Asleep on the Aerial Railway?

Rip It Up, Issue 2, 1 July 1977, Page 2

Asleep on the Aerial Railway?

Maidment Theatre, Auckland Thursday, June 16.

A Night on the Aerial Railway: mimics, loons, jellybeans, recitations, Strauss, tricks and trapdoors, dry ice and dancers a four hour marathon in all, and buried amidst it the efforts of half a dozen songwriters. Well, with our brightest young hopes recently stolen to gad about the globe with the Enz, or like Geoff Chunn receiving exposure of unfathomable irregularity, A Night on the Aerial Railway gave opportunity to assess what some local songsters offer at present. Heading the act was Malcolm McCallum. McCallum, with one album already released and another planned is probably the most successful singer-songwriter hereabouts (excepting, I suppose, John Hanlon). As a performer, he seems unsure whether he wants to try it alone or with a band. Nevertheless he is a competent solo performer, even if his material does suffer when stripped of electric instrumentation (rocky numbers “Don’t Save All Your Good Loving" and “Is It Cold in Your Heart" beg for a rhythm section, notwithstanding some valiant thrashings on guitar). McCallum puts together as good a set of displaced electric songs as one could expect and I'm tipping the next album will be worth attention. Not that he hasn’t his weaknesses. He particularly needs to learn to edit his own material. His wind up number is an apocalyptic vision of city nightlife, an attempted Jackson Browne treatment of a Bruce Springsteen theme. The quality of the lyric is patchy to say the least. McCallum draws a compelling picture of the working musician who becomes inadvertent piper to the languid frequenters of Auckland clubs. But after setting his scene he has an embarrassing weakness for self explanation. Who needs lines like, “you wonder why they prostitute their feelings so

mercilessly" and this from a man capable of the genuine image of “midnight cleaners with their fateful brooms’'. Still don’t get me wrong. Malcolm McCallum is good value.

But if McCallum is a little undiscriminating in his sentiments the gentlemen from Waves, Dave Marshall and Graham Gash lose themselves wholly in linguistic excess. Dave Marshall is the main culprit, principally because he writes about things remote from his experience. Songs about being old, or being a fugitive bankrobber are frankly presumptuous, and lose impact in a maze of catchphrases. As far as Waves are concerned (though I realise the whole band was not represented here) the honeymoon is over. People no longer accept the band on its undoubted technical competence alone. If soon they don’t start moving with some kind of purpose they’ll find themselves without a public. The remainder of the evening was a pleasant frolic interpsersed with moments of inspiration. Limbs, the newly formed dance group lent polish, the Momba band was relaxed, loose, but never chaotic, piano player Mathew Brown amazed with digital dexterity, Steve Robinson (ex Tamburlaine, Heartbreakers) exhibited once again versatility as an entertainer. And as a

surprise package in the m(ddle of a pleasantly inoffensive routine Dave Calder unwound the best tune of the night, a little dittv by the name of “Sleeping Dogs”. Unhappily by that advanced stage of the evening most were dozing quietly in their seats. Bruce Belsham