they nearly inflated my intestines.
"We're Mogwai, from Glasgow, Scotland." Five men positioned themselves on stage, all wearing the green track tops of the Glasgow Celtic Football Club. The influence of sombre tower blocks, urine-drenched betting shops, and the iron-grey of Glasgow's skies presented itself as the band's bedroom-personal music bore down on us like the Atlantic swell on a reef. Mogwai are one of the few bands that distil the culture of the 21st century, and their place within it, to create a sound that defies itself. The restraint in some of their songs seems almost sadistic, and the loud bits, when at last unleashed, crush like haunted dreams of Bambi's slaughter. It's not music that you play when friends come over -- it's music you're best left alone with, like melancholy, a dirty book, a bottle of single malt, or a busted heart. This all makes the live show a strange proposition. And that is why the band ROCKS the audience so hard. If rock journalists were allowed to use the phrase 'sonic cathedral' only once in their lives, this would be the time.
Mogwai - I Know You Are But What Am I? [ Live @ Montreux Jazz Festival]