Live

Rip It Up, Issue 113, 1 December 1986, Page 10

Live

While the Cat’s Away Gluepot, November 29 Cover bands and brewery sponsorship, two concepts you could say forced on New Zealand musicians this year by economic necessity. For a couple of hours at the Gluepot though, the reservations were put on hold as five women and their backing band stormed and swaggered through a show of hits and myths with rampant professionalism. The five "mice,” Anne Crummer, Debbie Harwood, Dianne Swan, Margaret Urlich and Kim Willoughby, are all well versed in more traditional rock line-ups, ie: those dominated by men and original music. Out of that format these women grabbed centre stage with what seemed to be even greater confidence and charisma. Their waggish good humour and obvious delight in what they were doing converted even a hardbitten cynic who was prepared for a dreary run-through of tired old hits, the kind of thing you can get anytime, simply by turning on the radio. As it turned out, the show couldn’t have been much further removed from the woeful wireless, especially with its high New Zealand music content. Out they came ... ‘Bold as Brass,’ ‘Counting the Beat,’ ‘Gutter Black,’ Tm in Heaven,’ ‘Just Another Boring Day (in the Amazon),’ ‘Be Mine Tonight,’ and a sensational version of Dave Dobbyn’s ‘Guilty,’ the response to which should encourage the inclusion of more slower-paced, bluesy numbers in future shows. For me the musical highlight was a steamy, seamless ‘Lady Marmalade.' The unaccompanied version of ‘Fire’ also stood out, the vocal dynamics were ... dynamic, but really the whole show never dipped below playful proficiency whether it was the classic (‘Shaky Ground’) or the totally wretched (‘Club Tropicana’). All the vocals were good and when the famous five frontal attack wound up, even heads at the back of the packed bar were turned, no mean feat. The band seemed a bit tentative at first but soon got into the swing

of things, tireless drummer Wayne Bell keeping the show on an even keel throughout. The only thing that did get tiresome was the frequent plugging of the revue's sponsor, the newish lager beer from Dominion Breweries. That these vocalists have to depend on singing commercials for their livelihood is perhaps bad enough indictment of a musician’s lot, but to see talent selling itself so short on stage is another thing altogether. DB has got enormous goodwill publicity from When the Cat’s Away, you couldn’t put a price on it, so my advice to the musicians involved is next time get a lot more money up front or don’t be so keen to push the brewery product down our throats. That gripe aside, it was a great show, thoroughly professional and a pleasure to be a part of. Hopefully the huge numbers of punters who turned out will now be encouraged to support the women when they return individually as parts of other line-ups. Hopefully, despite the success of this venture, those involved will still be keen to try something new and original. No matter how good it is, we don't need another covers band. Mark Everton Suicide Camden Palace, London, Oct 30 Wow, everyone’s turned up to hear the legendary Suicide, just reformed and playing their only London gig. Dozens of homogenous goths, who call the Camden Palace home, arch their teased tresses over each other, the boys foppish and laddish and the girls strange and elaborate. Other youth cults drift across the club in small packs. One particularly striking cult seems to be based on Bobby Gillespie, exJ&MC drummer, but unfortunately it numbers only three immaculate members. And one of them could be Bobby Gillespie. A thin man with a smile so faint it’s almost subliminal sits staring out through wide, watery eyes, while his girlfriend’s head rests in his lap. Reps from the junkie community, natch. At well after midnight a stage crew member is arguing animatedly with two club bouncers, large, ugly middle-aged men in cheap

suits. He apparently loses the argument. He throws his hands up in the air and strides off looking unhappy. After a joke of a support band, Alan Vega and Martin Rev shamble onto the stage like a comedy act, a sort of Hispanic Blues Brothers. They mess around and bump things, Vega moves his mikestand and drops the mike. BOOM. Vega says a cocky hello and then it’s LOUD. Loud enough to make your teeth hurt.

Being (a) rock ’n’ rollers and (b) legends, Suicide can dwell on their golden oldies with impunity and Vega takes great pleasure in announcing that the second song is ‘Rocket USA’ before Rev pushes a fader and a skullcrushing rhythm track comes in. Somewhere in it and subsequent noises Vega finds his own rhythm and scoots along making up words. The collective noise shrieks and pounds and the bouncers at the side of the stage scowl fiercely. In between songs, Rev will walk over to the other side of the stage in his ski glasses and silly hat, and then walk back again. Then maybe do it again for good measure. Vega uses the opportunity to run off at the mouth, sometimes getting lost in his chat. Someone in the audience points out to him that he is fat.

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his paunch and shaking his godawful permed head of hair. "But it happens... I mean you wanna go out joggin? I promise you guys I’ll go out joggin’, in 10 years maybe ...”

The current wave of hard electronics makes now a logical time for Suicide to re-enter and, sho’ nuff, Vega tumbles into a wayward spic rap about a minute into ‘Fast Money Music’ — it’s an expletive attack on the people who make da money in music and the bouncers look like they feel it’s directed at them, which it quite probably is. A heavy glass pint flies across the stage and hits one in the stomach. He goes to sort out the offender, but for some reason his colleague holds him back.

They hold back even when audience members are allowed to scream into the long-suffering microphone, Rev playing with the screams on his desk before they squall out of the PA. Objective reasoning becomes difficult in the

face of the continued sonic assault and you just get carried with the shrieking peaks of it. Or the moments in the “ballads” when Vega warbles disarmingly through the holes in the sound. In between sometimes it’s loud and dull.

