Gee muses

I’m a heretic. The best album by a Seattle band wasn’t recorded by Nirvana. Oh no. Or Pearl Jam. Nup. Soundgarden … sorry. Alice In Chains, never. No, the best album EVER recorded by a Seattle band is Dust by The Screaming Trees. A beautiful insouciant mixture of raw grunge, hard rock, psychedelia and melody driven by the fiercest rhythm section of them all, burnished with guitarist Gary Lee Conner ’s elegant licks and monster riffs and capped by the sublime vocals of Mark Lanegan. Dust was massively under-rated but was Kerrang’s album of the year in 1996.

Just as under-rated but coming out of Cincinnati, Ohio, were the Afghan Whigs, a band whose records embraced a sound that harked back to Phil Spector and delivered it’s soul-licked alt-rock with a vastness that embedded elements of every generation since Phil’s widescreen wonder. By sheer chance they were also the first non-Northwestern band to record for Seattle’s Sub Pop label. And like the Trees, their elegant muse was capped by supreme vocals - in this case those of Greg Dulli.

Turn the clock forward and Dulli and Lanegan are now the Gutter Twins, a pairing that is as perfect as it is a bed of contrasts. It’s step on from their collaborations in Dulli’s post-Wigs outfit, the thoroughly excellent, Twilight Singers, and a chance not only for two of the last 20 years’ finest singers and songwriters to bounce off each other but also for those two marvellous voices to spar with one another. Their debut album, Saturnalia, is splendid, big yet stripped back, bare yet full. Songs such as the epic God’s Children - a wonderful, haunting post-psych atmosphere that just defines rock at its most elegiac, the rumbling, brooding Circle The Fringe, the darkly shimmering I Was In Love With You, and the confessional, salvation seeking, All Misery Flowers, are as fine as anything the two men have delivered. And let’s not forget the strutting idle Hands. The Trees would have devoured this one.

Dulli is in a Los Angeles recording studio where he’s working on the next Twilight Singers album. (more…)

They were the brothers Ramone – even though they weren’t actually brothers. They changed the face of music – even though they had no intention of doing anything so formidable. Spanning three decades, their spirit and energy lives on, gloriously, 35 years after they formed in Queens, New York, and 13 years after they split in 1996. Sadly though, eight years later all three founding members Joey, Dee Dee and Johnny were dead, leaving drummers Tommy (1974-78) and Marky (1978-1983, 1987-1996) as sole survivors of arguably the greatest American punk band of all.

Tommy is now playing bluegrass so it’s down to Marky to keep the gabba-gabba-hey-hey alive with his outfit Marky Ramones Blitzkreig and a solid commitment to the spirit of rock’n’roll that made the Ramones Rock’n’Roll Hall Of Famers (2002) and richly celebrated artists. They have a place in the Rolling Stone lists of the 50 Greatest Artists of All Time and 25 Greatest Live Albums of All Time, VH1’s 100 Greatest Artists of Hard Rock, and Mojo’s 100 Greatest Albums. Their look was so influential that even now it’s being revisited with Marky about to launch a clothing line of leather jackets, jeans and t-shirts with Hilfiger Denim.

That’s pretty extraordinary if you consider this man - under his real name Mark Bell - drummed in the celebrated US rock/psych outfit, Dust, whose 1971 debut remains a highly sought after album and includes the healthy near-10 minute workout, From A Dry Camel. After a second album Dust became exactly that and Marky gravitated to something even bigger still. As psych faded with hippies, Vietnam and independence in music, punk was blossoming in New York at clubs like Max’s Kansas City and CBGBs. The revolution had begun all over again. And Marky was about to play a major role.

“I met Richard Hell in the bathroom at Max’s Kansas City,” he says. “We decided to put together a band, cut an EP, then the album.” That album was Blank Generation by Richard Hell & The Voidoids - one of the most influential punk albums ever. Its title track was named one of the 500 Songs That Shaped Rock by music writers in the Rock And Roll Hall Of fame listings. By then it was 1977 and punk was on fire. It was an unforgettable time.

“Richard and I decided to follow The Clash in the UK in 1977,” he says. “When we returned Richard didn’t want to tour anymore and Dee Dee wanted me to join the Ramones as Tommy had quit. The first song I recorded was I Wanna Be Sedated for Road To Ruin [the band's fourth album].” Sedated is, of course, one of the Ramones most loved songs.

“Incredible times, really,” Marky says. “In New York, in 1974/75, we all knew each other. CBGB’s was the focus. There was a camaraderie between us - The Dictators, Dead Boys, Blondie, Talking Heads, Patti Smith, television, Richard Hell and, then, the Ramones. We represented the New York Sound.

“A lot has been said about the Ramones and its impact, but I guess the band was responsible for a whole wave of music, firstly in America, then England picked it up, then Japan, Europe, Australia. We were happy to see bands counting off songs, playing with the sound, wearing leather, t-shirt and jeans.

