On Friday, January 24, at the cultural venue "Hanzas Perons" in Riga, a long-awaited event will take place – for the first time in the Baltics, David Tibet and his iconic band, Current 93, from the United Kingdom will perform in concert.
There are artists—or rather, phenomena—whose essence defies description, making any attempt to explain them to others feel like a waste of time. It's like trying to describe the state of matter in a game or to convey something perceived by the senses but not grasped by the mind. "Who is David Tibet?" is the title of a short documentary film created for a recent exhibition of his in the United States. In the film, those interviewed ultimately give up, not even attempting to answer the question.
"It’s darkness and light at the same time; it’s beautiful and terrifying, wonderful and unsettling. Everything I love is in these sounds," says one interviewee. Perhaps this banal antagonism is the best anyone can muster when trying to describe David Tibet and Current 93, the collective he has led since the early 1980s. The situation is further complicated by Tibet's strict insistence that others (including concert organizers) avoid using labels like neofolk or industrial, terms that might otherwise help contextualize his work. But what can be done when Tibet and the legacy of his Current 93—named after a phrase from Aleister Crowley—intersect so deeply with British music history, standing alongside acts like Nurse With Wound, Coil, Genesis P-Orridge and Psychic TV, as well as Death in June and others, all now considered "cult" artists?
Over four decades since Current 93 emerged, David Tibet’s twisted vernacular poetry has earned him recognition as one of the most notable unsung English poets. His verses continue to intertwine decadence and esotericism, making his songs simultaneously beautiful and tragic. His bridges to the timeless poetry of the Gnostics also lead to reflections on love for pets and their deaths, rendering his work disarmingly intimate and warm.
Although David Tibet was born in Malaysia, his music is deeply “English.” It gazes attentively and questioningly at the seemingly idyllic landscapes of the land, possibly inspired by his long-time home in the rolling hills of Hastings overlooking the English Channel. But in the world of Current 93, this purity is suddenly overshadowed by torrents of blood and demons, leaving you unsure whether to interpret them literally or metaphorically. Such is the story of this collective, one of the most challenging in the modern era, whose songs and albums overflow with provocative hints and mysteries.
Acknowledging the futility of attempting to describe the band or Tibet himself, one must settle for the realization that Current 93 represents a continuation of English folklore—inevitably corrupted over time. Yet being present with the artists, even briefly, ensures that nothing will ever be the same again. How else can one explain Tibet’s close friend and collaborator Nick Cave portraying the artist Louis Wain in a film? Perhaps it stems from those distant 1980s when Cave saw in his English friend yet another disciple of Wain's anthropomorphic cats, cementing their shared faith in discussions at Notting Hill pubs. Such is the power and surrender of Current 93’s influence.
Tickets for Current 93’s concert at "Hanzas Perons" on January 24 are available through the “Biļešu Paradīze” ticketing network. Currently, tickets are priced at €55.00. Prices will increase as the concert approaches. A limited number of numbered seats are available for purchase.