But the new Suicide, astonishingly, still have that rare unpredictability foamed over in days of yore, an important constituent of which is the constant potential for imminent disaster. Vega knows it and just smiles sheepishly when Rev cuts a song out from under him or another pint pot flies before the cries for an encore can even get together.

On the whole, Suicide are a hell of an experience, with lots of Experience and no little hell. But, like life, it's fun as well as scary. Yeah, lotsa fun. Current electro music tends to stress qualities of superiority and infallibility and does it well; for others electronics give vent to ingenuity. But still no one has managed as well as Suicide to invest sequencers and samplers with the quality of humanity. Russell Brown Genesis, Herbs Western Springs, Nov 23 High expectations were politely laid to rest in a concert that had its moments, but not enough to satisfy the appetite of 50,000 hungry devotees. Phil Collins the entertainer, comedian and vocalist alone was unable to tickle more than a moderate response from the crowd, who were quick to settle early into the group’s two hour set.

Tony Banks’s keyboard and synth work took up much of the space, bordering on the tedious and indulgent manner of mid-70s techno-rock. Eat dirt Rick Wakeman. Even the guitar work, when it was heard at all, sounded very synthesised. Drummer Chester Thompson took the night away with a very precise and punchy performance. You’d be a hot drummer too if you worked for Phil Collins. Sadly, when these two very prominent percussive forces did a drum duet, they did little more than play the same patterns in time — and something less than impressive at that. ‘Home By the Sea’ received the hottest response and reflected the band’s strength in slow ballad and moodier styles. They really didn’t have

the flair when it came to rocking out.

But it was a night for lights and dry ice. The energetic Collins leapt up and down the stage, left and right, often in biblical gesture. At times I wasn’t sure whether I was witnessing Jesus Christ Superstar or a wcdd expo on state-of-the-art lighting. I look for spirit in a live performance — the humanising flesh and blood element of the forerunning video and vinyl. I didn’t feel overly spirited and nor did many of the crowd as they made for the gates well before the encore.

Support act Herbs tried hard to get the crowd on their side but left it a little late with vocal lines from the very popular ‘Slice of Heaven.’ Nevertheless they gave a very warm and appropriate slice of their harmony-based style, completing the package with some very smart shifts in accent and rhythm. And yes... they had spirit. Barry Caitcheon Simple Minds, Dance Exponents Logan Campbell Centre, Nov 9 It was a confident, strutting Dance Exponents who opened the final concert of Simple Minds’ world tour. Jordan was in fine voice and good humour, particularly on ‘lf Only I Could Die,’ but Chris Sheehan is in danger of losing the band’s goodwill by over-indulging himself on the guitar effects. The keen audience response to the ‘l’ll Say Goodbye’ singalong shows what they like to hear from the Exponents, but with a final melodramatic fling of Dave Ghent’s guitar into Eddie Olsen’s drumkit, the band shows signs of taking their audience for granted. Jim Kerr, on the other hand, is a master of communicating with the audience and the grand gesture which reaches everyone in the hall. He leaps about in laddered tights like lan Anderson, swoops and waves his arms like a sorcerer, and performs “laying of hands” like a politician or messianic preacher. And, through his charm, he gets away with it. However the major disappointment of the concert was his voice, fatigued and croaky after an arduous world tour; perhaps a week’s holiday once the cracks started to show would have been better for

all. ‘Promise You a Miracle’ showed the possibilities of the voice; ‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)’ was a disappointment though, with the low vocals hidden by the heavy bass. That said, Simple Minds remain the stadium spectacle, with every song an epic but with enough crowd-pleasing moments to sustain their interest. On one side, flamboyant drummer Mel Gaynor was trapped in a cage that held innumerable cymbals and toms; on the other, Michael McNeil provided colourful, driving keyboards, particularly on the showpiece ‘Book of Brilliant Things.’ Charlie Burchill’s guitar was always clean and tasteful, with lovely harmonics on ‘Ghost Dancing.’ The grand anthems tended to drift to an end however, and the concert was given a lift when, during ‘Once Upon a Time,’ chesty wailing was heard from the wings. Enter Robin Clark, the black female vocalist who stole the show. An imposing figure, like Mr T in a wonderful leather outfit festooned with tassles and jewellery, she was given centre stage during the duet of ‘Alive and Kicking,’ the peak of the concert. To finish, there was a quick letting down of hair during the encores. While ‘Jumping Jack Flash’ was inappropriate, Sly Stone's ‘Thank You Fallettinme Be Mice Elf Again’ and ‘Dance to the Music’ provided a funky, triumphant end to Simple Minds’ third visit and lengthy world tour. Chris Bourke ‘RUMOURS’ FROM PAGE 6 lective Lowlife featuring Eugene Butcher and friends. Robin Banks (ex-Roco Coca) has returned from Australia with Dale Monaghan (ex-Mockers) and Greg Mannering (ex-Rodgers), and all three hope to have a drummer and band together shortly ... the AEB have resurfaced as Borderland Productions ... War of the Bands finalists Amez-Amez have taken over a residency at the Papanui ...Robyn Bern is organising this years “Summertimes,” anyone interested in participating can contact Robyn at the Chch civic offices... the Camelias, Scatteract and the Prodigies have all been in the studio, and Murder Inc will record a record in January for Rational... and that’s it for another year. Merry Christmas to all!

John Greenfield