Live

Rip It Up, Issue 217, 1 September 1995, Page 38

Live

SHIHAD, SHORT The Alamo, Auckland, August 19

Shihad in the flesh remove you from reality the way fast driving or heavy drinking never will. Spending 90 minutes at their altar results in a total sensory overload, leaving you overwhelmed, but equally primed to explode. It’s a feeling that, if bottled, would make millions. Wellington four-piece Short proved worthy openers, with a brief set of warped pop tunes lifted from their EP Shagpile. Solid, complex rhythms from drummer Colin Hartshorn and singer/bassist Brett Garretty make a base for the layered, intricate guitar duelling of Cliff Bateman and Stuart Brown. For many moments they parade a restrained, melodic nature (‘Short Black’), before diving headlong into a grunty variation on anthemic power-pop (‘Blushing’). It's pop, but not as we know it. Less than a quarter of the number that squashed themselves into the Powerstation the evening previous have made it to the Alamo on this night. But straight from the angry opening riff of ‘You Again’, Shihad fill the room with a deafening, brutal noise. Churn and Killjoy get an equal showing, as they tear through ‘Bitter’, ‘Derail’, ‘The Call’, ‘For What You Burn’ and ‘Screwtop’, with frightening intensity. Down the back, drummer Tom Larkin shows the skins no mercy. Lost in the sound, he belts out precise beats with a mixture of utmost grace and demonic possession, while up front, lead guitarist Jon Toogood spits and hurls lyrics with a snarl that says trust him, but don’t cross him. Without fail, every song, even a soother like ‘Deb’s Night Out’, hits the body with a tremendous, enjoyable force, and it becomes addictive ' — it’s escapism at its most ultimate, and who would ask for that to end? The staunchness of ‘Gimme Gimme’ begins and ends with Karl Kippenberger’s killer bass line, and the encores, ‘ClappenLoader’ and ‘Factory’, wind up a technically perfect, and deeply soulful performance — a knockout combination which makes them the best live band I’ve ever had the privilege to witness. Over 80 shows in a row in Europe have seen Shihad take themselves to another level, and without a single doubt, they’re in a league all on their own. JOHN RUSSELL

SEMI LEMON KOLA, NOTHING AT ALL!, STUMP THUMPER, MASTER CHEESE MAKER Wild Horse Saloon, Palmerston North, August 4

Things get underway late, considering there are four bands, but you get that when you’re allowed to stay up late thanks to friendly man-

agement. Master Cheese Maker have been gigging often recently, and either that, or more practice, makes them a tight act; only it would seem Faith No More already have the same ground covered. More of the weirdness I witnessed last time I saw them (random tape noise, no apparent song form) would be a better direction than semi-original/covers of a well known band. As for randomness and lack of song form, Stump Thumper have it out of control, and exude straight forward, fucked-in-the-head musical attitude. Solid drumming continues through the guitar/bass squall, and the odd vocal sound segues out of it all. Totally beautiful, and something that should be experienced by everyone at least once. If the major record companies had enough sense to look past Green Day et al, they would offer Nothing At All! vast amounts of money and drugs, sign them up, put out a Number 1 album, and everybody would be rich. NAA! have all the new punk ethics and better songs. They even existed before the record.companies got to the scene and ruined it. Slightly put off by a crazy old guy who pours beer on the guitarist and yells abuse about being louder (NAA! only ever put the vocals through the PA — yeah!), things don’t go as well as they could for NAA!, but they still rock. See them if you are ever within 100 kilometres. Semi Lemon Kola finish the evening. I am seriously thinking long and hard about this... they are essentially bollocks. Competent but unimaginative pop/funk/rock that the masses simply don’t care for. The funk is fake, the pop is neither clever or catchy, and they don’t understand rock like, say, the Nixons or Dead Flowers. Having gone nowhere for so long, they should stop before they get seriously in debt for no good reason. CRAIG BLACK

