Gee muses

Okay, I take some of it back. Oasis are not washed up old Britpop has-beens. While 2005’s Don’t Believe The Truth had white-limbed little Pommy critics bouncing up and down in their bedsits proclaiming the return of the Gallaghers, some of us were less convinced. Okay, it wasn’t quite the tub of lard most of their recorded work since the brilliant (What’s The Story) Morning Glory had been - stodgy, gormless, piss-driven and unimaginative. It at least had legs and and some sort of fitness and life about the songs. Basically, it was b-grade rock. Pleasant but no nutcracker.

Enter stage right Dig Out Your Soul, the first Oasis album in three years and an absolute corker. Somewhere the Gallagher boys and their current compatriots have discovered what made them compelling a decade and a half ago. The songs are sometimes quasi-psychedelic, sometimes bluesy, occasionally Beatlesque, mostly rock hard and imaginative. There are moments when you seriously want to examine the album cover to check this really is an Oasis record. Noel has his writing mojo back, his six songs are standouts, no more so than on the utterly gorgeous, swirling, Falling Down, but the biggest surprise is saved for the album ending Soldier On, a mood piece that expands the Oasis world dramatically. Elsewhere, Liam’s Lennonesque, I’m Outta Time, is so convincing you could believe the ex-Beatle was reincarnated for the sessions and then there’s a beautiful piece of Gallagher driftwood called The Turning that is just a great song. But it’s the sprawling, brawling, slightly weary, punchy rock (check out Bag It Up and Waiting For The Rapture) that dominates the rest of Dig Out Your Soul that says here is a band that has done what the title suggests. What a surprise.

Guitarist Gem Archer is having a cuppa , elevenses as they say, and bemoaning the unplanned tour break forced on the band after a stage incident involving Noel.

“Basically, this guy got on stage and pushed Noel,” Gem says, “and because of that he has three broken ribs. Five gigs have been cancelled, Hopefully, there won’t be any more. Noel’s in a lot of pain and the ribs aren’t a great injury to deal with. They heal slowly. It’s like a broken nose - not much you can do for it. But it’s one of those freak little things you can’t predict. I actually thought he’d got the injury from falling on the monitor but it was the impact of the guy.”

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Image by Getty Images via Daylife

The Metro Theatre, Sydney
29/07/08

Famously, a reviewer once declared he’d touched God at a Radiohead concert. I didn’t at The Polyphonic Spree but I went so close it didn’t matter. This was the best concert of 2008. An extraordinary celebration of everything that is great about rock music; uplifting, deeply moving at times, thunderous symphonic rock, contrasted by great delicacy and shade, performed by a group of 23 musicians and singers. So good was this amazing performance – and I’m not prone to waxing lyrical and tossing out superlatives left, right and centre but I’m going to here - that I’d put it up there with greatest shows I’ve seen over the past 40 years: Led Zeppelin in 1972, AC/DC (1974 and ’76), Frank Zappa (1976), Radio Birdman (1977), Tom Waits (1978), The Cure (1981 and 2000), Bob Dylan (2001), Brian Wilson (2004), to name a few … revered company, indeed.

What made this concert special though was the pure inescapable joy that lies at the core of the Texans’ distinctly un-American’s music. They reach for the sky – physically and spiritually, and this audience was drawn in. The result was that incredible energy that surges back and forth between the two. Everywhere people smiled; for the whole two hours, they embraced, danced, sang, punched the air, moshed – nobody who was there will ever forget the cover of Nirvana’s Lithium that had the entire Metro moshing as one! Couples pashed, several people were heard telling their partner they loved them; the audience parted – like the proverbial Red Sea - when the band shucked off its black army fatigues for the original white smocks and returned to the stage via the back of the Metro and down the stairs through the crowd. People hustled just to high-five a member or get close. It all sounds religious, cultish, dangerously close to overkill but, you know what, it was simply glorious.

Led by founder and lead vocalist, Tim DeLaughter, who has an extraordinary amount of energy and a marvellous voice, the six back-up singers, two drummers, two violinists, one cellist, one harpist (yes, a harp), three brass players, a flautist, three guitarists, bass guitarist, and two keyboardists, simply soared. It was extravagant, poetic, humbling. People even cried with joy. It even blew The Arcade Fire away – and anybody who saw its January shows will know just how good they were. This was a massive triumph, a masterpiece, more reasons to believe than you dare to dream. I’m still smiling 24 hours later.

Who would have believed that out of the ruins of US indie psych popsters, Tripping Daisy, a band born of a different time and place and respirited in the ‘90s, would come the all singing, all dancing, quite remarkable entity that is the currently 23-strong The Polyphonic Spree?

And who would have thought a stage full of, initially, people in robes looking a bit like a mass breakout from some nearby cathedral or church, now dressed in black army fatigues and looking like they mean business, would be both viable in the economically challenged early 21st century and last longer than it took for the initial novelty to wear off?

Well, brothers and sisters, happily there have been us believers around the place since the beginning. Now, we could get all religious here but let’s not. There are no Tom Cruises in this story. Eight years after the Spree first formed and five since its first album, The Beginning Stages Of, it is now established as one of the world’s finest live acts and is buoyed by a cult following that is strong enough to keep this massive ark afloat.

Founder, lead singer, composer, multi-instrumentalist and songwriter, Tim DeLaughter, is baking in hometown Dallas, Texas, where the temperature is well over the old 100F (38C). “We’re frying, like little hot tomatoes. It’s a cliché but you really could fry an egg on the concrete out there,” he says.

DeLaughter is one of the smarter people I’ve come across in this business. A veteran of nearly two decades as a musician, he’s nudging into his mid-40s but his enthusiasm isn’t diminishing with age. With Tim, it’s matter of how much conversation you can fit in the time limit rather than trying to find enough conversation to get to the finishing line.
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Image by Getty Images via Daylife

Albert Hammond Jr is a strangely elusive man. The Strokes’ rhythm guitarist/songwriter is also a restless type. Holidays are short. While the rest of the band is off enjoying a substantial break in the wake of touring its third album, First Impressions Of Earth - a break lead singer Julian Casablancas declared would be substantial - Albert was off recording his second solo album, ¿Cómo Te Llama? (or What’s Your Name?). Now it’s 10pm in New York and he’s back on the road with his own band touring the album.

“I’ve been wonderful, howdy doody,” he says. “I guess I’ve changed for the better.” In what way? “Umm, I’ve discovered new things that I really like. It was exciting to feel that again.” Like what new things? “Just going to see things, reading about new things, interesting conversations, new things. I’ve learned that you can choose to be up or down - I chose to be an up.”

It’s rather cryptic or the last bit rings true. You can choose to be up or down. The question is why he had to make the choice. You also get the feeling it’s better not to ask, this time.

¿Cómo Te Llama? on the other hand is far more understandable. It’s a strong record. Eclectic but well hung together, it’s highs are the remarkable 7-minute instrumental Spooky Couch which is an absolute gem and just shows how far he’s prepared to move away from the Strokes template when he’s on his own, the crunchy The Boss Americana - a perfect 21st Century rock song, You Won’t Be Fooled By This has a melody line to die for, Borrowed Time is New York to the core and has bends and corners and muscles that speak new indie, elsewhere reggae, strings and thoughtful pop rock bounce off one another as Hammond Jr’s moods alternate from song to song. You can trains spot if you wish: his first solo album, Yours To Keep, had plenty of punters breathing Guided By Voices and The Beach Boys as reference points, and they are here as well, but ¿Cómo Te Llama? also has the admitted impact of warriors such as Neil Young and The Clash and the Brit pop ethic of The Kinks.
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