Roadrunner 4(6) July 1981

^ S iC D is X M O r J O a R O C K C H E M IS T R Y TH E IS

C H E M IS T R Y

features;

C O O L V A /O R L D &

R IG H T

STATE

OF

STEP UP STEP O U T SU M M ER OF 81 CO O L W O R LD MONDOSEXO W E'R E NO A N G E L S

C H E M IS T R Y TR A S H PO PULAR V IE W STATE OF THE H E A R T M O VES M O N D O RO CK C H E M IS T R Y

TO U R D A TES JUNE Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday JU L Y Thursday Friday

2 Rbadfrupher

24 25 26 27 28

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E nfield Boulevarde, Sydney War A nd Peace, Sydney Kuringai College, Sydney Selinas, Sydney Waratah M a yfie ld, Newcastle B illb o a rd , M elbourne C ouncil C lub, M elbourne

Saturday Sunday

Sandown Park, M elbourne 3 X Y Under 18's C oncert, Festival Hall

Week Com m encing JU LY 20 Perth 27 A delaide AUGUST 3 NSW C o u n try and Sydney T o u r 10 Sydney Concerts 17 S th. East Queensland & Brisbane Concerts 24 NSW C o u n try and Sydney T o u r

BASILISK — CBS B A H LE LEADS TO “ CHART-RIGGING ALLEGATIONS

by Adrian Ryan The long running legal battle between Sydney independent label Basilisk and CBS Records over the use of the band names Popular Mechanics and Pop Mechanix has beei>decided in favour of Basilisk, with a judge ruling that the latter’s right to use the name of the now defunct Popular Mechanics had been infringed by CBS, who recently signed the m uch-praised Kiwi outfit Pop Mechanix.

Among the stream of industry notables giving evidence in the case was CBS head Paul Russell, who while on the witness stand made a seemingly innocuous statement that could have some major implications relating to the dubious methods by which Australian record charts are compiled.

During some parrying on the question of CBS and Basilisk’s acts appealing to substantially different markets, Russell explained his com­ pany’s policy on supplying record shops. Top priority, he said, went to getting newly released product to designated “chart shops’’, with the implication being that other retail outlets had to wait their turn to be stocked with CBS vinyl.

To those familiar with the manner in which certain retailers are cosseted by major record companies, Russell’s statement was hardly a revelation, but its importance lies in it being the first public admission that record companies are aware of the identity of the shops that take part in the compilation of radio station charts and consider such outlets to be worthy of special treatment.

In Australia, capital city radio stations compile their charts in a fairly informal manner; a select number of retail outlets are contacted each week, and they supply rough details of recent sales movements. With no serious attempt being made at accurate monitoring (a process which most radio stations would not in any case have the resources to attempt) the possibilities for manipu­ lation of the charts becomes obvious.

The major importance of the charts to record companies lies in their ability to generate and sustain airplay on the top-rating metropolitan stations, and with no attempt made by the stations to keep the identity of chart shops confidential, the situation is obviously wide open for inducements to be offered to retailers to turn a piece of undistin­ guished vinyl into a guaranteed chartbuster.

The Australian method of compiling charts is in marked-contrast to the one used in Britain, where the authoritative Music Week chart is compiled by an independent market research bureau that makes rigorous (but not always successful) efforts to obtain accurate figures and keep the location of chart shops hidden from record company promo persons.

In Australia, the losers in the comfortable relationship that’s grown up between the radio stations and the major companies are the inde­ pendent labels which, no matter what the quality of their product, find it extremely difficult to get commercial radio airplay even if they pass the initial hurdle of having their records stocked by major retailers.

Russell Handley of Basilisk records is only one of those involved in the independent scene who has come up against such barriers, and since his legal battle against CBS he’s been vocal about his frustrations.“The trouble is that the whole system controls the growth of the marketplace. It just makes it so much harder for independent labels to get airplay because they can’t use the same kind of pressure as the major companies . . . even if an independent release gets airplay, they find it hard to get exposure on a follow up. Another thing that happens apart from the business of chart compila­ tion is the incestuous relationship the majors build up with radio through things like album giveaways

and promotions, which can be very important in maintaining the ratings of top forty stations, so it obviously becomes important for those stations not to offend the record companies.’’

“The big irony is that radio stations say that they won’t play independent relases because they aren’t widely distributed and at the same time they’ll be flogging a record you might only be able to buy at a few chart shops.’’

Al Webb, former rock journalist who now works for independent distributors, Musicland, agrees that independents face a tough battle in getting their sales reflected in the charts. “ It means,that you’re always behind the eight ball. Everyone in the industry knows what goes on, but it would be beneficial if the whole can of worms was exposed.’’

Webb cites one case of blatant manipulation in regard to the highly successful M usiclanddistributed Master’s Apprentices compilation.

Hands Of Time: “That was an album which was selling very well and being listed by the chart stores, particularly in Adelaide, but one of the stores was threatened by a radio station which will remain nameless that it would be struck off as a chart store if it kept charting a Musicland album. ” Musicland, Webb admits, has to play the chart store game in order to try and score airplay. “The difference between us and the majors is that we try and supply all shops on an equal footing, whereas the majors concentrate on the chart shops offering all the usual inducements of rapid delivery, reduced margins and so on. Obviously the labels are very competitive among themselves but it’s in their interest not to let any one upset the system.’’

Of course, the rnere fact that the charts are compiled by an independent body, as they are in the UK, is no guarantee of absolute accuracy — there have been several recent exposes of attempts by major companies in that country to doctor the charts. The British branch of WEA became notorious for its “ creative marketing” of acts like the Pretenders; such practises resulted in the forced resignation of a chief executive and a recent $17,000 fine imposed on the company.

Other cases of payola and underhand hype (such as the offering of gifts and free records to chart stores) have been fairly frequent, but in Australia the push is not quite so blatant. “ Out here it’s a lot more innocent,” a represen­ tative for one of Australia’s Big Three labels told ROADRUNNER. "There might be the occasional offer of a bribe, but usually it’s down to simple things like reminding stores to chart a record if it’s selling well.” “ Obviously airplay is vital, and you pull out all stops to see that a record gets on the charts. Some companies are more notorious than others.

Occasionally it gets really trivial like when a big buzz is created to try and get, say, a Cold Chisel album to stay on top for as long as possible, because it’s supposedly good for the industry for an Australian album to be on top of the charts.”

The latter comment is a pointer to the cynicism in some industry circles about the consistently high chart positions achieved by Australian bands in the last couple of years; where patriotism is combined with the anxiety of record companie to recover their heavy investments in local signings, the tempta­ tion to indulge in manipulation becomes under­ standable.

The major difference between the British and Australian record industries approach to the compilation of charts is that the British industry body, the BPI, has been prepared to take a strong stand to ensure that the charts provide an accurate service to the media, record companies and retailers. With no equivalent body existing in Australia, the allegations and counter-allegations will continue to fly; further developments In what is certain to become a contentious issue are awaited with interest.

NnSBANE GOMPIUrinil IIUOM??

In a small city like Brisbane, rumours himself. David’s operation Pirahna Brothers spread iike wild-fire. The iatest, that at Promotions is not a beginner in the art of re­ ieast contains an eiement of substance, is leasing records having to this date released the possibiiity of a Brisbane compiiation singles by the (soon to become household aibum featuring TEN of the bands that names) Riptides and Swell Guys on the Flat consistentiy piay the 279 Club in this fair Records Label.

The proposed concept surrounding the city, if things go as pianned the record wiii album is that it will not only feature what Bris­ inciude one track from the foiiow ing bane has to offer by way of music but in addi­ bands: tion the outer sleeve is to be designed by four 1. The Hostages 6. The 31st 2. The End 7. J.F.K. and The 3. Perfect Strangers Cuban Crisis 4. Xero 8. The Repairs 5. Scrap Metai 9. Convertibles 10. The Pinups The idea for the album (if it does eventuate) is that of local promoter David Darling who intends to send the tapes for the aibum to Fes­ tival in Sydney to see if there is any interest where it counts before unleashing the aibum

talented local artists. Thus it is equally a visual project as it is musical. The inner sleeve will contain short biographies and technical in­ formation about the bands involved.

Before raising hopes, only a mere 500 copies of the album will be pressed and the bulk of those will be used for promotional purposes, but if there is sufficient demand then there is a possibility that the album will be officially re­ leased. Keep your fingers crossed.

Drummer Gary Young and bassplayer John Power are no longer part of Jo Jo Zep and the Falcons, but the high priest of Maltese reggae is currently looking for a new rhythm section and will be back with a more reggae styled Falcons. The parting of the ways came about after Joe Camilleri, Tony Faehse and Geff Burstin did some demo sessions with Rick Grossman (of Matt Finish) on bass and Sports’ drummer Freddie Strauks. The demos, of a distinctively dubwise nature, so inspired Joe, and the rehearsal with the band a few days later so depressed him, that he decided it was time for a change. “The combination of r’n’b and

reggae was too difficult a fusion to make with the existing line-up” said band manager Mike Roberts.

It has still not been decided whether keyboards will be included in the new band, so at the point, Wilbur Wilde’s future with the band is also in doubt.

The clear the decks for the new action.

Mushroom will be releasing a 10 inch/$4.99 mini L.P. called ‘Dexterity’ in the near future. The nine tracks to be included are ‘Sweet’, ‘Flexible’, ‘Fallen Heroes’, ‘Nosey Parker’ (previously released under the name of Joey Vincent on Camilleri’s own Mighty Records), ‘Johnny Kain’, ‘Fool Enough’, ‘Rub Up Push Up’ and ‘Please, Please, Please’.

. one of the most exciting artefacts to reach Thrills HQ in a long time. ”■ Cynthia Rose, N.M.E. 27.6.81

The Melbourne based Musicland operation, which has been concentrating on its distribution function over the past couple of months swings back into releasing records of its own in the next month or so. Up and coming on their Cleopatra label are albums from the Metronomes (Multiple Choice’) and Tolley and Dara, ‘You Know, You Know’. There is also to be a compilation of various Melbourne electronic bands, a double album set called ‘Signal To Noise Set, Vols. 1&2’.

Singles on the way include ‘Hangin’ Around’, by the now-no-more Kaos, ‘M ilitary Tango’ by Scratch Record Scratch, ‘Icarus’ the second vinyl outing for Sweet Jayne and the very topical ‘Test Tube Bay’ by the Invaders.

DAVID PESTORIUS

pic Eric Algra

In keeping with the current delerium concerning things d’Oz in the U.K., started of course by the Birthday Party taking the Poms on at their own fractured music game and whipping them hands down, Bruce Milne and Andy Maine’s Fast Forward cassette mag got the big thumbs up in the N.M.E. last month.

After praising the concept as ‘innovative’ and ‘Professionally executed’, Ms. Rose actually says, ‘The best thing on FF4 is actually local!’ Swoon!

Horror! Peter Lillie gets his long-awaited moment of international recognition, (“ .. . pointed, ac­ complished pop.” ) and ****(pronounced cough twice, and featuring none other than ROADRUN­ NER’S very first layout artist Alan Coop, G’day mate!) from Canberra are labelled ‘deliberately underground but persuasively percussive’.

What next eh? Cold Chisel on Top Of The Pops?