1995 SMOKEFREE ROCKQUEST GRAND FINAL Auckland Town Hall, August 18.

■ Stuffed down a toilet in the men’s is an empty bottle of Mississippi Moonshine, its owner long gone, leaving only a sea of vomit as a calling card. Around the handbasins, a five-strong group of Rockquest kids are taking like mad on rallies — it would appear the, message ain’t gettin’ through. Don’t ya just love rock .‘n’ roll! At Bpm, No Man’s Land in the Town Hall is just over half full, with a sizeable crowd up in the circle also. On stage are the. opening act, Rock Scizzors Dynamite, non-competitors who play a passable cover of the Headless Chickens’ ‘George’.; . .. .. g The first band under the judge’s scrutiny are the obvious crowd favourites, a three-piece called Decaf. The singer was previously in Ulcer, who did the post-Seattle thing (vith considered finesse. He now sports black eyeliner and lipstick, painted on teardrops, and a Therapy? Tshirt — whatever turns you on. An industrial/pop mix is their current choice of flavour, and a direct rip-off of Shihad’s ‘Derail’ is rewarded with the

biggest cheer of the evening. No Compromise, from Hillmorton High School, had my vote for second place. They’d make ideal stadium rockers, recognising and using to full effect the true comical aspects of a ‘rawk’ performance. The boisterous, noisy pop/rock of ‘Super Rollercoaster Man’ was one of the evening’s major highlights. Wellington’s Hipo recall the dark days of the Deep Sea Racing Mullets and Rumblefish — pedestrian funk/pop, lacking in substance, soul and sassiness. And nothing uncovers a lack of ideas more than head-to-toe body paint. The real deal occurred next. Manurewa’s James Cook High School sent the 8-piece group Belle to the Rockquest, and they should have cleaned up. With four vocalists out front, they came across as a female version of the Four Tops, all sweet harmonies, and catchy melodies — and that’s not all. The lead vocalist had a voice to match Patti Labelle, and with a tight funk outfit backing up, they crooned straight in as my pick of the bunch. “It’s party time!,” hollered Dilla’s singer, and a grungey power ballad sent me in search of a Coke. Hamilton’s Epic were just that. Resplendent in matching black leather waistcoats, they strolled out, plugged in, punched the air, and announced: “We’re here to rock.” Epic rock on the slightly slower side of speed metal, as displayed in the heavy grooves of ‘Shadows Of Darkness.’ A cool aside was the choreographed air punching to accentuate drum beats. The drummer belonging to Terrapin had bright green hair and executed a fine stage dive at Shihad’s Powerstation show later in evening, that being the more impressive performance. 'Minties in A Minor’ may be a clever song title, but tossing sweets to the crowd while jamming guitar chords ain’t gonna make you memorable. Nelson’s Polyp got off to a false start, but covered well. They put in the most left-of-centre set of the show. Two songs were heavily guided by a deep, monotonous bass, while the vocals were spoken in a eerie, psychotic drawl, by a girl wearing a butcher’s outfit. The meat obsession continued with an odd closing tune called ‘Pork Chop’.

More body paint, this time covering the members, so to speak, of Avondale’s Spank. They choose to play the ‘sensitive, angst-ridden’ card, either because they haven’t yet learned to kick out the jams, or they’re hoping a naive young wallflower will mistake this pathetic behaviour for loner-cool, and they might get some action. Either way, they’re churning out contrived wimpy pop. Back o’ the class. Hastings’ Dancing Azians’ first song was about getting out of Hastings, while their second concentrated on elevators — ‘Elevators’, I think it was called. But they had this huge, ominous sound going on, that was cut up occasionally with slices of squealing feedback, and was immensely diggable. Third, I reckon. Finally, Mookie from Melville High let go two drawn-out Pearl Jam ballads, both featuring a high quotient of wanker guitar solos — the kind of band that makes you wanna pack a piece. While the judging panel (Bic Runga of Music Nation, Pagan Records’ Trevor Reekie, and

Glenn Common of the Rockquest committee) brainstormed upstairs, Auckland band Jungle Fungus killed some time for the audience. If anyone tells you these guys don't sound like Supergroove, punch them in the mouth and tell them they’re talking shit. Off! “The moment you’ve all,” etc. First place went to the Dancing Azians. They won an EP release on Pagan and a 5,000 dollar NZ On Air video grant. Decaf took out second, and Spank came in third. Same time next year then. JOHN RUSSELL

FAITH NO MORE, PUMPKINHEAD, DEAD FLOWERS Wellington Show Building, Wellington, August 5

