Live

Rip It Up, Issue 218, 1 October 1995, Page 38

Live

HEADLESS CHICKENS, NONOXYNOL 9 Squid, Auckland, September 22

Come in Nonoxynol 9, you’re 15 minutes are up.

It's amazing what the slightest amount of media manipulation can do. Newsnight screens Nonoxynol 9 playing to rush hour traffic outside Ground Zero studio in Newton Road, and for the next few days they’re the band on everyone’s lips. How fortunate then, they’re booked in to support the Headless Chickens, and consumers have the opportunity to really inspect the goods. The downstairs bar at Squid is jammed solid, and even the walls are sweating. In Nonoxynol 9, the assembled get, basically, a covers band with frills. They flesh out versions of ‘Mama Mia’, ‘Hungry Like The Wolf’, and ‘Disco Inferno’, drowning them in a wash of pre-programmed industrial drum beats, and guitars with distortion pedals working overtime. Essentially what Nonoxynol 9 do, is taken apart good songs, and throw them back together, swamped in noise, to disguise a multitude of sins. That requires zero talent — just ask Duran Duran. Hype? Don’t believe it.

Quite honestly, I thought the Chickens could never top their performance at this year’s Big Day Out. This evening, minus singer Fiona McDonald and original 'piano man’ Michael Lawry, they fucked that theory.

Beginning with a super-fast, tech-no-flavoured (the theme of the set) track, ‘Smoking Big Ted’, the Chickens played with the intensity of Russian roulette, and more often than not, the speed of a bullet train. Without McDonald (and her pop sensibilities) in the line-up, expectations were, the band would return to preCoke and Airwalk days, but most probably didn’t believe they'd turn the amps to 11, and the aggression factor to 100. Several older numbers were scattered throughout the set, ‘Gaskrankinstation’ and ‘Railway Surfing’ benefiting most from the twin-guitar attack of Chris Matthews and the newly appointed, Rex Visible, but mostly, fresh tunes featured. In keeping with the advances in sound, the Chickens looked more confident and at ease, than ever before, partic-

ularly Matthews, who sung and played with the punk energy of a snotty young urchin, on stage for the first time, and with something to prove. Going out on the trip that is their rendition of ‘Super Trouper’, brought the spectacle to a perfect conclusion. Tonight, the Headless Chickens did all those unspoken things that make a rock band real. Don’t go changing. JOHN RUSSELL

STICKY FILTH, HIDEOUSLY DISFIGURED Senior Citizen’s Hall, New Plymouth, September 1

“Where’s that nigger?,” asks says a frustrated Richie Eru into the mic’. It’s an hour past the scheduled start time, and Danny Paipara, singer with Hideously Disfigured can’t be found. The band decide to get up and start anyway. When Danny finally makes his appearance, he looks around impatiently, like he’s been waiting for them. Hideous kick off their set with ‘Psycho-Neuro Surgeon’, then follow this with the Iron Maiden-sounding ‘The Fixx'. It’s about the only time in their set — which includes ‘She Goes Off’, ‘JOINT’, and ‘Four in Death’ — that they dispense with the humour and simply play a hard rock song. I’m not sure about this, for it’s in their humour that their strength lies. For instance, take the thick, stereotypical vernacular with which Danny intros the song, 'Te Waiata': ‘Who’s yous fella’s name? / Got a smoke bro? / Outside for your leather / Oh, I don’t know, eh.’ But despite the flippancy and seemingly casual attitude with which Hideous approach their music, structurally, they write very good songs. If sometimes the lyrics border on the questionable, it doesn’t seem to worry the girlie posse shaking their bits down the front — even during the sensitive balladry that is 'Hooters' (‘See the lady with the big bust / 38 double D cup’). Profound? I think not. Enjoyable? For sure. A low down and dirty bass rumble finally cleans itself up to become ‘Nadia’, as Craig Radford, already in splenetic form, introduces Sticky Filth with: ‘Hey Paul, play some fucking drums beat master! Guitar man — do it! And me? I’m real fucked up!' After five years on the drum stool,

Paul is calling' it quits, so a big set is in order. They throw in a few old songs (‘Dig You Up’ and ‘Weep Woman Weep’) and a cover of the Cosmic Psychos’ ‘Pub’, but concentrate mainly on their newer material. ‘Girl With the Luger’ is followed by ‘Hate Remains’, then a naggingly familiar intro leads into the ultimate driving song, ‘Vanguard 6 Hell Ride’, where Craig sings the classic, line: 'lt’s always better getting drunk on stolen alcohol’. They follow a new song, ‘Astronaut’, with a spastic boogie, groove monster called ‘Jahbullheebosay’. Pheweee! This is the meat! It’s everything Sticky Filth do well rolled into one — pure sickness. They finish off the set with ‘Too Deep', .‘Scrapmetal Man’ and‘Mother’. 1 , An hour later, Paul, having supposedly played his last gig with Sticky Filth, stands in the centre' of the brightly lit, deserted hall. Craig’s girlfriend Emily,. her . blonde dreads fallen about her face, is on stage at the '. piano playing Beethoven's Bth, the melody dreaming its way through us. Paul acknowledges those that remain, takes his wife’s hand and departs. ■ ' GREG HAMMERDOWN ~■* - ■ . URGE OVERKILL, KING LOSER Powerstation, Auckland, September 26. J For the finale, Urge Overkill drummer Blackie takes over the vocals, and asks all the girls to join them on stage. By the end, no less than seven girls are up there, boogieing and shaking it with the band. The last chord sounds and the girls look audience-wards, ready to jump. But too late, a roadie has rounded them all up and. they’re herded off backstage. Auckland’s innocence is shattered. But first up, King Loser. In Chris Heazlewood they have an interesting, opinionated, loudmouth singer — someone who, in interviews, slags off New Zealand bands for being so bloody boring. He definitely talks the talk, but tonight doesn’t walk the walk. The collected highlights sound great — Chris sets fire to Tribal’s cymbal, Celia does some mad karate dancing, Chris abuses the late 20-somethings, collectively supping their Macs Ale upstairs — but it’s not enough to cover their lacklustre playing. They should shock, they should rock. They should be the most exciting band in New Zealand. When they finally warm up, with three songs to go, they are. Urge Overkill keep the audience waiting for an appropiately rock ’n’ roll amount of time, before exploding onto the stage in a wave of power chords and singalong choruses. There are two theories on enjoying a concert — that, enjoyment goes up directly in proportion to familiarity with the songs, or that enjoyment goes up directly in proportion to the amount of artificial stimulants taken. Neither apply to UO — every song has ‘Classic’ tattooed on it’s rocktastic forehead. No chemicals necessary. You know the chorus before you hear it, you sing along and you don’t know the words. It’s why they pack the Powerstation on a Tuesday night. All the band seemed to be actually enjoying themselves. Nash Kato chatted amicably about , the local bars, an extra guitarist, looking like Animal, beamed at the audience throughout, and Eddie Roeser thwacked the crap out of his guitar. More importantly, not a single hit song was missed out of their speeding set, even ’ that song/ They left the audience totally satisfied, except, er, what happened to those girls? :

MITCHELL HAWKES