By the way FF5 is currently available and features a very interesting interview with N.M.E. editor Neil Spencer, tracks by and interview with hot new Melbourne combo Equal Local (see feature elsewhere this issue), track and part 2 of a serial by Johnny Topper and other auditory delights. Available at your discerning music outlet or from Missing Link.

Dead Kennedy’s single ‘Too Drunk To Fuck’ has just slipped out of the U.K. Top Twenty after a stay of four weeks — this despite there being a total radio airplay and T.V. ban on it and the refusal of several major record retail chains to stock it.

Missing Link will be releasing it in this country and it will be distrubted thru Musicland rather than RCA/Powderworks who distribute Missing Link normally.^Get it before they ban it here too folks!

Young Modem will play a one-off reunion gig at Gleneig Surf Life Saving Club on 24th July. A solo single from John Dowler is expected around the same time.

TOP TEN TOUR RUMOURS! 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

Elvis Costello (Sept.)

The Clash (Sept.)

Tom Waits (late August?)

Springsteen (October) Leo Kottke/Leon Redbone Ray Columbus and the Invaders (October) 7. Public Image Ltd. (October) 8. Stanley Clarke/George Duke (Sep­ tember) 9. Dead Kennedy’s (October) 10. Stray Cats (September?)

Dropped out: DEVO, The Pretenders (both not coming). Cure, Adam and the Ants (definitely cbminig).

Roadrunner

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XL Capris have finished recording their followup to their debut ‘Where Is Hank?’ album. It was produced by guitarist Todd Hunter at 301 Studios in Sydney, is due for release on the 1st of September and is called ‘weeds’! The band will be touring nationally in September.

has finished producing the second INXS album.

New band signed to WEA are the Divinals whose lead singer has a part in the film version of Helen Garner’s “ Monkey Grip" originally based on Jane Clifton. Sydney rock scribe Vince Lovegrove plays the part of a rock magazine editor in the movie which is to be filmed in Sydney. There will be a soundtrack album released by WEA to coincide with the release of the film.

Bruce Springsteen getting married in July sometime?

The debut album from MEO 245, ‘Screen Memory’ will be released by Mushroom Records in mid August. It was produced by Peter Dawkins.

Laughing Clowns are in the midst of a national tour that will take them to four states in six weeks.

The ‘core unit’ of Ed Kuepper, Peter Doyle and Jeff Wegner have been joined by Les Miller (double and electric bass) and Louise Elliotton (sax). A compilation album will be released to coincide with the tour. It will include material recorded over the past year.

Guitarist for and founder member of the Boomtown Rats, Gerry Cott, has left the band. Cott annouced his decision to the rest of the band in Bangkok at the completion of a four month world tour. According to the band’s manager, no replacement is to be considered and the group will continue as a quintet. The Rats commence recording their fifth album this month.

pic Eric Algra

WOTS IN A NAME?

Flowers changed their name to Icehouse earlier this month, and then jetted off to New Zealand for the first concerts of a world tour that will take in the U.K. and the U.S.A. The name change, according to frontman Iva Davies, came about because of a San Francisco based group called Flowers who have the right to use the name in the U.S.A.

Davies refused to be drawn on the question of the band’s possibilities of o/s success. ‘When we’ve got platinum records in our hands — that’s when I’ll believe it’, he said with a laugh.

But there’s no denying the band’s, now self-titled, album has got off to a flying start in the U.S.A. — being the most added album to radio playlists in its week of release. The big question is whether it can maintain that momentum long enough to hit the upper reaches of the charts.

Melbourne reportedly battening down for an Adelaide invasion in the next two months as Nuvo Bloc, Jumpers,- Foreign Body and the Bodgies prepare for smash and grab raids across the bor­ der.

Adam and the Ants recording follow up to “ Kings of the Wild Frontier" before hitting our shores in August.

Recording of the Riptides first single for Regular Records, “Day Has Gone", has been delayed due to the illness of vocalist Mark Callaghan.

Serious Young Insects are the first band to be signed to the Richmond Recorders label, to be distributed through CBS Vinyl soon.

Dorian Gray, who formed out of the remnants of the Bleu Scooters have their first self-produced single released by Au Go Go this month. Another Melbourne outfit. Equal Local, have their first single (a 1 2 "^ “ Madagascar” released on Mis­ sing Link this month.

Adelaide’s Jumpers to release single on new Adelaide label. Smash & Grab?

Richard Clapton has half finished his first album for his new company, WEA, with Mark Opitz pro­ ducing. Clapton will complete the album after he

HAIL AND FAREWELL Magazine are no more, after the shock decision of Howard Devoto to leave the band. The news, coming just before the release of the band’s fourth studio album, “ Magic, Murder and the Weather" comes not long after the decision of fellow Man­ chester new wave trailblazers the Buzzcocks (ac­ tually Devoto’s first hand) to call it a day too.

The Clash, the Jam and the Damned are looking lonelier and lonelier.

Skids guitarist Stuart Adamson, citing as his reason the distance between Scotland (where he lives) and London (where the others hang out), has left the Skids, Now that’s a novel reason isn’t it folks?

Fabulaires will release a 6 track E.P. at the end of the month with the late Jo Moore featured on vocals. The band will be going off the road in July and Greg Champion will be joining the Young Homebuyers.

Koung modern It is my unenviable duty to report on The Dugites, Elks, Boys, Teeny Weenys are the good things that are happening on all over east (OE). The Manikins and The the Perth m usic scene this month and Nobodies have been off the road (OR) for six It makes for slim pickings folks. thankfully, this month only. Thankfully, months.

The Manikins are nearly through their because when you look at local music recess tho’. The return gig was Adrians Sat. history the only advantage you can be 20th June . . . they bring with them a 75-80% dure the future has over the past is that new repertoire, still all original, and new you can’t complain about it y e t.. . but guitarist Bradley Clarke . . . previously of you w ill.. . and with good reason. Ta­ Billy Orphan’s Tears. It’s bound to be a lent, innovation and invention have welcome break to tedium for many people. eternally suffered at the hands of ‘busi­ Famous hairdressers and Manikins say­ ness’. In Perth, where a very few people ing .. . ‘Fashion Fades, Style is Eternal’.

The Manikins have been rehearsing and have controlled the industry for a long recording at a new studio in North Fremantle. time, you’ll find bands to be either total Mutant Mule is a half way house for recording sell-outs, badly compromised or failing. paupers. They can offer first class technical Not many are clever enough to work skills (Tim Lambert, producer), all-bar the within the agency structure (or outside most superfluous technology . . . and at it), survive, AND still contribute real $25/hr it’s an affordable, comfortable and originality. In fact most Perth bands are professional alternative and a boon to the just live jukeboxes . . . they would be , future of the original bands of Perth. Already laughed out of any other town . . . but ‘The Nobodies!’ Stray Tapes and ‘And An A’ Have worked good product there. there . .. they may BIG money.

Confessions are about to record also.

Of instance . .\ one such group began playing last year. They played nothing but 3d noth Beatles hits, badly, and wore clever props (like Groucho noses). They were heavily promoted, and judging by crowds, it is not inconceivable that they would have drawn two hundred thousand clams out of the industry in that time. (Meantime members of worthwhile original bands work during the week so they can afford to play weekends!)

Ask one of these neanderthal bands why they do i t .. . ‘gosh . . . it’s the only way to get off the ground in Perth . . . ’ and they are rig h t. . . as long as there are people around as shortsighted as themselves to strangle musical education and evolution itself. The fat man in the agency office does little to reinforce any sneaking doubts in the minds of these bands either. He is the one with ‘more covers equals more cash’ tattooed on his forehead.

It basically means that there’s not much worth seeing in Perth. The dilemma has been aggravated in recent rnonths by the absence of W'.A, talents'and /or sucpesaas, VVarner.,

4 Roadrunnen

Here is an interesting mob, love dirges and relentless rhythms . . . they probably don’t have a chance on the live scene. Rob Baxter is a genuine young man with a good voice and some strong lyrics. His selfconciousness is refreshing to see. The music is great, on occasion, but all too often becomes prey for the moods of the bands two ‘angry young men’. Tantrums and snotty spoiled remarks . . . it contradicts the control over fear that Baxter communicates . . . I hope he endures.

The next few months will see Perth belch forth a fair volume of recorded music. The next issue of Roadrunner should see the inauguration of a regular Perth section which will pay particular attention to such output.

Look forward to a review of The Scientists album and The Triffids single. Contributors and parties interested in a more comprehen­ sive Perth section should ring Perth 3816103.

MARTIN RIMMER

FREE CROC

Roadrunner 5

Original - ^[irrors

Heart-twango & is now released in Australia 0 6359 046 ini 7150 046

- The Second album

and see hundreds of ciead^oS sgom gtodg^ ask you? Get your info right!

Concerned Mod, M. O’Neill Seaton Park

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In reply to John Doe's Ruined Scene (R.R. Vol. 4, No. 5). . John — Although you may be sincere in your I criticisms of the plagiarists who are prolific in the j sometimes pretentious business of r’n’r, your castigations echo just a little too much of the angry P o g ^ ^ ^ e young man, his head buried in the sand. (Excuse the clich 'e).

John — reality is hard to come to grips with, but don’t you realize that even back in 1976, The Sex Pistols were being carefully manipulated by a very smart cretin named Malcolm McLaren. He made a lot of money out of his little venture, and so the I poor, exploited Pistols contributed substantially to the rejuvenation of a barren, flagging rock industry.

Unfortunately money drives even the most creaI tive talents to modify their styles to conform to the capitalistic rules of ‘our’ society. And if they don’t, then some smart-arse rat-cum-cretin is just as likely to come along and steal and copy their idea anyway. What to do? If the artist moves towards a compromise, people say he/she has ‘sold out’. If ' they remain true to their ideals, the frustration of rett) had^one justice by allowing Peter, (if I may be lack of recognition is imposed and obscurity is Dear Roadrunner, When I read a Stuart Coupe article, I just don’t so casual) freedom to articulate his thoughts ac­ often the result. It’s a difficult choice to make. It’s hear Stuart Coupe. I hear Greil Marcus. I hear Alan ross to us. And I find without a doubt Midnight Oil to O.K. to be celebrated as a ‘minor cult’ if you’ve got Betrock, Greg Shaw, Lenny Kaye and a hundred be my all-time favourite band both live and on the money to support the habit. other writers who he owes more than a little debt. I record. P.S.: Keep up the good work Roadrunner! Another point John, you must admit that no one Dedicated Sydney Freak idea is really, truly new. Artists draw their ideas hear ALL those Lester Bangs reviews, not just the from all over the place if an idea is reasonably Lou Reed interview. I hear Nick Toschos and John original and shoots off the sparks of success, then Peel. It’s Ralph J. Gleason meets Ken Barnes the ‘trendy copy bands’ are bound to crawl out of Dear Sir, meets Nick Kent. I hear Nik Cohn with and without Having just come back from England, I am the woodwork to use/abuse, contort/distort what his P.J. Proby obsession, and Julie Burchill, with and without her ‘rich rock tapestry’ obsession. I what could be called a “ Mod Fanatic” . Due to the was, in essence, original. The unfortunate fact is, lack of time that I was there, I was unable to contact that sometimes the remodelling of an idea can hear Billy Altman and Charles Shaar Murray. I hear unveil another facet of the concept that wasn’t Jon Young, Dave Marsh and Andy Schwartz. I some of the pop group’s fan clubs. If it is possible, would you be able to give me the addresses of the apparent in the first draft. The Birthday Party have hear Jon Landau and every other writer who even done this with their ideas. In their naivety they were wrote for Rolling Stone, from Ben-Fong Torres to fan clubs for these two groups (if they exist): The Boys Next Door. The album Door Door The Who Jonathon Cott. I ever hear Tom Wolfe and Jack reflected their personalities and the mood of The Jam Keroauc. I hear Danny Baker. I could go on and on If you could do me this favour, I would be most ’78-’79. Now as the experienced Birthday Party, because I hear a little bit of every writer who ever they have altered their direction and reshaped the laid pen to paper. . . but I gotta go ’cause I hear my grateful. past, so that Prayers on Fire suits the mood of now Yours sincerely, mom calling me for dinner.