Never send a Zombie to do a person’s job. After much sleeplessness, a merry little band of mainland metal enthusiasts arrived bleary-eyed at the Show Building, a delightful structure obviously inspired by the neo-aircraft hangar revivalist school of architecture. The attractive Machine Age brutalism of the outside was complemented by the Antarctic air conditioning system inside, designed so that boisterous patrons could slam and stage dive above the concrete floor for hours without breaking into a sweat. When the Dead Flowers took to the stage jolly early, there was little chance of a massive sweat breakout. Hands were kept firmly placed in parkas and dungarees as the Dead Flowers gave, if not quite their all, then very nearly their all (the odd goatee or fingernail may have been slyly shirking). When lead vocalist Bryan Bell ditched his guitar, the energy level seemed to increase as he projected himself out onto the audience, magically transforming from second rhythm guitarist to dynamic frontman. After a brief physical collapse, it was time to rejoin what had almost become a crowd and experience a rollicking Pumpkinhead set. On an energy and enthusiasm level, Pumkinhead’s set rated the [maximum number of Berroccas. This was the kind of set where even the songs you hate seemed to have some sort of redeeming value. ‘Nark’ arrived, and suddenly made complete sense. ‘Rat rat rat,’ sang Brent, but he really meant ‘don’t rat’ — unless you want to be a ‘Nark’ (undercover narcotics agent, to those not hep to 5.0 speak). The • highlight was Aaron’s furious rendition of ‘I Like’. Bravely striding to the front of the stage, metaphorically naked, without the protection of his guitar, Aaron’s body moved in ways human bodies aren’t supposed to. As he roared his mighty death metal roar, his complexion took on the colour of boiled rhubarb, and fragments of vocal chord splattered every which way. Following a short break, it was time for the main attraction, the big bananas... Faith No More. Here is alsb where physical tiredness exacted its harsh toll, and the evening became a fragmented mess... Mike Patton’s a really cool frontman. Yeah, he totally vibrates (see Loves Ugly Children article). The heavy songs without Roddy’s keyboards sound really fucking heavy. The heavy songs with keyboards kind of sound

rude. ‘Easy’ sounds OK with keyboards though, and so does the other song — you know, the new single where Mike’s got his sleeves rolled up and he’s got some really cool moves... Lights are amazing, maybe if I sit down I’ll feel better. Maybe if I just close my eyes for a second... Fuck, what’s happening... Oh cool, there’s an encore. If I stand next to the speaker I should be OK. Smart move — I may be deaf, but I got to see the end of the show and it was pretty cool, apart from the crappy echo and cold. Best of all, with all the dry ice and tiered seating, the venue reminds me of a Kiss album cover, and that’s a very special memory to take away. KEVIN LIST

MARGARET URLICH, WAYNE GILLESPIE The Pelican Club, Sydney, Australia, August 2

With an elasticity and moves that Barrymore on speed would find difficult to match, Margaret Urlich wooed a large and lively audience at the opening of the Pelican Club. Urlich was supported by an act of equal, but different, talent. Wayne Gillespie, one of New Zealand’s less appreciated songsters, and his band Passionfish presented 10 well executed songs, predominantly from his album Living in Exile. Gillespie performs with an intensity and heart rarely seen. If you are looking for an artist who’s unimpressed with commercialism or pretence, then Gillespie’s your man. The pick of his 10 self-penned numbers were ‘Love Comes Down’, ‘Whirling River’ and the haunting ‘Camille’s Claudel’. After the crowd had been suitably warmed up by Gillespie’s show, Urlich, resplendent in tailored satin jeans, strutted, or rather serpentined, her stuff. She opened with ‘Deepest Blue’, and continued with over a dozen numbers, including ‘Escaping’ and ‘Only My Heart Calling’. To say that her band were tight would be the understatement of the decade. This six-piece (including backing vocals) would be hard to match, and one can only hope Urlich tours New Zealand with them. The pick of the selection would have to be ‘Boy in the Moon', not only for Urlich’s performance, but also the superb soprano sax solo from Dave Glide. After the encore, Urlich mellowed down to mesmerise the crowd with a silky version of Billy Holiday’s ‘God Bless This Child’. The only accompaniment to this track was the keyboards, which provided a great opportunity to observe this lady’s sheer and unladdered talent. PETER CALLINICOS

GHOULS NIGHT OUT: SLAMBODIA, THE HATEBREEDERS, BAD FORM Squid Bar, Auckland, August 4.

