In the heart of Shoreditch, at an intimate industrial structure known as Village Underground, two hip-hop heavyweights embodied the experimental and boundary-pushing ethos associated with Pitchfork’s annual London takeover. From mind-melting electronics to gritty, paranoid beats, Injury Reserve and Billy Woods captured the energy of London’s alternative underground scene.
Pitchfork Music Festival London made its debut in 2021, where a star studded line-up of artists took over 12 venues in the country’s capital. This year is no different with the magazine giant bringing a new round of talent including Kae Tempest, Black, Country, New Road and more.
When Billy Woods took to the stage, I was sardine squeezed into the upper right hand side of the crowd. The thick, hazy atmosphere, suffocated with anticipation, was appropriately homed in a unique turn-of-the-century warehouse.
Billy Woods, 44, is a prolific underground hip-hop artist from Washington, US. His deranged and avant-garde approach to the genre has attracted favourable reviews from critics and a cult following from fans across the world.
“Whoever’s doing the lights, don’t you dare make it brighter than this,” Woods preached to the packed room. His vocals desperate and intense and bellowing above the almost red-lining beats.
Woods rushed through his short set and even stopped a track halfway to squeeze in another fan favourite. On ‘Spongebob’, the crowd screamed the refrain, pointing at Woods with intent whereas ‘No Hard Feelings’ stunned members into submission with its anxious and dramatic soundscape.
’Marlow’, ‘Artichoke’, and ‘Pollo Rico’ were standout songs from Woods’ brooding performance and the audience hung on every manic bar. I looked up toward the imposing brickwork and church-like arches, it was clear that Pitchfork had selected the perfect venue for one of the best underground artists to perform.
After a short break, where everyone and their dog piled into the congested smoking area, Injury Reserve took the stage. Ritchie with a T and Parker Cory have embarked on this tour as a duo following the tragic passing of band member Stepa J. Groggs in 2020.
The group – who are originally from Arizona – released their latest album By the Time I Get to Phoenix (BTTIGTP) last year. The project incorporated electronic, noise and industrial stylings with a zany and experimental take on hip-hop.
Typically, artists who craft their live shows around full album runs leave more to be desired. But I don’t think many will be complaining about this one. BTTIGTP is an album completely deserving of a dedicated live experience.
The stage was illuminated with yellow vapour and all that was visible was the flickered silhouette of Ritchie’s dreads hurling back and forth. Meanwhile, Parker glued to his synth workspace conjuring harsh bursts of drum blasts.
The dissonant set gets going with ‘Superman’ – a song that tackles themes of dissociation and instability. Parker Cory’s crazy deconstruction of Black Country, New Road’s ‘Athens France’ is discordant and brings chaos to the crowd.
Injury Reserve works through BTTIGTP at pace, bouncing from one track to the next, with Ritchie occasionally stopping to bring attention to Parker’s mind-boggling synth work. ‘Wild Wild West’s antsy and manic soundscape shows how far the duo have come since the jazz-rap days of Live from the Dentist Office.
‘Knees’ and ‘Top Picks for You’ provide a short respite from the cacophony. On ‘Top Picks for You’, Ritchie’s heartbreaking and vivid verse about life after the death of Groggs silences the audience. He sings “Your patterns are still in place and your algorithm is still in action / Just workin’ so that you can just, jump right back in / But you ain’t jumpin’ back”.
Injury Reserve’s night at Pitchfork Festival ends with ‘Jailbreak the Tesla’. The songs feeds the mosh pit, like hurling a piece of meat amongst a pack of lions. Like the best shows, the most memorable and striking moment came right at the end.
With temperatures rising and the duo using all their tactics to stir the crowd, Ritchie with a T grabs a midi keyboard and launches it at the fans. With many assuming a setlist or a t-shirt just flew past their heads, the whole crowd started to rush toward the keyboard, except for one lad, who stood still, rubbing his head.
Like a guilty toddler, Ritchie announces to the crowd: “I’m sorry can I have that back… I don’t know why I did that.” The keyboard is returned intact. A hilariously humble moment from a group who made everyone’s night. Even the man who may still be nursing a concussion.
Words by Will Millar
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