Mark Atkinson — the early ’80’s. Sure The Birthday Party have NICK, progressed, but so has time, and with it the ever Can anyone help? - ED. ROZELLE. changing music industry, wheeling and reeling ata rapid rate.

Dear Roadrunner, The Birthday Party do have very strict rules, To Roadrunner, Stuart Coupe’s looking forward to his next I am a regular reader of this great magazine, contrary to what you said John. Their songs are eill $5,000 trip care of CBS Records then is he? but I found that one of your writers was ill-informed highly structured, the heavy grinding bass is Signed on a particular topic - Mods. I have just had the ubiquitous (remember Joy Division?), the ‘tribal’ The Historian, good fortune to go to Britain for a short holiday and beat, the manic schizophrenic presence of Nick Perth, W.A. also to experience the scene “ over there” . I must Cave is all part of the plan. The seemingly inform the writer of the story on the “Allniters” , that nonsensical lyrics have miles of meaning. That’s Dear Donald, Mod is definitely not dead. Although I stayed with why we were provided with a lyric sheet. “ You If Roadrunner has John Doe trying (badly) to relatives of my own age that were pro-ska, I was know exactly what I’m talking about” . Masochistic write like Stuart Coupe; and Stuart Coupe trying still attracted to “ Mod” ism (Bear in mind that when I fetishes, naughty words and naughtier thoughts. (badly) to write like Dave Marsh, why not sack both left oz we had not been hit by any cults at that Let’s keep everyone on their toes — cretins, rats’n John and Stuart and just pay Dave. stage). Fair enough, the Merton Parkas and Secret bats and the real humans, they’re all the same.

Give it a thought, boys.

I’ll be interested to see what happens to The Affair’s are dead, but they’ve been at it a long time.

M.H. Their places have been filled by other promising Birthday Party in the future, what with Prayers on Wollongong. groups - unknown as yet. And are you trying to tell Fire Bubbling Under in the normal LP charts in the me that the Jam and the Who are dead too? I doubt U.K. The taste of success (not a 4, but a 7 letter Money? I’m only in it for the credibility, chum. — word) may have whetted the appetites of even the it.

J.D. One statement that the writer made was that humble Birthday Party. I finish with a quote from Mod was “ a mere rehash of sixties fashions and Capers — Roadrunner Volume 4, Number 5, “The hour hands down a miracle to spend with styles” . Well then, what is Rockabilly? Ska dress, I very rarely find myself writing trashy letters also is not new. My parents remember people ugly types . .. expressing my reaction to any particular article Are we balanced? dressing like that when they were young - the which happens to be published, but I find it very We’re in business.” same with the Blitz - old fashions/New Wave. difficult to let such a smashing piece go by without It all makes sense now, doesn’t it John?

Too conclude, if Mod is dead, how is it that you any thought. I feel Donald Robertson who inter­ can go to a dance on a Saturday night in England SHAYNE COLLIER. viewed Peter Garrett (or should I say Messrs. GarClear as mud, Shayne — J.D.

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P.Q. Box 90, Eastwood SA 5063.

WHYALLANEWS THE CHURCH Of Skins And Heart (EMI) This is the debut from Sydney four piece The Church. The Church came together about a year ago, and secured a deal with the Beatles’ publishing firm, ATV Northern Songs, soon after beginning live perfor­ mances.

The album, Of Skins And Heart, was fxoduced by ATV’s Chris Gilbey and mixed in the United States by Bob Clearmountain. It is well produced, clear and dynamic, accenting The Church’s distinctive aspects.

Since the recording was com pleted, drummer Nick Ward has departed, being replaced by the extraordinary Richard Ploog, resulting in a punchier sound.

Of Skins And Heart opens with For A Moment We're Strangers, which is in writer, vocalist, bass player Steve Kilbey’s words about “ . . . knowing someone, and then seeing them again as you did when you first saw them.” It also establishes a kind of theme which runs through the album to the last track, the sad, acoustic Don't Open The Door To Strangers, where “ . . . you find that the person going all through the album is a stranger to start with.”

For A Moment We're Strangers is a good example of the whole album, which can’t be ‘ said, although it is distinctively The Church, to have a great deal of variation. It’s a rnedium quick pop song, notable for the ringing, jangling Byrds/Beatles influenced guitar, a little diverted, hinting at the much more powerful live sound. The song flows smoothly, rising through the verses, to a choppy chorus, which fades down to quiet again for the next verse, all the while accompanied by melodic lead guitar and Kilbey's nasal vocals.

Chrome Injury, with its Byrds harmoniesTs much the same, and leads to the single, The Unguarded Moment, and that reminiscent Ticket To Ride riff.

Memories In Future Tense is more power­ ful, with its insistent chugging rhythm, and a little more necessity in Kilbey’s singing. AT more aggressive song, with the guitars, in patches, grinding with a harder edge.

Finishing the side is Bel-Air, which is a quieter, commentary sort of song, which hangs mainly on the “ He can never be” at the lend.

Side two opens with Is This Where YouJ

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Notable album for Church debut THE C H U R C H — “O F S K IN S A N D HEARTS”

by IAN S H A W

The debut album for this four-piece Sydney band is fuH of surprises.

The band has only been together for one year but in that year

Live, which begins magnificently with the strains of an instrument named a vocoder (spelling uncertain) which sounds some­ where between a synthesiser and droning human voices. A song that captures a real tension, it develops into a typically ringing Church/ByrdS co-composition.

She Never Said is a noisier, punchier, rougher and more dynamic song for the most, with cutting, far off sounding guitar and thumping drum beat.

Next, Fighter Pilot . . . Korean War beJiaxfs typically, with the usual ambiguous, uneconomical, but moderately colourful lyri­ cal imagery. Steve Kilbey’s lyrics are de­ finitely not written for the purfwse of direct statement, and border often on meaninglessness, hoping mainly to convey a feeling, a gist of some thought or situation wWch h ^ p e n s to exist. iDon’t Open The Door To Strangers ends the album on a kind of sad, worn out, nungitfiver late at night feeling. It’s basically acoustic, piano and guitar (no, they don’t play it live), with some electric lead, giving it a ^ ta n t. Dark Side Of The Moon atmosphere.

A notable Australian pop album, Of Skins And Heart may become just another curi­ osity or it may be the beginning of something.

That’s up to The Church/

Om­

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the choppy chorus and the quieter verses. ^ “ C h ro m e In ju r y ” w ith it s B y rd s ’ harmonies is much the same, and leaids to the p resen t s in g le “ Unguarded Moment” and that reminiscent “ Tick et to Ride,” rift. “ Mem ories in Future T e n s e ’ ’ is m o re powerful — with an in­ s isten t rhythm, g r e s s iv e gu itar and more urgency in the vocal department.

Side two opens wiOi “ Is This Where You L iv e ? ” which begins with the strains ^ a vocoder ( an instrument used to synthesise the human voice. A song t h a t c a p tu re s re a l tension, and develops in­ to a typical^' ringing, C h u rch / B y rd s co ­ composition. “ She N ever Said” is a n o i s e r , p u n c h ie r .

r o u g h e r and m ore d y n a m ic song with cutting far-off sounding guitar and thumping drum beat.

N ext “ Fighter Pilot” behaves typicadly as | Church joins the te llig e n s ia , although singer Steve Kilbey fails to g iv e a direct state­ ment on the issue the hint of social comment comes through.

“ Don’ t Open the Door to Strangers” ends the album on a sad, wornout hung-over, late at night feeling.

the clmrch

JO H N DOE

Plagiarist of the month award: Ian Shaw of the Whyalia News. Look Ian, we know Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but this is a bit over the top, isn’t it?

be

touring

Australia later this month.

V ery much a ‘musi­ cian’s' musician many bonafide guitar heroes in c lu d in g C la p t o n , Page, Townsend and Beck have clainMd him as an influence.

Buchanan has nine albums ' a va ila b le in Australia, ranging in s ty le fr o m coun>try/rock/blues through to ja zz fusion on an aiouin w ith S tanley Clarke.

Buchanan and his band w ill be supported on the eastern leg of the tour by two stalwarts of the Australian blues scene — Matt Taylor and Phil Manning re­ united for the first time since the days of Chain.

Buchanan will appear

ADVERTISING Lyn Saunders OFFICE Giles Barrow SYDNEY EDITOR: S c o tt M a th e s o n (0 2 )3 5 7 3180

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LONDON: Keith Shadw ick, Larry Buttrose, Chris Safew icz CONTRIBUTORS: Stan Coulter, Goose, Tyrone Flex, Span Hanna, David Langsam , Adrian M iller, Sue Wylie, Craig N. Pearce.

DESIGN & LAYOUT: And Productions — Richard Turner, K ate Monger, (08) 223 4206.

TYPESETTING: SA. Type Centre (08)2118811

DISTRIBUTIO N: Gordon (& Gotch for Australia and N ew Zealand PRINTER: Bridge Press^ Seventh St., M urray Bridge, S.A. 5253 Ph: (085) 32 1744.

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^

KENT TOWN S.A. 5067.

Ph.: (08) 42 3040.

B asically it’s a “ Dark Side of the Moon” type ballad.

A notable pop album to put alongside so many other new artists but m aybe with just a little extra.

%Roy Buchanan tour planned G u it a r le g e n d Roy Buchanan will

EDITOR & PUBLISHER: Donald Robertson

in Adelaide on Tuesday, June 30.

Mike (Tubular Bells i Oldfield is set to tour Australia later in the year on the strength of his su ccessfu l QE2 album.

O u ts id e , the U K , Australia is the first country in the past cou­ ple of years to actually sell a large quantity of Oldfield’s albums.

In s p ir e d by this, Oldfield is busy organis­ ing a “ thinned out” touring party — as op­ posed to the whole or­ chestra he took on his last European jaunt.

TOURISTS Guitar legend Roy Buchanan will be touring Australia for the first time later this rnonth. Very much a 'm usician’s m usician’, many bona fide guitar heroes in c lu d in g C la p to n , Page, T o w n s e n d , Beck, Leslie West and Nils Lofgren, have claim ed him as an influence.

Buchanan has nine albums available in Australia ranging in musical style from country/rock/blues through to jazz fusion on an album with Stanley Clarke.

