Live

Rip It Up, Issue 215, 1 July 1995, Page 37

Live

THE MAGICK HEADS, CANESLIDE Squid, Auckland, May 27.

An English man came up to me and told me he was reviewing this gig for Rolling Stone magazine. He said he’d give me a beer in exchange for a verbal review, which sounded fair enough. The Magick Heads are either very famous, or he was plain lying. It was a select crowd (euphemism for ‘SO people showed’) that viewed Caneslide, who include a person each from Treehut and the Lils in their number. They had a fine line in Sugarlike guitar pop, and powered through their melodic set with nary a backward glance. The Magick Heads have the Bats’ Robert Scott as chief songwriter: but singing duties are covered by Jane Sinnott, who was discovered down South, of course, singing in an ‘alternative’ covers band. Her vocals don’t so much differentiate the band from the Bats as emphasise the folkie leanings of Scott’s songs. Although Scott is supposedly on backing vocals, they were mixed so high that when he sang, he overpowered Jane’s lead. Next thing you know, he’s asking for more vocals! You'd think he wanted to be the lead singer. It was all rather warm and friendly, reminding one of home knitted woolly jumpers and cups of tea. Jane added to the feeling, with her wide eyed inter-song intercourse along the lines of: “Auckland is such a big place... there’s so much traffic,” etc. It was a short set, and as the band left the stage, nobody yelled for more, or whistled, or even clapped loudly. The punters simply put their beers down and left quietly. DARREN HAWKES

FUTURE STUPID, MUCKHOLE Kurtz Lounge, Auckland, May 26.

Admittedly, I’d had a hell of a lotto drink, but tonight was one . damn fine evening. Kurtz Lounge, normally notorious for having the atmosphere of a morgue, is close to packed and buzzing. ' KAFM. favourites Muckhole clamber on stage just short of the * witching’ hour, and slam through a tremendously powerful set at an indecent pace. They've got that post-hardcore vibe going on — a tight, punchy rhythm section that boosts a superfast? grunty. pairing of melodic

guitars and vocals. Muckhole borrow the sheer energy of Minor Threat, and match it with the pop sensibilities of Husker Du and the Clash, and it’s a winning combo. ‘Subterfuge’ was a Top 10 hit on bFM, and deservedly so — live, it's blistering in its speed, as is the thunderous pop of ‘Don’t Wanna Know’, while shades of Youth Of Today are all over the manic ‘Overdrive’, their top song by far. Muckhole's calling card is .a wild collection of first-rate, overzealous pop tunes, and I’ll be glad to see them with alarming regularity. Ditto for Future Stupid. The standard of this former Christchurch trio's live show continues to rise. Having played almost non-stop since they shifted to Auckland, Future Stupid have evolved into a well oiled, brutal band of heavies. A kind of Fugazi meets Rollins deal is what goes down, except singer/guitarist Tony Hallum writes melodies Hank could only dream of. Opening with ‘Shovel’, the threesome weave an intense web of grooves, built on huge slabs of heavy rhythms and sharp, dynamic guitar riffs. ‘Speed Kills’ is a perfect example, tossing and turning in a flurry of rampant chord changes, before guitar, bass and drums combine to strike a killer blow when the chorus hits. Much of the appeal of Future Stupid lies in their refusal to play ‘angry young men’. Though they may produce music of a nasty nature, there’s no sign of affected sneers or calculated animosity directed at their audience — both parties appear to be having an equal amount of fun.

Unfortunately this feast of enjoyment is over way way too soon, but it would be bitter to bicker, for the previous two hours have notched one up big time for the pleasure of rock ’n’ roll for the pure sake of it. Cheers. JOHN RUSSELL

THE MUTTONBIRDS Ultrasound, Toronto, Canada, May 26 and 27.