“The band never intended to change the world - but it did.” I love that. It’s said with no self-aggrandisment, no testosterone or beating of the chest. Not even a strut. “We never changed and we knew that we had to stick to our sound and not change to the whims of record companies. It’s a bit of a fine line - it’s good to have variety but you have to be identifiable and original as well.”

And that is why the Ramones music is still as vital today as it was 30-odd years ago. It’s hard to be original today - there’s more music that’s come and gone. And times have changed, technology has changed and the music industry has changed massively - for the worse. In the Ramones story there is a simple truth: people keep coming back for more. Generation after generation.

“I see it and I’m grateful,” Marky says. “Tommy is grateful. The Ramones have always appealed to youth - the lyrical intent; the energy converged on the audience. It never ends. I think if you analyse it too much it’ll go away. I’m happy to see all the youngsters at our shows.”

One of the things that made the Ramones stand out was their individualism. Each Ramone was a different character - yet each Ramone was the same. “I agree,” Marky says. “We were all different individuals, that’s what made it interesting. We were like cartoon characters in a way but as a unit we worked as a group. We were easily identifiable as was the sound. That wall of sound defined us.”

And here’s a key: punks they may have been, but the Ramones sound is Spectoresque (it’s not surprising he would produce their album, End Of The Century, in 1980) and rooted in pop and r’n'b.
“We liked that kind of music. We listened to ’50s and ’60s doo-wop, early Who and Beatles,” Marky says. “It had a lot to do with the ’60s girl group thing, the Beach Boys, Jan & Dean and, of course, Phil Spector. The sound was great. You can’t make records like that today. They are too clean. That was the essence of that music. To play it, it has to be a little dirty, raw and rough around the edges.
“I have a radio show in the US. All I play is punk but a lot of the newer stuff seems too cold and sterile. There’s nothing like that warm analogue sound when you are rock band. But that’s the nature of things, of the world. I find you have to let technology come and then go. Vinyl, for instance, has a sound that’s warmer, the bass is deeper, the treble is higher. CDs are always very mid-rangy. Digital is very cold. There’s no doubt vinyl is the greatest sounding - that big fat sound. That’s one of the things that’s missing today to me.

“You’d think with technology they’d be able to duplicate the warmth of vinyl. I’m still waiting.”

In the meantime, Marky Ramone is doing what he loves best - hammering out 32 Ramones songs a night. Are you ready? 1-2-3-4 … …

The Oils. It’s a proud diminutive. It means so much more.

About 37 years ago, 17-year-old drummer, Rob Hirst, formed an outfit called the Farm along with bassist, Andrew Gifford, and keyboard player/lead guitarist, Jim Moginie. They were joined on lead vocals by a student at the Australian National University in Canberra, Peter Garrett. By 1975 the band could be found up and down the east coast and some time in 1976 it changed its name, by drawing the name out of the hat. So was born one of the greatest rock bands of all-time. I make no apologies, when I say, the mighty Midnight Oil. Sometimes rock deserves hyperbole. This one of those occasions. Along the way Martin Rotsey joined in 1977, Peter Gifford replaced James in 1980 and was in turn replaced by Bones Hillman in 1987. That’s the honour role. Although manager, Gary Morris, an integral part of the Oils, has to be mentioned in dispatches.

Midnight Oil represent everything that is right and great and necessary about antipodean rock music. They are proud Australians. They are committed political activists. And they have never ever sold-out.

On January 29, 2005, at Wave Aid at the Sydney Cricket Ground, Midnight Oil played what really looked like their last gig. They had dissolved two years earlier in December 2002 when Garrett had quit to follow his political career. A warm-up gig at Manly Leagues Club and the fund-raiser seemed the last hurrah, until nature struck twice and fire ripped through Victoria and flood ravaged Queensland. The response is the fund-raiser Sound Relief to be simultaneously held in Melbourne and Sydney. The Oils will play two warm-ups in Canberra, then the Melbourne gig. Will this be the last time? Hirst hedges his bets slightly.

(more…)

Nick Cave

It was dubbed the festival for people who hate festivals. It was much more. All Tomorrows Parties, curated by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, brought to Australia a laidback, devilishly cool, trippy day out in an almost perfect venue with extraordinarily good sound on all four stages and an exquisite line-up. Not a snotty little faux rapper, pop teen or kiddy punk in sight, this was really music for adults only - and it was celebrated with such flair and brilliance. There were no bad acts at All Tomorrows Parties, only good, gooder and goodest. The latter two words, of course, don’t exist but I’m saving the superlatives.

To the bands then: Young duo (augmented to a four-piece) Hunter Dienna opened proceedings. They need to relax. All earnest sombreness. It’s okay to smile guys. Their dark music is a little predictable but they are young and growing.

The Stabs are a knockout. The Melbourne garage fuzz quartet rocked hard and offered a keen sense of humour. Easy to see why Detroit likes them.