Buchanan and his band will be sup­ ported on the eastern leg of their national tour by two stalwarts of the Australian blues scene. M att Taylor and Phil Man­ ning, reunited for the first tim e since the days of Chain. The Manning-Taylor Band will have an album, ‘Oz Blues’ released just before the tour.

Mike Oldfield, reportedly delighted with the success of his single, ‘W onderful Land’ and album, ‘QE2’ is set to tour Australia later this year. Outside the U.K., Australia is the first country in the last couple of years to actually sell a quantity of Oldfield albums. No details on the size of the touring party are yet available, but it is doubtful if Oldfield will bring a whole orchestra with him as he did on a tour of Europe not th a t m any years ago.

Roadrunner 7

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Backs to the Blast is a fifty minute documentary history of the uranium and nuclear industry in South Australia, from 1910 to 1980.

At its preview screening in Adelaide last month it made such an impression on the S.A. leader of the Australian Democrats, Mr. Robin Millhouse, that he has lobbied to have it shown in parliament. This seems likely to happen sometime this month. It is also likely that the film will be shown on television in the near future.

‘Backs to the Blast’ was produced and directed by Harry Bardwell, with financial assistance from the Austra­ lian Film Commission.

While the film has been described as a ‘fascinating and devastating analysis of the effects of uranium and its products’ it has also come under criticism from the pro-uranium lobby and the State Liberal Government in S.A. Most vocal of these critics has been Mines and Energy Minister, Roger Goldsworthy - who admits bare faced that he hasn’t actually seen the film!

Richard Turner talked to Harry Bardwell about the making of the film.

RT What’s the guts of the film?

HB Well, the film is about the nuclear history of South Australia and concentrates on the nineteen fifties, when S.A. played an important role in the development of the British nuclear weapons system. Uranium was mined here, milled at Port Pirie and a lot of bombs were tested at Maralinga. Officially they let of 7 bombs around 1956-57.

RT Didn’t they test H bomb triggers too?

HB Yes, they also set fire to ‘devices’ to see what would happen!

RT Really?

HB Yes. There was one in 1962, this bloke was going past, he got diverted 40 miles around it, there was so much radiation. So when they’re talking about testing stopping in ’57 that’s not really true. The later ones were done real secretly. Who knows what they were doing? They let off 20 more ‘devices’. The place wasn’t cleaned up until 1967. " RT You’re speaking specifically about the Maralinga site, but they also exploded bombs at the Emu site.

HB Yes, that pre-dated the Maralinga tests. Two bombs went off there in 1953, which were pretty foul.

RT Were they the ones that caused concern, when the wind direction changed?

HB All of them did. There was fallout from all of them but the later ones were cleaner. The first Montebello (W.A.) test (1952) fallout was tracked all across the country right to Queensland. The Emu dirty bomb tests - the fallout went north east into Queensland but the wind often blows in different directions at different levels $0 large areas of eastern Ausla-aya got doses of radiation* RT In theiiDs they didn’t seem to have the understanding they lia ie now about lallout and how dangerous it can b e - ' :/ , ' , HB They had a pretty fair idea. The dangers of radiation had been knovm since 1928 and by the §me the British had done a lot of research.

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8 Roadrunner

), Oancer and leukemia takes

know - but they really tried to bluffs the people into believing everything was OK. Basicaily now people are getting sick and starting to speak o u t RT The people with cancer and other malignant tumors that you interview in the film, were they reluctant to appear?

HB Some of them were, some wouldn’t talk, some didn’t want to be named. The people who were realty sick were willing to speak out becaMserthiey were really pissed off, you know.

RT You are obviously convinced tie re has Ijeen a cover-up or at least an unknowing or uncanng'attitude by the authorities.

HB They were there to 'get a nuclear tft^apons system together, and they had to get it done - ^ e r e was a lot of money involved, about 1CK),CK50,I500 pounds is one estimate I heard to test these weapons.and that’s a lot of money. There was a Idt of ignorance In thc^e days and people are much better Informed s ^ u t nuclear issues now.

RT One of the reasons they are la because films like yours have surfaced recently.

HB Well that’s the idea m the 181m.

RT What was the reac^on of the South Australian Government?

HB Well the film was released 3 days before they announced the Fort Pine sktdy for an enrichment plant.

That’s a big thing as far as the State Government’s concerned spencSng $% mtllkm on the study.

RT Have you had any feedback as to v4iat they think about it?

HB They don’t like iti (laughter).

RT You say that «4th a laugh, t suppose that’s an understatement?

HB I think they are ba^caJly pissed oft it came out when it did. I’m convinced my phone Is ts p je d at the moment.

Roger Goldsworthy (S.A. Minister for Mines and Energy) hasn’t seen the film, but he said the film is misleading, the incidents he dtes are inappropriate, they’re not true.

RT Is there just one print of the filrh.

HB No we’ve got lots of prints!

RT What about the p rin ts media?

HB We’ve got a v d y good response iocally, and some interest from Sydney. We got it into the papers last week and it’s been ttiere ever ^nce.

RT The enrichmerrt plant announcement has obviously helped.

HB Yes and the fact they want to dump tailings at Radium Hill now, whiofeicomes from Hunters Hill in Sydney.

H iey’ve been wondering what to do with them since they came from S.A. in 1910.

RT Really? 1910?

HB Yes and they still haven’t worked cut what to do vs^th it! i RT Are you convinced about all the facts expressed in the Jilm . Are any of them open to ccm|ecture or question?

HB Well a lot of them are open to question, but the point is macte the government steadfastly refuses to do SUfV^S Into the people involved in Radium Hill, Port Pirladr Markings. Any small inquiries have shown high <»9^esof sickness, and so they stopped the surveys and 'i you can’t quote that it’s not a proper survey. It’s a 1 double bind situation, they are trying to keep the lid on it

like that, but I think it’s too late now.

RT You filmed at some of the test sites, tell us about that?

HB It was pretty difficult getting in there, a lot of paperwork, time, and explaining to different people what the film was about. Eventually we had to take a secretary from the Department of Mines and Energy and a member of the Atomic Energy Commission at our own expense, which was a pain in the arse, because it meant an extra plane. We were met by four Commonwealth Policemen, who tagged us so closely, they even drove ’round with the 2-way radio on, beaming out to Woomera all our conversations in the car!

RT They could hear every word?

HB Yea, they were really tight, I had the flu at the time, arid dropped a tissue, and a guy came over and inspected it, and questioned me.

RT Did you sign any papers?

HB Yes we had to sign official papers. I suppose rightly so.

There’s still a lot of radiation around, and if we ever got s ic k . . . It’s cleaned-up a lot now.

RT I understand it hasn’t been so well fenced as it is now?

Did you come into contact with Aborigines who had been in the area?

HB We found some people, one lady who reported being engulfed in a black mist. She and her family were looking for opal, they weren’t tribal Aborigines, she heard on the radio at six in the morning there would be a test firing, the bomb went off at breakfast time, she’s got pock-marks on her body as a result of it, and she said the kid is the same, he’d be quite old now, I never met him.

We went to Yalata, a settlement set up in the 50s to move the abo’s out of the test sites. They were moved about 150 miles south, off their land. They are still there, it’s a displaced persons camp.

RT Who was responsible for the tests?

HB The British. A guy called W. Penney was responsible for the whole set up.

RT Was it military or civilian?

HB Military, there was a lot of British soldiers involved and Australian forces, in fact some of the guys I talked to used to watch these 18 year-old guys getting off the ’planes from England or Ireland, flown directly here. It wasn’t just the bombs, but the whole system.

RT The British independent nuclear weapon?

HB Right, which is why it was so expensive, there were a lot of British personnel here.

RT OK. So now the film is finished what do you hope it will achieve?

HB To make people aware of what happened then and through that to make themiaware* and more critical of what’s happening now. As long as it’s seen by as many people as possible. H ie film is macfe to appeal to the widest num berdpeople, theflkn h Interesting in itself. It lays down a w h o ^ lot of fa d s m¥d q u e e n s and leaves it up to the vieww to make up his/her own mind.

RT Whet about the next film is if to be more of this No. I tiin k IVe done my on the nuclear li e l cycle (lat^hter), but I’m lining up a film in the Pilbara about Dave Warner* ft*s te n s iv e at the moment but it’s a V2 hour<^>co m his boncert tour through the mirtliig towns | th ^ e in the outposts o f suburbia.

It seems as though the Dugites have had the blessing of a clean growth. They seem devoid of rabid radio indulgences and cling to old fave standards (think twice) and ideals. One may accuse The Dugites of perpetuating old rock myths (damn those leathers, Ma!) but the truth is they are now new things; at least in The Dugites’ fine hands. Revamped facts and figures as well as behavior modes have been treated and manifest themselves in a new modern form — a form pulsing with the clouds of an innocent virgin’s breath.

The Dugites perform and give from the heart. And so often exhibit ‘cliches’. But these cliches are not invoked just for the sake of it. These are understandings, naturally occurring things. No fuss, pretension or proclamation; it boils down to being a behavioural mode that, though not new, is at least honest.

The Dugites’ music is what they want. What they like.

They are content/excited with it. So it’s likely that what they offer us is good entertainment and to venture within their range is a worthwhile exercise. Luckily for us (and lucky them!), their credibility depends on the product and not their attitude. It’s funny how the explanations are those of stodgy-nosed hippies and the music is that of a ripe, country aired pop group.

"GROW ING UP IN PUBLIC" The touring and experiences they underwent on the Eastern side of Australia last year was the catalyst for the development which has led to The Dugites’ much broader collection of present sounds.

Hills, landforms, faster (more ugly, more formed) cities, greater contrasts and a wilder conglomerate of heads.

Contrasts Drum machine/drum interlocking. A basis; a fluctuating ice hard bottom end. Cracking up; holding up; propulsive and meandering. A shifting, echoing of moods that wither/bloom, wither/bloom — at times reflecting the work around/above/below it and at other times being a crude rhythm animal, darting in and out spitting flames and dancing wildly, in spite of the wily caresses of Linda Nutter’s voice.

Though The Dugites have always been a pleasure to listen to, their endless (end to end) lineal sound tended (& tended) to become rather a one-dimensional and hollow stream of thoughtlessness. No nuance of flash, no shadow, and no corners to turn. Theirs was a sound rapidly moving towards a dead end.

No longer The Dugites, it seems, have milked their moment (the old moment) and have now come back rejuvenated and reeducated. Theirs is now a more urban(e) synthesis of music. No longer walking the pathetically narrow high-wire confines of pop; they have now reached the end of the old show, switched routines, and are now swinging wildly on the trapeze. Sure and excited, they are crashing from pop to post modernist flailings — from circular twists of smooth mechanical rock to an ever expanding and more clearly exposed collection of nuts and bolts.

It’s the same instruments. No line up alterations. Just new verve, surer steps, more confident adventures. And it’s leading away. Up and away. Growing up in public is no easy thing to do, but The Dugites, collectively, are now forming into an article of influence. None (well, a little) of the old tendency to verge on vacuousness. The time is nigh for The Dugites. With this, ‘‘West of The World”, their latest aural direction, they have opened up whilst securing their product well within the bounds of credible get up.