It’s Saturday night at the Ultrasound, in downtown Toronto. I came here last night with my Canadian resident sister to see the Muttonbirds. Proudly we wore our Supergroove and Mountain Rock T-shirts. We danced, we yelled, we clapped, we screamed for ‘Nature’, and we sang ‘I Wish I Was in Wellington’. We had a great time, and tonight I’m back for more. I’ve just spent two hours at Massey Hall, in the court of King Crimson. Whilst their Royal Highnesses of prog rock were, as ever, at their technical best — I’m feeling the need for some good ol’ rock ’n’ roll to round off the night.

A small but appreciative crowd, with a healthy kiwi contingent, attended both nights. But it was on Saturday night that the Muttonbirds crossed over to the other side. OK, so I happen to be one of those who believes that Don McGlashan's songs just keep-getting closer to perfection — but I gotta tell y’all back home, this was easily one of the best gigs I’ve witnessed anywhere, by anyone! The set opened with the sublimely atmospheric 'White Valiant’, and included such first album gems as ‘A Thing Well Made’, 'Dominion Road’ and ‘Big Fish’ (the latter reworked as a stunningly beautiful ballad). But the songs from Sa/tywere the real stars. ‘The Heater’, ‘Ngaire.’, ‘ln My Room’ and ‘Anchor Me’, of course, were all present, along with the ethereal ‘Too Close To the Sun’ and a rendition of ‘The Queen’s English’ that took my breath away. Folks, if you haven’t already, you gotta see these songs live. On Saturday night, our boys didn’t put a note wrong, and infused their songs with intensity and emotion. Thanks for stoppin' in TO guys. It was a night I’ll not forget in a hurry. Maybe next time you'll have a song — as someone in the crowd requested — about sheep! JOHN CLARKE

THE CRAMPS, KIM SALMON AND THE SURREALISTS The Powerstation,. Auckland, June 4

I turned up just in time to catch Kim Salmon kicking off with that song that goes ‘ow, ow, ow,’ really loudly, which I had first caught at Squid two nights earlier. That night, the band played to a packed and enthusiastic house. They were less warmly received at the Powerstation (no thanks to the unusually prominent redneck contingent), but their performance certainly didn't suffer because of it. ‘What’s Inside Your Box?’ and Kim Salmon's tiger print shirt were the highlights of the performance. I swear I heard I heard a crypt door rip off its hinges when the Cramps took to the stage. The Vincent Price and Vampira of rock, Lux Interior and Poison Ivy Rorschach, stalked on like a perfect equation of mischief and menace. Lux took care of titillating the audience, while Ivy’s icy stare beamed unadulterated disdain on our bad and sorry presence. Yes, we did deserve to be punished. How could we even attempt to be worthy of such a harsh bitch? As for bassist Slim Chance and drummer Harry Drumdini — I swear their expressions (blank) and hairstyles (immaculate) didn’t shift once during the set.

Nevertheless, Harry’s drumming reclaimed the phrase 'skin splitting’ from the 101 Ways With Saveloys cook book, and Slim played some mean slide bass.

Whether it was the music or the spectacle the crowd had come for, they got gluts of both. Material from Flamejob predominated, with ‘Ultra Twist’ calling the shots for the dancefloor. The new material was shaken up with Cramps classics like ‘Bikini Girls With Machine Guns’ and 'Human Fly’ (but no ‘Can Your Pussy Do the Dog?’), and Crampified covers, like ‘Surfin' Bird’.

The spectacle side of things was more than adequately taken care of by Lux. Clad in black rubber and high heels (and a bondage mask for a while), he spanked, crotch .grabbed and microphonally assaulted and gagged himself into a frenzy. Some of that rubber simply had to * come off, as rivers of sweat were visible beneath the shiny surface. When he unzipped the shirt, it let out such a splash, I thought he'd... anyway. Perhaps not sufficiently cooled, he unzipped his stovepipes and pulled them - down until there could only have been one thing holding them up (the view was a pubic jungle). Then it was time to scale the speaker stacks. There isn’t anything quite like the sight of; a near naked ghoul-man simulating sex from on high, while his heels wiggle deliriously above' him. The slack jawed, goggle eyed stare of one close encountering mezzanine floor patron said it all.--

Lux wrapped up the show by destroying his microphone (he’d long since turned it's stand into metal spaghetti). After several concerted attempts with a Bic flick, he managed to render the instrument impotent. The mic’ stand, however. will live on. I saw some proud lads clutching it outside the venue. There were fire breathers outside the doors too. It was an insane evening which restored my faith in staying sick and getting fucked up.

