The Next Service to Depart from Platform 1 is The Brian Jonestown Massacre Express 

The Brian Jonestown Massacre have long had a divisive reputation as a live act. The more than thirty members who have come and gone over the last thirty-five years are testimony to the internal frictions that have given Anton Newcombe and co. such notoriety. In 2023, they made headlines for an onstage brawl culminating in Newcombe’s wielding of a guitar against one of his bandmates. It was with some trepidation, therefore, that I crossed to the other side of the tracks and ventured to the Leeds Beckett Student Union. 

I have never been at a gig quite like it. The band take to the stage, denim-clad, feather-hat-sporting, and with heavily tinted sunglasses, no doubt to hide the countless nervous glances fired Newcombe’s way. He takes his place and flicks over the first page of his laminated lyric book. We wait with bated breath. The band waits for their leader’s cue. A subtle nod of the head, and this psychedelic steam train heaves into motion. For the next two hours, we ride tracks of hypnotic guitar noise, layers of tambourine and head-jerking percussion, and the cool vocals of this hazy locomotive’s crackpot conductor. 

We plunge through musical landscapes. At times, more concrete forms of a pop riff or vocal hook swim into view before plunging back into the foggy horizon, all the while punctuated by a steady tambourine groove that reminds you that you haven’t yet derailed. Among these landmarks are the likes of ‘Anemone’, the band’s most famous and accessible tune, that washes over the spectator in an effortless wave of rhythm and jangling guitar lines. ‘When Jokers Attack’ and ‘Pish’ stand out too, but all blend into a backdrop of blissful psychedelic groove, a ride so smooth that it does sometimes leave passengers slipping into a lethargic doze, though never ceasing in gently nodding their heads. 

Songs begin to feel amorphous, and I do find myself seeking some auditory refreshment. Moments later, and a slick bassline or guitar line pulls me back in. There’s a kind of musical game of cat and mouse at play here, where Anton Newcombe lounges in his own brilliant, startling, divine genius and at the point where you want to shout something at him just to snap yourself out of his spell, in another masterful stroke he beats you to it and says, “look at this!” and blows your mind. 

As the train rounds the final bend, the Brian Jonestown Massacre vista is wide open for all to see. They are self-indulgent, their songs do kind of sound the same, but it doesn’t matter. You can’t help but be drawn in by their hypnotic rhythms and softly spoken rhymes. And as I am about to be lulled into a deep sleep, the final track proves a final twist in the tale. The sitar backed melody of ‘Super – Sonic’ evokes The Beatles’ ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’. It’s swirling and disarming, thoroughly enchanting. Now, this I could listen to forever. 

I think I’m about to attain nirvana. I’m on the brink of the abyss. I’m flying, floating, endlessly, blissfully…

Then the song finishes and the lights come on in the Beckett Student Union, where this service terminates.