They’re happy with this securing, this new platform (So am II.So am II). But the time will/has come when this base must be the springboard for their new(er) sound. Time for the new face, the florid flash, a new coming of a different angle in a (not so) flickering format. To exhibit their worth, which they are slowly unwinding within themselves, they’ve got to go harder, get rougher!

And though ‘‘West of the World” makes obvious the fact that The Dugites are just fine for the moment, it’s obvious that they’re just warming to the game.

"MENTOR? OR, JUST ANOTHER INPUT? Bob Andrews (ex Rumour — Graham Parker’s rooty backing band — and minor keyboard legend) produced their new album (as he did with the first) and by all accounts seems to have been a major shaping force.

Although it has always been Peter Crosbie’s songs and the band’s arrangements (shared royalties too) it is Andrews to whom the band give credit for extending them.

Their ideas, talents, mistakes and fortunate misfortunes were all pushecf, pressured and cajoled to their limit. They feel greatly indebted to the man who they, with no qualms at all, proclaim to be one of, if not the best producers in the world today.

A producer in total empathy with the artist(s) they are working with, is not a thing often found and the worth of this relationship is amply proven by the textural notions the album flounces about so effortlessly.

"G O O D LOOKIN' TOOK?)" Dugites are in control. They’re holding steady and moving strongly. It doesn’t stop with the music either.

Their image — clothes, film clips, publicity shots and cover art — is of their own creation and/or choice.

That’s one of the reasons they signed with DELUXE RECORDS, who are small enough to allow a functional connection between band and executive and big enough (don’t forget the distribution deal!) to finance their own needs. Such as, except for the new one “ Waiting”, allowing them the money to make all their film clips on 32 mm film.

Deluxe have enough pull to influence things like radio airplay. Countdown, and record shop displays.

"LIVE!" At Bombay Rock their’s is indeed a welcome sight after the sorrowful shut-eyed flailings of Little Heroes.

Indeed, the well muscled chiffon robes their music operates within is in strong contrast to most of the inept agency-operated bands that flounder around the greasy dance halls in this country, (of which this venue must surely be the archetype).

A fluid, flo rid flow.

A gut-busting, heart-held harmony of anguished pop and calculated tones. Around the fringe (dead) endlessness of Bombay Rock The Dugites permeate a new faction, a wild freshness that moves out, strikes out and happily purifies.

An essence of class, a hint (No! More!) Of verve, and a pristine syncopation of man and his machines. They dance.

We dance. The air is screaming, the floor is shaking.

Opening up and densely dance dictatorial is ‘South Pacific’ which, along with the new number ‘Malcolm’s Got a Problem”, serves to illustrate the band’s political notions in a housing of sustained dance memorabilia. It is in these two songs that the polarisation of styles the Dugites utilise can be seen. Whilst “ South Pacific” features the kinetically frantic finger-popping bass style of Paul Noonan; who tantalises and brutalises simultaneously, it is “ Mal­ colm” . . . which retains the heavy-guitared mind-dredging style that rockist conservatives tend to favour. If it’s any indication it was “M a lc o lm ...” which the bruisers at Bombay most favoured. Often this (more than) flirting with heavy rock is a bit offputting, especially when drivel like “ UFO” and “ Tesco” is spewed out with the imagination of a dead Lobby Lloyd. It’s even more detestable when the flatness crawls up and over onto the normally, (well, it was last year anyway) wide-eyed plane of pop that “ Gay Guys” skates over. A tailed up portable synth. with a strap is no innovative machine when its output merely operates like a lame lead guitar— You know the story, all hip and no thrust.

In pieces like “ Being Used” and “ There’s a Place” though, all is forgiven. Hard-edged solemn funk which weilds beats not to be ignored, while occasionally Linda Nutter’s voice whacks in the most persuasive of ultra-cool harmonies. It’s within songs like these that the real essence of Antipodean Top 40 funk lies. Meanwhile in new songs such as “ Go To Sleep” and “After The Game”, both the faint kisses of dub (‘Game’) and the more recognised tom-tom tribal thump (‘Sleep’) exhibit the band’s distinct appraisal of the original disco crunch in a more wholesome pop form. The spasmodic, berie‘ aii's bf P'alil Noonan’s

fretless bass gives a sense of direction to ‘Game’ and though this is where Nutter’s voice exalts, the other instruments tend to lose sight of what they’re doing and shuffle off into their own blind little corners. \n ‘Sleep’ echoes slip easily around the song whilst when the sheer alchemy of the chorus comes it urges itself moodily into the heart.

An effect which is similarly engendered by the new single “ Waiting” which lilts quietly away down a country lane, whilst Gunther Berghofer waltzes shyly away into a corner.

His guitar, even when the focus moves off his faint chording, won’t let us out of that miniscule subversive thread that swings itself away in background. “ Everything’s okay, now . . . ’’ Those hard syndrum slaps flare right out into the air; right out. A motionless air coded dub passage moves past my face and I lilt. . . lilt. . . lilt. . . whether it’s with the music or with Linda’s smile is the question I want to ask but feel too enraptured to do so. And it’s exactly the same with the wistful rendition of Marianne Faithful’s “ Wishin’ and Hoping”. The bird call harmonies, the darling vocals/of Linda Nutter, and the shining propulsive brushing that the rest of the band emit reinforce the notion that The Dugites now have real texture. The listener is confronted with a sound full of itself, proud in its intentions, and noble in its self-educated stance.

Paul Noonan — who is, as far as I can tell, (like Barrry Adamson is to England) the definitive business in bass playing in this country — says that though they all try and be conscien­ tious about listening to the latest sounds their vocation often precludes any chance they have of doing so. That ably quashes the numbskull manifestations of no-thought in people who I’ve heard commenting on the similarity — intimating the process of plagiarism — of the new single “ Waiting” to Ultravox’s “ Vienna”.

Thing is, though, that their excuse that they “ can’t” find time to listen to other music; can’t find time to iron their pants, so they use leather on stage every night; and that they didn’t see Peter Crosbie’s “ Gay Guys” solo jaunt as being reminiscent of the guitar posturing notions they say they consciously avoid, leads me to suspect The Dugites of being guilty of pure rockist non-awareness. But the fact remains that this band wish to be recognised solely as a band that plays music. They want the music to be smiled at, not the band. How’s that for innocent, baby?

Let’s leave it at that.

CRAIG N. PEARCE Roadrunner 9

THE SPAGHETTI REVOLOTION!

The Dagoes have been to­ gether on and off for three years, playing Adelaide venues to various response. Over that time they’ve worked to the point where, from primitive begin­ nings, they now hav a repertoire of their own songs which they present confidently and with considerable polish. Often per­ ceived as a ‘joke’ band, they are now receiving noticeably more attention, and popular appreci­ ation, on a serious level.

Using the word ‘serious’ when it comes to The Dagoes is not an easy thing to do whilst keeping a straight face.

Much of their performance, attitude, and material is based on the premise that they and their surroundings are to be viewed from a humorous angle. Try being serious when you’re in a band called The Dagoes, and the members names are Tony Rome (guitar), Frankie Thomas (gtr.), Johnny (The) Tomato (kbrds.), (The) Turk Nancarrow (drums), Gino Earthquake (bass), Arna Terrazzo (backing vocals), Lily Pointless (backing vocals), and Dick Dago (vocals; prefers real name Richard Cant).

How funny all that is depends largely on the beholder, and matters not a bit to the band, who are prepared to parody themselves as willingly as they are to destroy their images of serious preten­ ders. They have, more so in the past, received their fair share of light hearted taunts from the audience. This is no sur­ prise, since front man Richard Cant hands out at least as much. It’s never that easy to tell who’s laughing at who, but that doesn’t really matter as long as everyone’s having fun. All this is mixed in, with what can only be described as a peculiarly fanatical following.

Picture the scene when as support for

New Race, The Dagoes were Joined, F.T.: So many bands that I see just take onstage by local fanzine h i^ n a te , and^ v#»emselves so seriously, but they just No. 1 ticke t holder Harry Butler. tear themselves apart.

Adelaide bands rarely command the R.C.: It’s not a serious game, you make kind of response that has to be dodged it or you don’t, you know. There can be (and of course thrown straight back). no conscious “ Yes, we are going. We And they rarely succeed in obtaining this are going NOW!” You won’t do it. It’s a luck of the draw thing. extent of audience involvement.

The Dagoes material varies consid­ F.T.: Quality, quality of music. erably from acoustic ballads such as R.C.: Yeah, I’m talking about bands just “ Ten Years On” to noisy rockers like starting out. You just go out for fun, you “ This Perfect Band", which has been in get the breaks, and it might work for you the set since the beginning of time. All it might. but two of the songs have been penned R.R.: P’raps that’s why The Dagoes

by Tony Rome, the other two coming have been together for so long. from Frankie Thomas. The only re­ R.C.: That’s the only reason I can think maining non-originals in the playlist are of, there’s no other bloody reason, I can David Johansen’s “ Frenchette”, and tell you that. I mean I said years ago that Roky Erikson’s “ We Sell Soul', which is if we ever made a record, or got on featured on their “ The Dagoes Sell Countdown, or got a recording contract it’d be the biggest bloody joke in the Soul” single.

The band is about to release the “ It’s recording industry in Australia. I’ve You” Double E.P. in a very limited edi­ come down from that a bit. tion. The package contains six tracks R.R.: It’s like in a bizarre sense The (some sides 33 r.p.m., some 45 r.p.m.), Dagoes will make themselves popular on Greasy Pop Records (Dag 002/003). and famous even if they’re not, like, The songs are “Kid’s Got Style”, “ This popular and famous. Out of a kind of Perfect Band” (both recorded live in the humour, spite. In order that they could studio), “It’s You”, “Rolling On” (This laugh at it.

Perfect Band Pt. two), “Somehow”, and R.C.: It’s like the creation of the legend, “ Ten Years On” . All tracks were re ­ we just about created that anyway. We corded at Peppers in Adelaide between Sell Soul, the song, and us, we created Sept. ’80 and Jan. ’81. Two of the songs it. “ Ten Years On” and “Somehow” are RR.: Who are The Dagoes heroes? also to be released as a single by F.T.: Well mine and Tony’s would prob­ ably be Roky Erikson and perhaps Alex Phantom in Sydney.

Well, it’s been decided that something Chilton. must be put on our record as commen­ R.C.: I like singers myself. Like Johan­ tary on such events, and to this end we sen, and I was right into Bolan for a long invited a couple of Dagoes around to time. I don’t know, I just like good music. wash the dishes. Amidst spaghetti and Talking Heads are great. They’re the other kitchen dangers, Donald best ‘new’ band.

Robertson and myself investigate the R.R.: Do you ever see the stage coming deeper secrets of this unlikely animal. where you give up your day jobs and go The Dagoes. Subjects of the experiment full time? are Richard Cant and Frankie Thomas. F.T.: We’re an Adelaide band.

R.C.: This is obviously the big point.

R.R.: Well, for people who haven’t F T .: It’s going to be one that we have to heard about The Dagoes, what The fig h t. . . er, discuss.

Dagoes are all about, the philosophy R.C.: Fight, definitely fight over. Kids, behind them, if there is one, would you businesses, y’know, this is where there like to give a brief statement of intent? is a big division in the band. We’ve got Richard: Well I intend to be famous. four on one side with no jobs, no ties, Well, I want to be famous. and on the other side the families.