BRONWYN TRUDGEON

THE POINTER SISTERS, THE PETER MORGAN BAND Auckland Town Hall, June 9.

While an audience of 3,000 Silverchair fans screamed their lungs into submission at the Logan Campbell Centre, a crowd less than half that size, but more than twice their age, did the same for the Pointer Sisters at the Auckland Town Hall.

Arriving in time to hear just two songs by support act the Peter Morgan Band was a stroke of good fortune, as they were the funk equivalent

of painting by numbers. Ruth, June, and Anita boogied on stage at 9.15, decked out like Vegas showgirls, and launched straight into ‘l’m So Excited’. For the next 80 minutes, they pulled the best from themselves. Their four-piece backing band eased into a groove slowly, and were left to catch up, ’cause the Pointer Sisters were primed and unstoppable. ‘Hot Together’, a lascivious ‘Automatic’, a cruisy ‘Slowhand’, and an explosive rendition of ‘Dare Me’ followed in quick succession, before the first scheduled costume change was cause for interruption. Black evening gowns signalled the arrival of the ‘sophisticated’ segment of the show, where the trio performed tributes to Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith in turn. Fine for some, but it was the high-steppin’ pop/funk songs I’d shown my face for, and the wait was graciously short. By now sporting shiny gold outfits, they had it nailed, and almost raised the roof with Aretha’s ‘Chain Of Fools’, then tripled the pace for the Beverly Hills Cop theme, ‘Neutron Dance’. The faithful had left their seats by now, under instruction from June, who was practically dancing out of her shoes. A celebratory ‘Jump (For My Love)’ (what else?) was performed as an encore.

In the end more a party than a concert, the Pointer Sisters fulfilled all expectations to overflowing and, once again, the oldies were the goodies. JOHN RUSSELL

HELLO SAILOR Timberlands Hotel, Tokoroa, June 8

When Hello Sailor played their first ever public gig in Tokoroa on June 5 1975, I had been living in the timber town for three months. Technically, I could’ve been there, but most parents will only accompany a four year old to a pub with tremendous ill grace. Twenty years on, I leapt at the chance to see their anniversary show, but it’s a great pity the 300 or so locals gathered at the Timberlands didn’t do the same.

Hello Sailor are a band who thrive when feeding off the enthusiasm of an appreciative audience, but on this occasion they performed to a bunch of braindead stiffs. They played two hourlong sets, disinterest spread like a disease amongst the assembled, and it wasn’t until midway through the second set that a few pissed-up lads began to flail about spastically on the empty dance floor. Consequently, Sailor played without their characteristic spark, and the all-important ‘edge’ was absent. Still, by no means were they bad. Brazier’s voice boasts the strength of 10, and the songs, especially ‘New Tattoo’, ‘GMT’, ‘Million Dollar Hand’, ‘You Bring Out the Worst in Me, ‘Fugitive For Love’, ‘Gutterblack’ and, of course, ‘Blue Lady’, are beyond question. But for this one evening, the element that makes them a great rock ’n’ roll band just wasn’t there. Forthat, the crowd only have themselves to blame, for they totally failed to recognise that this was an occasion. JOHN RUSSELL

BANSHEE REEL Ultrasound, Toronto, Canada, June 9

With apologies to local scenesters here in TO, I must admit that this time I missed the opening acts — owing to a bad movie and a couple on Yonge Street doing Neil Peart imitations on their drum kits!

