm romance of Bologna itself. I arrive early, by accident rather than design, which was fortunate given the rather painful requirement to register as a 'member of the club' in order to even buy a ticket for the show, but at least my unusual lack of tardiness means there's no queue to contend with. The staff are patient and helpful, despite my embarrassingly English lack of language skills, and I'm soon inside with beer in hand (an early birthday present to myself) and bobbing my head to Massive Attack's Mezzanine which is being pumped out of the speakers. So far, so good.

The venue starts to fill around 10pm - the black-clad throng harnessing an ability to make the small venue pbysically grow in size - and an air of anticipation starts to build. Soon, the lights drop, the soundsystem falls silent, and Years Of Denial slide onto the stage. An 808 fires up a beat, and arpeggiated synth lines set the tone for what lies ahead; a dark, intense, and feral groove. Bathed in fog and simple blue, red and white lighting, the visuals mirror the sound, with vocalist and seductress in chief Barkosina Hanusova not so much dancing as mildly resisting whilst she slowly succumbs to the pull of the gothic darkwave vortex enveloping the room. Minimalist in composition, but heavy in dynamic impact, the sound is exquisite, all clean lines being sawn down to rough edges; the perfect timing and tone of machines being crushed under the weight of oppressive distortion, all while a dance floor friendly bpm gives the experience a human pulse courtesy of Jerome Tcherneyan's electronic wizardry.

"There is no replacement for human connection."

But the focal point is Barkosina, with her expressive performance perfectly balancing a detached vocal delivery. Slow, slithering and full of intent, she takes the audience on a journey through the dark underworld of our collective subconscious, punctuating her deliberate movements with moments of looseness which amplify the four to the floor freakouts happening underneath. Lines are blurred as she enters the crowd midway through the seamless set, the floor becoming the stage, or perhaps the stage becoming the floor. Its hypnotic but natural, challenging our perception of the artist and audience relationship. Roses are gifted to individuals, a human touch amidst the creeping chaos of the synyhetic sounds, and a warm moment of connection. Things start to reach a crescendo as keyboards overload and sub-bass folds in on itself, all while the vocals drench themselves in FX; the  dub delays and long reverbs adding depth to the duo's dark disco soundtrack.

And much like how it begins... it ends. Chords fade to silence and the lights slow to a static gaze. Did this really happen? Were we really here? A perfect moment in time. Happy birthday to me.