Sydney mostly girl quintet, Bridezilla, were a revelations. Still not out of their teens, this little lot are so obscenely talented it’s scary. They even got legendary actor Jack Thompson to play harp on one song. Their music is a beautiful cascade of equal parts folk, jazz, and edgy pop driven by a sax/violin frontline. They jam, they groove, the vocals are sublime. They are Kate Bush in the fifth dimension.

The five women who make up Melbourne’s Beaches are well into their 30s (I think) and their roots show. L7 meets The Dandy Warhols and Sonic Youth. Fun.

Joel Silbersher’s hard rocking Melbourne outfit, Hoss, delivered good old-fashioned Australian pub rock. And got an A+ for crowd banter.

Dead Meadow, the LA-based Washington trio, were one of the bands of the day. A stunning mix of 60s psychedelia and boogie and ’90s grunge. Awesome. Could have been San Francisco circa ‘68/’69. Ground control to …
(more…)

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.”

(more…)

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.
(more…)

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.
(more…)

Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust

EMI

**** (4 stars)

It’s perhaps fitting that Sigur Ros appear naked on the album cover because this, the great Icelandic band’s fifth album, is largely its most stripped back and bare. That’s not to say those epic signature atmospheres are entirely absent. Festival builds magnificently over its 9 minutes-plus to a huge ending while Ara Batur, which is only marginally shorter, is one of the most moving pieces the band has ever recorded. Opening on gentle, intimate, solo piano, it gradually swells until the London Oratory Boy’s Choir and the London Sinfonietta break over the last few minutes. Elsewhere Gobblediggok and Inní Mér Syngur Vitleysingur are pure upbeat three-minute pop gems that open the album with unexpected simplicity and lightness. Acoustic guitars and solo piano fill much of the rest record as it moves from those jaunty beginnings to that afore-mentioned vast middleground before easing to a gentle finish over the final three tracks. The last, All Alright, is set around simple piano notes and has lyrics sung in English for the first time in Sigur Ros’ recorded history, not that you would necessarily know it. It is utterly haunting and heart-rending. In a way you are left wanting more, but at the same time know that more would be less. The evolution of Sigur Ros continues unaffected by anything but the band’s own imagination. This time it has examined and reacted to its own grandiose beauty, sought to bare a little more soul and discover what would happen if it was to destructure and restructure. It is still Sigur Ros, it is still breathtakingly beautiful but it is another shade on a palette that seems to have unlimited colours.

It’s a long way to the top if you want to … and Regurgitator have. Now they don’t as much. In their halcyon days The Gurge as we fondly dubbed ‘em, sucked a lot of you know what, danced around in videos with animal suits on - Which Warner’s heavyweight executive was in one of those costumes? My lips are sealed!, made cheap keyboards a comeback novelty, veered erratically from the end of the punk rope to the top candy-smeared pop schtick. The singles and albums flowed to the top end of the charts. The Gurge were mighty. Their moments came and went. And when the fizzle and razzle and dazzle faded, they accepted the movement and passing of time with grace and just got on with what it is they do. Now Regurgitator are on an indie label and are a well-inured-in-the-psyche cult band. They will never be less than good because they are that talented. Quan Yeomans, Ben Ely, Peter Kostic and new girl Seja Vogel, take a bow. You deserve it.

Ely, a splendidly friendly Queenslander who is as well known in that State’s underground scene (he’s played in any number of side projects) as he is for his exploits in The Gurge. At home in Glebe, yes, he’s moved out of Queensland, he talks happily about some 15 years or so in and out of the spotlight.

“It’s not so intense now,” he says. “We don’t take it all as seriously as we used to, we don’t tour as often. Quan now lives in Hong Kong while Pete and I live in Sydney and Seja in Brisbane so we’re quite spread out.

“I think we appreciate it more now though because we do it less; you tend to take it for granted when it’s all you do all the time. Now we do a show in, say, Manly or Dubbo and a crowd turns-up and we tend to put a lot more into the show. It’s more of a fantastic thing. less is more when it comes to the band and music.”

The band’s sixth and most recent album, Love And Paranoia, has been dubbed by the band as it’s first romance album. Think broad definition of romance. After all, Blood & Spunk and Drinking Beer Is Awesome, aren’t exactly Cary Grant and Grace Kelly, although at the same time the allegory and associated imagery does linger in a twice removed 21st century kind of way. Anyway, it’s not a balls and all Gurge record but it is - as usual - a lot of fun and perfectly entertaining.

In a way though, Regurgitator are now in a new world. The old kids on the block. Fans who were 16 when the band first appeared are now in their 30s; others in their late 20s are into their 40s.

“Our audience has been amazing. Very dedicated. We genuinely appreciate the fact they are still coming out to see us,” Ben says. “I mean it’s like ‘Thanks for coming out and here’s a song you’ve heard 500,000 times before … ‘.” And while he jests, Ely does recognise that initially The Gurge’s timing couldn’t have been better.
(more…)