Being a Wellingtonian, it was difficult for me to admit to the handsome chap at the door (he being a member of a Dunedin Celtic rock band whose name escapes me) that I had never seen Banshee Reel live or, indeed, heard any of their music. This was to be my first live dose of Celtic rock ’n’ roll, kiwi style. So, with me trusty

jar o’ Upper Canada ale in hand, I sallied forth to investigate. Banshee Reel live resembles, watching an onstage party in progress. The impressive lineup of Allan Clark, Julia Deans, and Chris O’Connell, sharing bass, guitar and vocal duties, is raucously augmented by the flying Scotsman, Gavin Duncan, on fiddle, and the world’s first headbanging accordian player, Tony Coughlan, along with drummer Andrew Moen.

To the great misfortune of the band and Toronto punters, the ‘deal’ releasing their two albums over here suffered from the unscrupulous nature of the Canadian company involved. Both Culture Vulture and An Orchestrated Litany of Lies were available at the door though. It was just as well too, ‘cause it was the songs off the latest offering that fair blew the place away — In particular, ‘Sorrow’, ‘Lament’, ‘Horses’ and the rollicking ‘ln Yer Dreams’ in particular. The crowd was small, but appreciative, and refused to let the Reelers off without a couple of encores, including a furious rendition of the Stones’ ‘Honky Tonk Woman’. But let’s not be too picky — Banshee Reel’s whole set partied in my head long after the weary drive home. JOHN CLARKE

DRILL, FIGURE 60, CANESLIDE Pod, Auckland, June 10.

Outside it rained and it poured, while under cover at Pod there was enough room to swing a million and one cats when the trio named Caneslide ambled to the stage. With a line-up featuring Nicola Rush on drums, former Treehut bassist Andrew Moore on guitar, and Boyd Thwaites of the Lils on bass, Caneslide unsurprisingly didn’t stray too far from the latter two’s past musical outings. Short and noisy pop songs were on offer, the rhythm section remaining straightforward and solid, while all melodies were carried by Moore’s guitar and vocals. Any nod in the jangle direction was thankfully avoided, with smooth dollops of feedback and squealing chords being dropped into the mix, giving the whole affair a Pavement meets Buffalo Tom feel. However, the similar nature of each tune meant they fell some way short of keeping your full attention for the whole set.

The numbers were up slightly for the arrival of Figure 60. When they last played Pod in March, I left early, tiring quickly of what sounded like a pot-induced practise room jam, but tonight they were on top of it. The pulsing heart of what’s known as ‘Figure 60 on a good night’ is a guitar that seeps everywhere, at times a luxurious blanket of catchy swirls, and just as often, a collection of high frequency howls with no trimmings. Kept under control by an appropriately rigid bass and drum combo, songs eventually wind there way out of the sonic guitar chaos, and rise to a melodic peak, just as you expect a tune to lose itself in a heap of Xpresswaystyle indulgence. So, it’s good to glean enjoyment from them once again. Most reassuringly, Figure 60 continue to realise that tightness, slickness, and presentation don’t matter for shit.

It’s perhaps unfair to accuse a band that ventures out as infrequently as Drill of experiencing fluctuating form, but for that reason they can only be seen as being good or bad. For the first time, I voted them the latter. Drill aren’t a band known for their prolific output, but two new songs served as openers. Both were unstructured jumbles of twin feeding-back guitars, and busy drum beats that belonged elsewhere. There was no evidence of the deceptively simple structures and melodies that plants Drill in a league of their own. The brilliantly twisted strains of ‘Fishy’ followed, but an immediate return to the vacant extravagance of the first two numbers invoked the red card treatment, and sent me home for an early bath. JOHN RUSSELL

BLAST OFF, DELIRIUM TREMORS, HUMAN Quadrophenia, Christchurch, June 11.

Aye, it were a good nite to shelter from inclement weather. Out looking for the Stag and Poacher or Rovers Return, I had been immediately attracted to the bilious yellow portal of the mysteriously named Quadrophenia. For only a small monetary sum, shelter from inclement weather and lovely music is available, so in I ventured.