Having missed the Hatebreeders previous performance at Bob, and having regretted it ever since (Glen Danzig etc. turned it on in a surprise appearance when they turned up in the crowd and were invited on stage by the audacious Hatebreeders frontman), I decided I wasn’t going to miss the Ghouls Night Out. So, come midnight, I donned the appropriate black makeup and gruelling attire, hoping desperately I wouldn’t be the only one dressed up. After paying my surprising three dollars for three bands (three dollars in theme dress, five dollars not in theme dress), I dragged myself upstairs, past bouncers and door staff wearing the familiar Misfits skulls on their chests, and into the fray. The first band, Bad Form, were an Iggy and the Stooges covers outfit, and well worth one dollar of my money. Having warmed the crowd, but just enough to leave them wanting more (only playing six songs), they left the stage and the room began to buzz expectantly. The Hatebreeders didn’t so much walk on stage as angrily take control of it, with no mercy whatsoever. The first song was the first burn, and I could feel the depth of the music raking me from the time it took the corwd to get into it, which was about the second verse in. The frontman appeared from backstage with an antireligion tattoo blazing on his on his chest, and a huge gash drip-

ping blood down half his bare torso. He looked like a cross between Christ and the Crow, and the way he susserated the crowd was unreal. The drummer, clad in a full tuxedo and a painted face, exuded a cool debonaire air, and possibly would have looked more at home at the neck of a young victim. The bassist wore a mask of nails, and played so hard that his hand was bleeding by the end. The guitarist looked suspiciously like Spencer from the Warners, but had on a gold sleeveless vest with a huge collar, and a white face with ski goggles, so I never was sure, and neither was anyone else. The males in the crowd made up the bulk of the mosh pit, and a few even took the dive, which I haven’t seen done before at this venue. The females, however, preferred to watch from the standing crowd, with more than one mouth open as this energetic frontman grinded his half naked body back and forth, whilst polishing off an entire bottle of red wine during their 25 minute set. It seemed much quicker. They left the crowd hungry for more. Rumour has it they will play Bob sometime in September. The Hatebreeders were worth twice the doorcharge on their own, and to team them with Bad Form and Slambodia was a ‘ripping’ idea. Slambodia played up to their usual popularity, with an unfortunate amount of punters leaving before they came on. It was still a hard edged gig, however, with bassist and drummer galloping through the rhythm, while the guitarist and vocalist tore the lead up. It was well worth the five dollars it would have cost most of the crowd (there were a few in theme, and Alice Cooper was there tool), and a theme I would certainly recommend being repeated. I will return with an even better costume next time! C WORLEY

BLACK SABBATH TRIBUTE NIGHT The Arena, Christchurch, August 12.

No need for an Ozzy record on the turntable tonight. Members of the Christchurch Musicians Co-op’ performed the music. Twenty or so local musicians agreed five weeks beforehand to form four bands and pay tribute to the timeless rock of Black Sabbath. The intention was to practise up Sabbath covers and play this music to the people. This, they did, and fun was had by all.

Band number 1 (bands being named Band 1, Band 2... etc.) kicked the pub into action around 9.33. Songs including ‘lnto the Void’ and ‘lronman’ were punched out, providing a ragey start to the evening. In excellent form, this band succeeded in blowing some PA equipment. Luckily, it wasn’t too serious, and the night continued...

A lead vocal duet was the highlight of Band Number 2’s set. Dion, from the now defunct Gunja-din, and Dave Gideon prowled around the stage looking for the correct lyric sheets, as the band launched into ‘NIB’. It sounded good, with both performers singing strongly and providing the laughs as well. The vocalists were backed by musicians from Snort and Blastoff. Just when I thought I’d seen it all, Steve Sly, of EST fame, picks up lead vocals in Band Number 3. Also included in this band were members of Paddy’s Wagon and Stonecage, who created a tight instrument section. Steve’s voice sounded the most like Ozzy this evening. That is, only within certain octave ranges. A growl or two to cover where the high notes go and ‘she’ll be right’. Band Number 4 were essentially Mindscream, with vocalist John from Stonecage. This band sounded polished, with the use of two guitars filling in the sound more so than the previous bands. These guys were using good stage gear and were practised. Again, the vocal dynamics were not quite there, but hey, no one can do Ozzy like Ozzy can. ‘Wizare’ went right off, as did the version of ‘Heaven and Hell’. All in all, this was one loose evening — in more ways than one. Whatever was missing in technical accuracy was definitely made up for in delivery style. The night was successful and a lot of fun. Rumour has it there is to be a Gene Simmons tribute night in the near future. Break out the platforms, people!

ROBERT SMALL