Frankie: I reckon for me performing There’s this huge division, we’re always Tony Rome’s songs, and the enjoyment ‘fighting’ over this. of playing live.

F.T.: Well it’s just been discussion up to R.R.: You’re successful in Adelaide now, but if it got more serious with, term s where you’ve been together a h . . . if money comes into it I should longer than anyone with the exception of say, then, yeah, it’s probably. . . I don’t someone like Cold Chisel. know what’ll happen, we’ll just have to R.C.: The only reason for The Dagoes wait and see. staying together is because we like each R.C.: At this stage I’m one of the people other, we’re friends. I mean we’ve got all for having a go. these old guys, with nothing better to do F.T.: I wanna have a go, and I’m pre­ with their time except look after their pared to tour, but I’d like to remain an bloody kids.

Adelaide-based touring band.

R.R.: Do you usually get the response R.C.: You can remain an Adelaideyou’re looking for? based band. It can be done, and it will be R.C.: Yeah, yeah. The perfect response done in the future. we’re looking for, they hate us then they F.T.: The Dagoes will never do the five love us. nights a week.

F.T.: A bad response seems to fire the R.C.: I’m not that dedicated to that band as much as a good response. If we rock'n’roll death syndrome. get no response the band just chugs R.R.: Talk about how you’ve worked along, it seems, but if people are ob­ from the original guitar thing through jecting, or singing along or whatever, the getting keyboards and generally getting band goes. the sound more Jogether.

R.R.: Do people object very often these R.C.: Oh luck, chance. The introduction days, though? I haven’t seen anyone of keyboards was never a conscious objecting at a Dagoes gig for months. thing. Like we didn’t sit around and think R.C.: No, that’s dropping out unfortu­ “ God, we need keyboards.” nately.

F.T,': Johnny (Tomato) wanted to do it.

R.R.: You seem to inspire humorous R.C.: He didn’t want to play drums any­ objection. The audience gives you stick more. He’s a pianist, classically trained. in other words.

It just happened.

F.T.: Well he gives the audience stick. F.T.: I think perhaps he read it into the R.C.: It’s a wonderful playing off of each songs. other. There’s actually some communi­ R.R.: So it wasn’t such a deliberate de­ cation there. velopment?

R.R.: Do you treat yourselves with the F.T.: I think the songs forced the style same humour that you hope to get from change. the audience?

R.C.: I think totally opposite to deliberr R.C.: Sometimes there’s this unfortu­ ate. nate streak of seriousness. Usually F.T.: Tony’s (Rome) songs ju s t. . . he coming from me. I get very uptight and seems to write in phases. serious about it, ’cause it’s . . . er, I can R.C.: But he won’t do Disco. It really see there’s money can be made in the worries me. thing. It’s something I can do, and I’ve R.R.: You wanna do some Disco!? got fifty years to do it in, and I want to do F T .: The original plan was to follow up The Dagoes Sell Soul with a twelve inch it now.

F.T.: I remember a gig somewhere, Disco single called The Dagoes Sell Norwood Town Hall, the last time you Out. But unfortunately it never hap­ threw a tantrum after a gig. We just had pened.

The Dagoes will be undertaking a mini to sit down the back and yell at you, saying “ Look, you’re taking it too seri­ tour of Sydney in early September to further the cause of the Spaghetti re­ ously” . volution.

R.C.: I’m continually leaving the band.

PLA N TS FO R B R A IN S The PLANTS are a five-piece band who don’t fit into the Perth Hotel scene, but, nevertheless, have managed to build a fol­ lowing and continue to write powerful, original material.

It’s a Sunday morning and the PLANTS are in PLANET recording studios working on a demo-tape for a local radio station. There’s much arguing going on as to how the song ‘No Time for Departures’ should be played. G uitarist Phil Berry is wearing the bulk of the attack, but he finds such tensions to be a fine thing, for it, “ keeps us all on our toes” . What was expected to take only 2 V2 hours has carried to almost 5. But when the final mix is down, no

10 H o adrunn er

one is unhappy. ‘No Time for De­ partures’ and other recent PLANTS m aterial show the band to be changing musical/lyrical direction and developing a sound that is more directly involved in the action of the song and less concerned with simply observing. And like what they’ve previously recorded, it’s a music that is, above ail, engaging.

The PLANTS have rarely played live in their two years of existence.

Each step they’ve taken has been preceded by a great deal of thought.

They are well aware of the high mortality rate amongst inner city Perth bands who’ve bored them­ selves and the public through over-exposure. The PLANTS have decided not to become victims as a result of critical in-attention, thoucjh.

They’ve produced and are dis­ tributing their selt-titled e.p. on their own Dark Sky Records Labei. The e.p. was recorded twelve months ago and is considered by the band to be a broad document of their ac­ tivities up to that point. In contrast to their present material, the e.p. stands as testimony ‘to the stranger in a strange world’ ethos.

As their music has developed the PLANTS visual on-stage appear­ ance has taken a back seat. No longer do they dress uniformly in urban cowboy gear or dinner suits.

A shared sensibility coupled with a confidence in each other allows the PLANTS to create a music they both enjoy and believe will achieve increasing recognition. The inclusion of Marco (synth, piano, organ)

over twelve months ago has given the PLANTS an edge that was pre­ viously missing. Now Dave Berry and Norm Peters, who together run the rhythm section, sound more alive, as Marco and Phil Berry play over and under the ongoing beat.

What results is a music that is chal­ lenging, yet very much available to anyone inclined to dancing. But people rarely dance to the PLANTS, and it isn’t their intention to pack dance floors. They don’t see dancing as being the acid test of ‘good’ music.

Playing live has never suited the band, yet they agree that it’s the only way to help pay the bills. When they do go public it’s always with a sense of fun in mind and an outside hope that the audience will pay at­

tention. Recently they lost resi­ dency at a popular new music tavern simply because the clientele weren’t drinking enough. The man­ ager of the tavern was indifferent to the fact that he’d never before had so many people patronize his es­ tablishment. ‘All they want is music to sell beer by’ is how the PLANTS view the whole music/pub scene in Perth.

Meanwhile the PLANTS continue to play their own style of music.

They enthuse over bands like Joy Division, A Certain Ratio and The Jam, but manage to find a tension within their music that is wholly their own. They will be following their e.p. with a single later this year. It should be well worth the wait.

MICHAEL MULLANE

To borrow one of Dean Richard’s new song titles Equal Local are decidedly a ‘cool formation’. They share a collective musical vision and the resultant aural syntax, being highly selective about exactly which ingredients make the bake.

A somewhat disorienting and traumatic re­ sponse awaits the, new listener as Equal Local perform their deft musical slapstick with approp­ riate technological aplomb. Yet the implicit drift that permeates their anti-style refers beyond the mundane embracing geo-physical issues in a detached context. A brief survey of their song titles evinces this topographic imagery — ‘Punjab’, ‘Barren and Wasted’, ‘Cropduster’ and ‘Twelve ways to g o ’. Myriads of chromatic ricochetting angular shapes embellish the quintet’s sparse yet anastatic array.

The keystone here is Phillip Jackson’s highly inventive use of a computer musical instrument which furnishes the sound with an electronic and mechanistic rhythm. Phillip also adds synthesiser, trumpet and prepared percussion. The time signature digitally encoded, provides the exact meter or pulse. Atop these afro-cuban cadences, Melissa Webb’s chordal colour field and linear progressions on Korg^ synthesiser and electric piano provide both harmonics and space with a definite touch of incongruity.

There are many novel qualities in Equal Local’s approach to performance and choice of in­ strumentation, chiefly in the absence of vocals and kit-drums plus their reluctance to become inden­ tured to the agency-pub syndrome which they regard as antithetical to their aims and tactics.

While their music concerns itself often with making observations and surveys of environments both tangible and subtle, it nearly always retains its central focus on dancing as a celebratory medium and/or ritual. Dancing to the signal of the metropolitan industrial be-bop. Suffice to say that their sources are eclectic, and there is much being unconsciously reiterated from their collective musical backgrounds. Certainly I could cite such post be-bop icons as Eric Dolphy and Miles Davis, the tango, cocktail party music, euro-disco, and

The name is somehow ap­ propriate, in more ways than one; this is a band with four equal sides. Their music is geometric, but not jaggedly an­ gular — their obvious inspiration is a m ythical era of nonoverpowering guitars and com­ pulsory harmonies, but they don’t concern themselves with cloying plagiarism of the 60s.

In their hometown of Melbourne, the Cheks are making an astringent impact around the inner suburban venues, supporting everyone who matters in the outer suburbs and accom panying Mondo Rock to Sydney on their mid­ year tour. The personnel is John Clifforth — checkered guitar, synthesiser and vocals, Ken Campbell on guitar and vocals, Paul Hester on drums and vocals and Steve Carter on bass. John (who while still a medical student — these days he’s a qualified doctor — played in such obscure outfits as Lovers and True Wheels) had long been a friend of Ken’s, and Paul and Steve joined them in the Cheks in early 1980.

John’s background tended more to­ wards post-Pistols aggressiveness, Ken’s influences were in jazz fusion, yet both have arrived at a complementary sense of phrasing and an approach that creates an intense and dynamic texture, using phase shifters and other patching boards to open up a veritable pandora’s box of aural delights.

The greater part of their set is composed of originals, treated with an expansive sound buttressed by the duo-sonic attack of John and Ken’s angular chording. John swaps his Stratocaster for a small synthesiser when the tune demands, adding colour to an otherwise guitar dominated sound.

All members write and sing admirably giving the sound a mercurial chemistry suggestive to all the great pop icons; their references are that broad and yet I c a n t help feeling that there’^s something’ intangible being hinted at amongst their

computer hardware. A more disparate batch of musical ingredients would be hard to find, yet the result is a whimsical melange of content that sits well together exuding an inscrutable richness absent from so much of the unimaginative pop mainstream. A striking feature of their playing is the collective improvisation within highly defined arrangements. Melodically quixotic and tautologi­ cal, the syncopation inadvertantly punctuates the meter with random intent. As their compositional basis leans heavily toward tight arrangement, the space reserved for soloing is specific yet spon­ taneity abounds.

Missing Link are soon to release Equal Local’s first single, ‘Madagascar’ and considering the critical favour of last year’s three triple R chart success the translation to both label and vinyl should auger well for them.

Robin Whittle, the designer-builder of the band’s computer has decided to opt out of performing to concentrate on the development of newer and more complex systems but continues to assist technically.

Meanwhile, the other Equal Locals don’t allow themselves to be overwhelmed by technology.

Melissa’s airy, empyreal chording underpins Dean Richard’s atmospheric Rickenbacker guitar excur­ sions, while Bryce Perrin contributes atmospheric double bass, jiving like an escaped beatnik and doubling up on trumpet. On saxophone, Michael Hauser’s accurate but expressive playing recalls the ghosts of Coleman Hawkins and Eric Dolphy.

(INVISIBLE M AG NETIC) Their influences may be esoteric in the ener­ vated contexts of Melbourne mainstream (or “ avante-garde” ) beat music, but Equal Local strongly rebut any suggestions that th e y^h a b it a rarified atmosphere. Michael Hauser (Ascribes their music as “jungle rhythms with a goodtime element’’ and it’s a valid view — Equal Local inject an evanescent, understated humour both into their stage appearance and their playing that com­ pletely undermines any expectations of their being dour experimenters.

