Words by Christopher Thompson

Coming to Tasmania was a first for me – thinking of leaving the dreaded Melbourne chill to consume an even frostier climate was not one of my top priorities.

Arriving at MOFO was nothing short of a spin out, Hobart embraces the essence of life and death and as I purchase my Hecker ticket, the girl in the booth says…… “Make sure you stick around till Sunday, that’s when you can purge your sins; the whole town is doing it.”

Leaving somewhat scrambled from her sheer excitement at cleansing my soul – I knew I was going to be in for a ride.

We got to the Hecker show just in time to grab an espresso martini – I would’ve been earlier though I got lost in the mirror maze and ended up here.

It was about zero degrees outside, though as we entered the warehouse coined “Black Box” a droning sound echoed throughout the vast shell and pink haze filled the room, engulfing its patrons in ambient sounds and scents from Geza Schoen.

Floral aromas filled the air, Patchouli and freshly cut grass, aldehydes and air notes of vast openness – the dark, foggy surroundings make it hard to locate the infamous Hecker.

An overwhelming sense of isolation comes over you, the feeling in a ceiling-less room with a hundred or so mofo’s staring into nothingness does somewhat translate into mild psychosis as smoke thickens visibility is at an all-time low, and I think people are lying on the floor…

As the lights flicker the tempo escalates – we anxiously wait for an endless drop teetering on the edge of Berghain-esque beats. As the subs shudder and verberate through my chest – I wonder for a moment wtf I’m doing.

There’s a crisp smell in the air – the opposite to what you’d expect from an old warehouse on the dockside of Hobart. My mind wanders as the distorted white noise of the string section becomes meditative. As I look around the room, I notice – where the fuck is Hecker? As his signature subsonic warbles surrounded the disoriented audience, there was no beginning, no end, just an ethereal space that played on your senses.

I knew he was in there somewhere and as I moved slowly around the room it dawned on me – this was not about the man of mystery. As the bass thumps, so do my thoughts – Hecker’s aim was to perform, not to be gawked at. Scanning the room there is no sense of direction, as I center myself in a void the sound and scents take full control – I feel where Hecker is taking us and have a greater understanding of what it means to be connected.

When there’s a void or a gap in space and time – it gets to a point where we look for the edge or the reasons behind something. Subtracting the edges represents life, the feeling you get in a boundary-less space has you panic for a moment almost claustrophobic by never ending depth of time and perception. Without sounding obnoxious, this is nothing and everything all at once.

As I wander through the room, the guitar riffs strum, and there’s an overwhelming scent of clean, ambergris, and vetiver. There are body’s rolling on the floor overcome by all the euphoria. Stepping through the crowd, the zombie-like figures become transfixed by the flashing lights weaving through ambient textures; they begin to sway as the hefty sound of contorted piano’s scramble.

The ever-changing colours finally made one last shift from deep blues to soft violets, as the music itself layers down to nothing at all. Everyone remains poised unable to fathom what they’ve experienced something that comes in droves as you stand and be at peace with the sharp sounds of Hecker.

Big up to Red Bull Music Acadamy for putting on this doozy of an event!