Cafe Oto, London, UK
Photo: Viviana Almas

There are two halves to Mihály Víg, the Hungarian composer known for his collaborations with the late film director Béla Tarr. The first is the minimalist whose scores submit themselves to Tarr’s austere monochrome palette, extended takes and character studies. The second is the rock musician who fronts Balaton, a band with origins in the 1980s Hungarian underground. The way these two halves cross over and complement each other is on display at tonight’s packed show. It’s hard to believe, but this is Víg’s UK debut “because”, promoter Stanley Schtinter tells me, “no one had thought to invite him until now”.

The first set features songs written by Balaton and Trabant, Víg’s shortlived project with the actor Marietta Méhes and numerous musicians from the Hungarian alternative scene. Alongside Víg tonight are János Bujdosó, György Rósz, Balázs Székely and Gábor Horváth. They launch into “Kínai Kormány”, an energetic college rock track with call and response guitar solos exchanged between Bujdosó and Rósz. Víg’s vocals are submerged in the mix but the band are aware and tweak their amp settings. “Ragaszthatatlan Szív” has a despondent reggae groove, engineered by Székely’s articulated percussion and Horváth’s inquisitive basslines, with cheesewire guitars cutting through the centre. “Kígyó”, meanwhile, deviates from the searching origins of the recorded version and resembles something akin to Bruce Springsteen’s bravado live.

Balaton throw in blues, psychedelic and hard rock references that get some people dancing and singing along. “Fáraó Népe” echoes REM’s “Everybody Hurts” in its arpeggiated chords but Bujdosó’s volume swells and the progressive tendencies of the rhythm section edge the track closer to the art rock stylings of Talk Talk. Rósz and Bujdosó’s twinned guitars lock together creating a human chorus pedal, as Víg pivots around his mic like a white crow on a weather vane. The band cap off the first set of the evening with “Mániákus Depresszió”, a midtempo melancholy number that presages what is yet to come.

After an intermission, Víg sits behind the piano to perform soundtracks with which the audience appear more familiar. “Oreg”, a pained waltz from Werckmeister Harmonies, opens this set with additional accents from the band. Víg looks content behind the keys and follows up with the main score from Sátántangó and two dance numbers from Damnation. A scene that reappears in Tarr’s later films features barflies dancing drunkenly in a tavern, usually with an accordion accompaniment. It speaks to alienation and loneliness endemic to a disintegrating society. In Balaton’s reworking of these themes, the tracks are injected with a revised optimism while maintaining a link to their innate sadness. “Valuska”, the kind of song you can’t help but play on repeat when your heart is aching, captures this sentiment best with its tearful melody. It gets a rapturous ovation from the audience.

Balaton loosen up completely towards the end, concluding the evening with “Elmúlik”, a song with a Velvet Underground swagger – an aloof bass, stomping drums and spidery guitar. When reflecting on his career in a 2020 interview for Arbelos Films, Víg self-effacingly conceded: “I’m just a rock musician who entertains his friends so that they can enjoy themselves.” Indeed, in spite of the horrors going on in the world right now, spirits are high as the audience spill out into the night.

Ilia Rogatchevski
Originally published by The Wire, April 2026