The only antecedent ensemble that I can conceivably make any worthy comparison with would be ‘NIAGGRA’, Ian ‘Pudding’ Wallace’s NEW IMPROVISATORS ACTION GROUP for GNOSTIC and RHYTHMIC AWARENESS. Pud­ ding and Simon Wettenhall, both gifted refugees

from the heady days of Lipp Arthur and T.F. Much only succeeded in playing small acoustic perfor­ mances around the Melbourne universities fOr a brief period in 1973. ’Niaggra’s music bore a striking similarity to much of Equal Local’s ethno-experimentation. Pudding on sax, a player non-pareil and Simon Wettenhall trumpet and tuba (which he played on Spectrum’s ‘Milesago’) managed to combine free-jazz with an armoury of third world percussion instruments in an attempt to fuse african rhythms and atonal fields and washes of sax. If they were doing it now they would be recognized and lauded with the praise they posthumously deserve. It is in a similar vein that Equal Local continue the musical safari.

DANCE, DANCE, DANCE WITH THE CHEKS

by Brecon Walsh.

characteristic atmosphere of paranoia.

This sense of paradox fs best realised in the elliptical and trenchant East West, a song currently ascending 3RRR-FM’s chart in demo tape form. Recently the band have recorded the tours-de-force of their set; / Get It, No Place, Blue Rinse Pet, and an almost unrecognisa­ ble version of the Beatles’ Yesterday, as well as the aforementioned East West.

On each night l ye seen the Cheks perform they’ve invariably had those assembled up and shaking to their leapier numbers, especially their ac­ complished covers of such gems as Gimme Some Lovin’ and the Yardbirds For Your Love. The Checks obviously thrive on audience contact andjife on' the road. “ It’s a pretty long term thing.’’ observes John Clifforth. “ We’re happy

to play live and get consistency in the shows even on a fairly limited budget.” I suggest they share an affinity with some of Mondo Rock’s attitudes, and John agrees. “ Ross Wilson really likes us, he mentioned that a few times. We’ve supported Mondo Rock a few times, and he sort of gets into it from the wings, you know. You see him jumping up and down . . . ”

BRECON WALSH

As for songwriting John Clifforth describes the ir attitudes as being democratic. '’! used to worry in the past about the rock ’n’ roll aspect of it. I used to think that some of the things weren’t as danceabie as they could have been, a bit too quirky. Like now everybody seems to be coming around to a similar idea about where we’re headed. That’s why we’re putting out these demos just to perhaps give record companies a bit of an idea. We didn’t really want to commit ourselves with something too big.”

Fragile on the surface, but carrying a strong pulse, the sound of the Cheks can be related to some of New York and London’s fashionable names; hints of the Comstat Angels, Ireland’s U2 and elements of Tom Verlaine’s idiosyncra­ tic means of expression can be de­ tected. John places their influences firmly in Britain. “The only American bands that have influenced us would be some of those New York bands and a lot of black music, James Brown and stuff.

Well, I am a Pom, you know . .. we’re primarily into dance not costumes. We’d be stupid not to admit influences from the great pop bands like the Who, the Kinks and the Yardbirds. Bowie’s really influenced me also . . . ” The Who’s inspiration emerges in Paul Hester’s dextrous drumming; Keith Moon has obviously play a not inconsid­ erable part in his apprenticeship. He always responds to the opportunity to play with the guitar lines, foregoing the back beat with precarious crescendoes and tumble rolls. On bass, Steve Carter is a leviathan, knowing just what to leave out and put in, meshing with Paul’s internal combustion to provide a high tension rhythm section.

The Cheks’ biggest plus for a paying audience is the opportunity they provide to dance, dance, dance, but there’s much more available from them if you’re prepared to investigate. In a still flourishing tradition of Melbourne pop they shine brightly — theirs is a music that's considered and polished, but with heart and even passion beneath its surface. Be there or be square . . .

Roadrunner 11

pieces of printed paper) This is a copy of the hand-out I used to give everyone in America. It’s just a brief history and explanation of the Yidaki.

MB: Why do you call it a Yidaki and not a didgeridoo?

CM: Yidaki’s the name of the didge up in the Northern Territory, up and around Arnhem Land. It’s the mecca for didgeridoo players.

There’s a fella up there called Dulangana who makes these really fine instruments.

MB: When did you start to learn?

CM: That was a long time ago, when I was about 4 years old. I was living in the Blue Mountains at the time and my parents took me to see a film by Charles Chauvel called Jedda. There was a didgeridoo in it, and it just mesmerised me. I used to w ander around m im icking the sound on pieces of waterpipe. I got this early familiarisation with the instrument and a fascination for the aboriginal experience.

I lived in Blacktown from when I was 7 till 21, but all the time I went away up to the bush. Sometimes I would be away for a night and catch a bit of tucker — birds and rabbits with a sling-shot.

With any artist, there’s the inspi^ration, ,the ‘turpjpg on Qf.tf;i9 iiT>dgir ‘ t .* V '.?. »■. /"f •# .■■■■? i^MKhappenpd. H m CM: (Handin^tQV^,ti^p/pt^iVpl0d, >*w>ten f was'»4, «nd- the -expeFienees"

Charles McMahon is a 29 year old Australian. When he was 16 he blew his hand off in an explosives accident. When he was 19 he started playing the didgeridoo. When he was 26, he returned to Sydney from Alice Springs where he had spent four years working with the Dept, of Aboriginal Affairs, and played a few shows around town with Midnight Oil. Then he went to America — The Big Mouth’ and missed his plane home and had his wallet stolen.

He also met lots of local ‘musos’, played on a couple of albums (including the soon to be released, Ralph Records’, Live At The Savoy — one solo track, one combo’ with Snakefinger), formed his own band, and toured with Taj Mahal and Timothy Leary. Now he’s back in Australia, playing live shows around Sydney, recording an album and planning a didgeridoo convention. Miranda Brown spoke to him in the Steak and Coffee Shop in Oxford Street, Sydney........................ . .

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comes from black people my technique came from playing with a white bongo player — my brother.

MB: Do you play a hybrid style?

CM: Yes, the delivery of my breath seems to be more direct. Black fellas’ playing — their breath and sound varies, but my breath and sound are much closer together.

MB: You tell stories with your didgeridoo. Do they do that too?

CM: Yes, but the stories that they tell are not about why the kookaburra laughs or that bullshit.

Sometimes it’s just a single word repeated. It’s not always this highly spiritual thing. Sometimes it’s very impromptu — good times.

MB: How do you feel about taking your music into rowdy pubs?

CM: Besides the inspiration and technique, there’s another thing that affects your playing. That’s making other people feel good. I don’t care where it is. I can be in any environment. I just tell the story to whoever’s listening and then. I’ll get the rhythm going. When you play fast you’re breathing as if you’re running but your body’s still. That enorm ous am ount of oxygen makes you feel good and then the clear visual image of the story makes it easy. You can do that anywhere.

MB: What does didgeridoo sound like with electric instruments?

CM: Terrific because the didge has sustain. The didge is a perfect ground instrument, it’s a rhythmic ground. What’s making the sound is the two pitches one tenth apart.

That’s the doing, doing, doing, gudoing sound, and if you’ve got really good players, you can then get it over semi-tones. I can get about six semi-tones on a good didge. You get these two pitches giving you rhythm, giving you pat­ tern music and then you’re colour­ ing with these semi-tones. Usually when I’ve got guitar and bass I can get a lot further. Sometimes I play purely rhythm. That’s what I used to do with Oil. Didges like to be in flat keys, but one of mine is in C Major and the other is in E major. It was made by Dulangana who’s the best didge player. I got it through this guy, Duncan McKellar who owns the boomerang shop in Sydney and has good contacts with Dulangana.

MB: Tell me about America.

CM: It was originally Tony Walker from 2JJJ’s idea. Him and I are good mates. I’d always thought that the only place for me was the bush.

No way would I want to go to a place like America, but I got interested in the idea, then got around to doing a few spots with Midnight Oil, so I sold my bushranger and bought a two month ticket. Even when I went to the airport I had half a feeling that I might just take off to Alice Springs.

We went to San Francisco to get the feel of the place, then down to LA and Fresno. On the way back I got to play in a few places, even played a session with some red­ necks in a bar. They really dug it.

They got into train noises so I’d just throw in a train rhythm with a few hoots in it — you can send those sounds when you’re playing the didge.

It was a feeling as if I was playing a magic wand. I’d go anywhere and that make up your life — that’s kind play and people would get really of the bush for me, and then there’s excited. Anything could happen. It the development of technique. That was strange, like there were times really came from many hours of when I felt I had to conceal it, jamming with my brother Phil, who’s because it created too much im­ a drummer with a band called The pact. I was worried about being the Feral Cats down in Canberra. I used incumbent of just one role. to jam all the time with people, and then one. night without even trying, MB: How did you get work? circular breathing came to me. CM: We went down to Hollywood Circular breathing is the essence of and met a few of the local bands. playing didge. It’s really good for This composer offered me a couple you too. You throw the air up from days of work at $200 per hour on the sound track of Albert Finney’s latest the bottom of your lungs.

MB: Have you ever played for movie, Wolfen, but there was a musician’s strike on. I went back to aboriginals?

CM: That’s a funny story. I was with San Francisco to wait it out. Finally, this fella down in Alice Springs and I missed my plane home and in the I’d been playing by the river. We same week was robbed of all my were walking back when we noticed money. That really got me going.

There was a free concert in the this mob of black fellas in a circle about a hundred yards to our right. Civic Park at San Francisco and I They motioned me to play without got up onstage, and there was this speaking. I sat down and played a guy, Dirk Semila — probably one of little bit and they started laughing. the best known concert guys in the I’d always had this reservation country, and I just said to him, I want about my first encounter with top to play here. He looks at me, at my dog players and I thought they were hand and my didge and his eyes lit rubbishing me, but with traditional up. “ Sure, we’ll let you play.’’ So I black people communication al­ did and then he asked me to play at ways happens very slowly and his punk club. I went on straight that’s how it was. After a while I got after Commander Cody and the to understand that they were crowd went wild. He gave me ten pleased at seeing it being played by bucks and told me some other a white fella with his own spirit. places to try. One place got me onto ’ Ther'e's'adisfiridt Waylhat they play a circuit'ahd so I started to make a

developed a draw and put my own band together — guitar, percussion and synthesizer. I played with DM A, Taj Mahal and did a short tour with Timothy Leary. He gave me a lot of helpful tips about the stage, then I learnt how to tell jokes. It broadened my whole act.

MB: Why did you leave?

CM: Everyone said I was crazy, but I felt my karma was going to run over my dogma. I love the bush and I love Australia. I felt if I stayed in the US any longer I was going to get heavily involved in things over there. If I want to do anything in the way of sophisticated recording I’d rather do it here.

MB: Are you a country or a city person?

CM: I reckon I’m a bush person. For social appreciation and for the intellect the city is much better, but for the spirit, it’s ratshit.

Since I’ve been back. I’ve spent half the time in the bush, but I’m moving into the city at least until December. I’ve got a place on the south coast which I built myself. I like working with my hands, or my hand and hook if you want to put it that way.

