The 16mm film projections that unspool behind Godspeed You! Black Emperor as the Canadian ensemble perform at the Troxy are not what you’d call subtle. Oil refineries burn, wildfires rage; the word “hope”, scrawled in wobbly pencil, flickers as if to show the precariousness of the concept – and to introduce the Hope Drone, their set opener since they reunited in 2010. The intimation is that we are living in a state of emergency, one this admirably earnest eight-piece remain committed to facing head on. Their forthcoming album, No Title as of 13 February 2024, 28,340 Dead is a reference to the estimated death toll in Gaza at the time of the record’s completion; that they play four songs from it (two in medleys) in an eight-song set list which only once reaches back pre-reunion suggests a band intent on pushing forward, remaining present.

Over almost two hours they make it easy to stay with their combative, determined sound. The drama, textures and violence is gripping; although this is grand-scale music that practically comes with adjectives attached – cathartic, magisterial, elegiac if you will – the detail and sensitivity of their interplay is what fuels it. The volume of Hope Drone grows in shudders as violinist Sophie Trudeau plays a lament and Aidan Girt and Timothy Herzog’s drums begin to vibrate in frenzy. The brimming guitar refrain of new song Sun Is a Hole Sun Is Vapors spills over and over, flecked with detritus and gradually slowing and stretching out gorgeously to let Herzog and Girt fit tumbling fills within each beat. Also new, Babys in a Thundercloud unspools like a reverse Disintegration Loops, climaxing in a furious rally of cavernous, clarion noise, although one of the three guitarists (either David Bryant, Efrim Manuel Menuck or Michael Moya) plays an almost impish, cascading refrain from somewhere deep within the noise.

The mid-section is where the violence really hits. As those oil refinery images rage, Fire at Static Valley approaches metal territory, with an impressively queasy guitar figure lurching through the churn. The unruly, vaulting riff in new song Pale Spectator Takes Photographs feels like being strapped to the back of the giant sand worm in Dune; it feeds into this year’s comeback single Grey Rubble – Green Shoots, which starts in a state of staticky desolation, one abrupt, brute guitar figure sounding over and over until the spark catches and the song boulders into almost desert blues territory; Trudeau’s violin sounds particularly beautiful, as if being played through an old Victrola. Only Piss Crowns Are Trebled, from 2015’s Asunder, Sweet and Other Distress, sounds a little conventional, ultimately dwelling in reasonably down-the-line post-rock thrash.

Post-reunion, Godspeed have been back together longer than they existed in their first phase (14 years v nine). They’re so clearly not trading on former glories that them finishing with the beloved F♯ A♯ ∞ song East Hastings (specifically The Sad Mafioso movement) feels earned, both for the faithful – the amount of band T-shirts worn in the crowd, and the Eras tour-worthy lines at the merch stand, are testament to fan devotion – and the band. Desolate, bent guitar notes ring out amid flurries of noise before the song races to a dense, squalling conclusion, Trudeau’s violin cutting through the tumult. As it crashes to an end, hundreds of fans spill for the exit – but Godspeed keep the droning feedback going for a good 10 minutes, creating a space for awe and contemplation that’s just as impactful as the previous, battering two hours.