While on record his constructions are complex yet minimal, tonight the sounds of Lucky Shiner are blown wide open, its brash moments (namely a stonking Vanilla Minus that climaxes with what sounds like the mainframe of his MacBook being brutally gutted) harsher; its innumerable softer moments substantially more soothing. Beneath a gossamer-like web of gently shimmering lights that look as if hauled down from above the countless milling heads of Chinatown stands Derwin, almost entirely obfuscated by shadow and gadgetry, drawing wandering eyes to Ronni Shendar's magnificently crafted live visuals. At one point Derwin bobs in synchronicity with a perturbingly gargantuan anemone that sways on the giant screen behind, and it proves mouthwatering to the extent that you can almost taste saltwater trickling across your tongue. It's a setup as lavish as the decadent venue in which it's sited and one that's fully deserved, as is the fact that scribbles at the door declare the night to be officially sold out, the crimson innards of the theatre rammed with an appreciative bunch hankering on his every Asiatic hook, line, and sample. Skittish opener I'm With You But I'm Lonely is probably the tremolo-tinged track with which Koko can most easily associate given its latently accessible ebb, while Marriage provides an ethereal climax, like Orbital drifting out into the furthest reaches of the unknown. Lucky Shiner herself, "an Indian lady", beams down from one of many bulbous balconies, evidently as proud and delighted as James Penycate must surely feel tonight of all nights. The hacked up vocals of Quitters Raga are pasted seamlessly into a lucid set that relies heavily, intelligibly, on material from the debut LP, and it's Snow & Taxis from this record, the sound of the blurred, varicoloured view from the frosted window of a speeding car, pulsating like a nervous ticker, that is tonight's crowning moment.
Derwin mumbles a word or two, disappears, and swiftly returns for what is, within the parameters of electronica, something of an unprecedented, if much merited encore. Its components are universally billed as his "last tune", and he's patently relishing both the venue and the veneration as he shuffles behind a blood red Chinese lantern. The tripped out D'n'B scuffle of Win-san Western ensures he just about cracks the curfew, and signals that he's filled, but never bloated, ninety minutes. Konnichiha bigtime, Derwin. At long last.