Inside it doth be mightily warm with bodily heat of young patrons. On itty bitty stage in little bitty bar are Blast Off, playing a collection of good time oldies and classic hard rocking hits for appreciative patrons. One over awed patron comes away with tears in eyes. “They played My Sharona,” said the emotional young man. Indeed they did, and plenty more, making sure

evil Jack Frostiness is kept well at bay. Keeping the stage toasty warm, next up were young .hopefuls Delirium Tremors, playing their own all original tunes. ‘Chug a luga chugga,’ goes Mr Guitar, pumping out loud brain pounding riff after riff. ‘Rump a thumpa lumpa,’ go Mr Bass and young Master Drums. Whilst funky yet hard rocking vibes are being crafted by aural artists, the bouncing around and vocal gyrations are provided by a small wiry figure. Lyrics are chanted repeatedly, a la Zach de la Rocha, and throughout the entire set the curly haired jack-in-the-box makes certain his bounce goes the full distance. The DTs manage to keep the interest up throughout most of their set, although the epic ‘The Wheel Turns’ could perhaps use a little CRC. Near set’s end, good humoured and self deprecating frontman tells audience they can all start having fun soon, because Human are next up. Me thinketh Mr DTs doth protest too much. Although only new around town, Delirium Tremors have played some awesome gigs. However, tonight was to be Human’s night. If Body Count and Pantera had popped along, chances are the evening still would have been Human’s. There’s little one can say about a band that goes to the trouble of crafting sheep skull cod pieces, so instead I’ll let the picture tell the story of glam/death metal’s finest hour. KEVIN LIST

MASSIVE ATTACK SOUND SYSTEM Shed 21, Wellington, June 17.

Massive Attack’s music melds heavy, melodic dub with a soulful take on the underside of the psyche. Born of the tough UK city of Bristol, where drugs and gang violence provide a backdrop to the strong and largely black music scene, the Massive Attack crew lives up to its name, delivering a sound which is impressive in both size and force.

Shed 21 is a cavernous and impressive building standing empty on Wellington’s waterfront. Saturday night saw it transformed into the venue for the biggest dance party of the year for the capital city. As the crowd trickled in through the tight security, the ‘warm-up’ DJs sent eddies of chilly techno bouncing off the brick walls. Coats stayed on for the first few hours, until the combined body heat of the 1,800 people present warmed the air and loosened the atmosphere. Some of those who forked out SSO for a ticket seemed to take awhile to stop anticipating and start enjoying themselves in the unfamiliar venue. Although the impeccably behaved crowd were predominantly young, clued-up and out to make a night of it, the range of people who turned up was very broad, and a proportion of them must have not known quite what they were in for musically. Nevertheless, the collection of musicians put on a show which sucked the crowd into a dense and deep groove, from which there was no escaping. There was little they could do but be moved. This was a dance party rather than a concert, and some truly funky moves were being busted. A not insubstantial amount of flirting also went on. Although Massive Attack’s music is not always warm and fuzzy, it is certainly sexy. Mounted video screens repeated a sequence of computer generated images, while the sound equipment took up a huge area of floor space and spat out a bass so fat and chunky that the vibrations could be felt clearly though the asphalt in the carpark outside. Built around a core of three musicians (3D, Daddy G and DJ Mushroom), the group managed to deliver a rich and diverse sound by working with a variety of other musicians and singers. Sister Deborah, in particular, had the crowd right where she wanted them, under the spell of her powerful voice and awesome stage presence. Mushroom blew a few minds in the final phase of the set, as he took control of the wheels of steel.

Overall, an impressive show which left the crowd happy but not sated. With a farewell salute (which, in true rude boy stylee included a well received insult to the French), the British crew sent the crowd out into a chilly rain, complaining that it was only 3AM, and asking each other if anyone knew whey they could get some more of this fresh UK import. Massive. Postscript: Rumour has it Shed 21 should have cause for alarm about its future. Apparently this impressive historic building is under the shadow of the demolition ball. If somebody doesn’t realise its historical value and future potential fairly quickly, this two storey brick hall, with its cathedral style windows, will be razed so logs can be stacked in its place. MEG MUNDELL