Dean Blunt has never particularly wanted to be understood, especially not in a live setting. He is, after all, the man responsible for both the most beautifully warped sounds I’ve ever heard, but also songs with productions so mediocre they leave me entirely cold. His live shows have been just as erratic: from bodybuilders working out on stage to bombarding the audience with white noise, all in the name of art. So I had no idea what to expect when as I ventured to central London too see a rare intimate performance.The crowd for his solo show at the 100 Club was made up of the kind of guys who collect James Ferraro compilations and sit around pondering how many ankle rolls they should go for on their loose-fitting navy work slacks. None of the people I spoke to were expecting anything resembling a greatest hits set, most were worried about whether it would even be bearable.With no support act on before, it’s at least half an hour after the official start time until anything actually happens. The lights slowly die and the entire crowd is left in the dark without any clue as to what’s going on. A shadowy figure emerges onstage and presses a button to start a feedback loop. It loops and loops and loops. After ten minutes of listening to pure noise and not one minute of live music whilst being submerged in the dark, people are getting restless.Suddenly, an Ashanti vocal is layered on top of the noise, and people take pictures of the shadowy figure to wake him from his self- imposed blackout. He eyes up members of the audience, and then slowly walks up to the mic. Without so much as a “what up London? y'all have a great time?”, Dean Blunt begins.He plays, in order, every song from latest album Redeemer. For some unknown reason, joining him on the stage is a six foot tall bodyguard dressed entirely in black; why he’s there is anybody’s guess but it adds to the unknown atmosphere. Dean’s onstage banter is non-existent, and instead he wanders back and forth during the songs incessantly rubbing his hands. The only time he so much as cracks a smile is when the audience applaud after the song; seemingly used to indifference, Dean looks a little overwhelmed by the recognition. The only other musicians that join him for the show are an opera singer and trumpet player, both of whom give no acknowledgment to the audience.The show ends as weirdly as it started, with the band walking offstage to a high pitched squeal, accompanied by intensive flashes of a strobe light. The whole experience was basically the definition of a mind–fuck. As I pass the door, I see a Dean Blunt imposter sitting at the merch table making friends with various fans who congratulate him on the show. It reminds me that whatever he does as an artist, we’ll never really know who he actually is.I’ve never been to a show where I’ve felt simultaneously surprised, but also got everything I expected and hoped. But then again, there’s no artist quite like Dean Blunt.Follow Dan on Twitter @KeenDang
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