MB: Tell me about your hand.

CM: This is a standard working model.

MB: Does it affact your playing?

CM: It certainly stopped me from being a piano player. The main thing I was interested in as a kid was rockets and bombs and that’s how I lost my hand. The mixture was a bit too strong.

MB: Has the accident motivated you?

CM: Yeah, 1think it did. It awakened my intellect. If it hadn’t happened, I probably would have left school when I was 16 and just got any sort of job, hung around with me mates.

Up the workers! Blacktown is that sort of environment.

After losing my hand, I realised I might not be able to compete in a manual world. For the first time, I started reading books and doing well at school. I went to University and got a degree in Sociology and Economics, but after that. Whoosh, bush!

I did a year’s tutoring at Sydney University but got dismissed. I was the first member of the academic staff of Sydney University to ever be dismissed.

Me and this chap were teaching a course about design, interpreting, — demystifying maps and designs.

We were teaching in the basement of the Fischer Library which is a dungeon-like place with no win­ dows, just plain white walls. One day we decided we should stop discussing the past, and talk about the reality of here and now. We decided to paint the library walls.

The professor freaked out. He saw himself as the head bull and the tutors as young bulls in the paddock. It was a challenge to his authority.

Then I went to Alice Springs and worked for the Dept, of Aboriginal Affairs for four years.

MB: You seem to have picked up a lot of the lingo, like ‘black fella’ and ‘the big smoke’.

CM: Yeah, it really rubs off. If they talk about us they say ‘white fella’ and if they talk about themselves they say ‘w h a p p im a d i’ which means black man. Aboriginal just seems like such a funny word. The thing I like about their speech is it’s really direct.

MB: Could you tell be about your album concept?

CM: The title is Gondawana-lapd.

It’s the original continent that Aus­ tralia was part of. There was Au­ stralia, India, Antarctica and Africa.

Australia was the most stable chunk of Gondawana land and that’s still the feeling here. It’s probably the only place in the world where you don’t feel the pressure of the shrinking world.

The way I want to do it is to use the basic sounds of Australia as the ground for the songs and stories.

One I’m working on now is called Marsupials and I’m recording mar­ supials and using those sounds to set the note and rhythm. The inspiration will come later.

MB: Did you know Talking Heads used the recorded sounds of Aus­ tralian birds on their Fear Of Music album?

CM: The bludgers! I was overseas and I saw Monty Python doing their Bruce sketch. That’s terrible! The joke that’s being dished up as Australia-Sazza and all that stuff is disgusting. It’s got nothing to do with the spirit of the land-, ju ^/th e

1 "Now that I’ve found Jesus I don’t smoke dope no mdre I’m through with smack and fuckin’, Cos Jesus is the Lord . . . ”

When I was lost in Melbourne for the winter of 1977, the only music which seemed totally apt for the condition of the city, its weather, and life in general was being played by a band called “ Hit and Run” . They were a pure Country and Western band, and seeing them performing the stuff, moaning about the pain of life at the location of the very epicentre of Carlton angst — the Albion Hotel — used to be just the thing to cap off the rain, a dose of clap, and ten beers.

The thing about “ Hit and Run” was that they were performing this C&W stuff for basically rock audiences, and so there was an edge of unreality to the whole thing — as if they really couldn’t be serious. This was moved on into real satire by the Whittle Family. But “ Hit and Run” were always much further back from that, towards that line where the serious meets the satirical. . . and they always had me guessing, at least.

Perhaps the most memorable perfor­ mance was at the Champion Hotel in Fitzroy. They were making a come-back (what else?) There were about 11 people there, all dead-beats, getting stuck into as much grog as they could consume without throwing up on the spot. And when the long-lamented “ Hit and Run” came on stage, there was perhaps the truest C&W touch of a l l . . . the lead singer had suffered some sort of accident, and she sang those songs about the dirty tricks of life and lost love from a sitting position, one arm and one leg encased in plaster. Now that was a C&W set.

But of course there have been a lot of attempts at really doing C&W properly. The above quote, from Alberto Y Lost Trios Paranoias, was from a song typical of the C&W send-up genre. But it was a one-off, and the satire was obvious. Then recently I saw a band which was just over the other side of the serious-send up line: “The Hank Wangford Band” . It was like seeing “ Hit and Run” again, except that this lot had proper C&W outfits and identities, and had just crossed that line into real satire.

Hank Wangford, the character, has been married 9 times, lost out every time, is a long suffering loser turned to C&W. He’s straight off the desolate prairies. He has the face of a car wreck. Hank Wangford, the performer, is Sam Hutt, a 40 year old gynaecologist with gap teeth and a bald patch, who has supported people like Roy Harper and done demo tapes with Pete Townshend during his decade and a half in folk and rock. I interviewed him, after having been wowed by ther band’s performance at “ Dingwall’s” at Camden Lock, in his expansive ’’lived in” flat at Netting Hill. “ I invented Hank in 1976. He saved me, in many ways, at the time. I was gomg through some personal problems” , he said, “ and it helped me to take refuge behind Hank’s identity.”

On stage. Hank is the centre of the performance. Introduced in classic C&W style by guitarist Brad Breath (Andy Roberts of Pink Floyd and Grimms fame). Hank is the thin vulnerable CW singer, totally alone at centre stage, simply bearing up his tinny acoustic guitar, his pain, and of course resplendent in his country dandy coat and red and black embroidered shirt. “ The band are professional session musi­ cians” , Hank told me. “They’ve all played in various bands for years. At present, some of the band are backing Shakin’ Stevens, and recently they backed Billy Connolly.”

The players certainly are impressive.

Besides Hank and Brad, there are singer Irma Cetas (named after a sugar substitute); Amos Avaezyk (Ave-a-chick) Daly (named after the famous Chicago Mayor) bass; drummer Indian; and pedal steel guitarist B. J. Cole. “ B.J. is the best pedal steel player in Britain” , Hank told me. “ He has played in bands like the Albion Country Band and Fairport. He also backed Elton John at some stage, and your own Gary Shearston.”

At this point I said I had a tape of the “ I Get a Kick Out of You” album by Shearston, and began raving about it. Hank (Hutt) agreed, saying that he used to see quite a bit of Shearston during hisjim e in Britain.

Irma Cetas is actually Melanie Harrold.

She plays the saloon singer, dressed in “ some kind of undergarment” according to Hank. She is big, brazen, and never tires of her broad, naive C&W smile. She is also a brilliant singer, and plays the role perfectly of the submissive second to Hank. “ Melanie is a feminist, and at first she didn’t know how to take the role of Irma. It’s part of the thing of crossing that line of satire, you know. But when she carhe to regard it as total performance, she overcame her ideological objections to it. Now she revels in being Irma.”

THIS YEAR’S THING (PART’TWO)?

EASTANGLL COUNTRY WESTERN GYNAEC

I t

is

a }

’ o t a Amos Avaezyk Daly is tall and “ hand­ some” , and shares a face with Robert Redford. (esp. that “American” jaw). He also has long, curling, golden hair, and a skyblue country outfit to go with it. On stage, he wears a felt hat with huge feather plumes, as does Brad Breath the M.C., and B. J. Cole.

Indian (real name Hank tells me is Milton Keynes, which also just happens to be a one-way disaster new town near London), has played with Shakin’ Stevens band.

On stage, the effect is breathtaking, and the audiences love it. The W angfords (named after a town in the C&W belt of Suffolk, but also titled with the onanistic pun in mind) come across as the ultimate in the C&W family. They reek American doublestandards, bible-bashing bible belt morality, and gnawing sentimentality. They are also, however, a good C&W band, and as they get into “ Pain in My Wrist” , “ Never Wear Mascara If You Love a Married Man” , “ Ragg Mopp” and “Jogging for Jesus” , it’s hard to tell whether you’re responding because of the humour, or because of the quality of the playing and singing, and performance. Ultimatelyv it’s all these things. “ We constantly cross and re-cross thatline of seriousness and satire” . Hank told me.

“There’s enough ambiguity in so-called ‘straight’ Country music anyway” , he said. “ You only have to look at the old time stars to see that a lot of them weren’t totally serious.

We just tend to accentuate that.” “ I got interested in the idea of identity years ago — through, say, the personae that people like Bowie and Dylan adopted. In 1976 I’d been into C&W— which I’d originally hated — for a number of years. Then Hanl< turned up, and the first Wangford band formed.”

Had they ever considered doing straight Country gigs, to see how that went? “ Yes, we used to perform a lot in the Country belt in Suffolk. There’s a lot of clubs there. You know, we actually cleared three

clubs — and by that, I mean clear. You don’t count it until the very last person has walked out while you’re still on stage.”

“There was another memorable gig, as well. There’s a lot of American defence bases around there. We did one gig at a base. After it, this Military Police officer came up to me.

He said; ‘Listen buddy, you better realise that you betta get the hell outa here, fast. If you didn’t have a lady with you, you wouldn’t be gettin’ outa h e re ’t all’ ” After that, the Wangfords turned more and more to rock audiences, and now are gigging around London constantly. The rest of the band make their living from session work, and Irma from solo performance as well, while Hank slowly winds down the career in medicine, working for the family planning association (true!) that has occupied him for the past decade, alongside his music. Soon, he said. Hank would be totally professional.

The Wangfords put out an album last year on the independent Cow Pie label, which also handles another interesting London band called Ricky Cool and the Rialtoes. The album did not set the world on fire, but the problem was not the music, which I can “testify” to being excellent, but the familiar snag of distribution. However, WEA have now picked up one of the songs from the album, “ Cowboys Stay on Longer” , as a single. It’s being played on radio, and the Wangfords are suddenly TV and radio stars, although I must say that to be appreciated, their whole act, with its frequent “ testify” declarations (which have actually fooled a number of Jesus jazzers according to Hank) has to be seen on stage. “ Dingwall’s” was optimum for seeing them. But WEA have been talking about releasing Wangfords material in Australia, and so if it goes well, which it should, perhaps a tour might come off. Hank would love it to. After all, most people from his neck of the prairies don’t even know Australia exists — and he’d love to help them with some Christian-like charity.

Roadrunner 13

14 Roadrunner

The Plastics are not a very easy band to interview. For one thing, they don’t speak English.

Coming from Japan, this is to be expected. I had, in fact, been rather wary of accepting the offer of an interview, thinking back ruefully to the afternoon I had spent talking to Yellow Magic O rchestra, another Japanese group, through an interpreter. As an interview, it was a complete flop, all three of them talked at once, the in­ terpreter became confused and little meaningful communica­ tion, beyond many wellintentioned smiles, occurred.

I am inspired to try this exercise again solely as a result of having seen the Plastics perform the night before and being utterly stunned by their clever music and witty stage show. Imagine a blend of the sophistication of the Talking Heads’ sound, the bright, bouncy, visual presence of the two women in the B52s, coming from a Japanese cultural tradition (it’s not easy, is it?), and you have the Plastics.

Much to my amusement, I later discovered that this combo had toured Japan as opening act for both the above mentioned bands.

When you consider that these, and other rich offerings from the newer world of pop, have passed through Japan with increasing frequency, the existence of a group like the Plastics is hardly surprising. And when you look at the long history of Japanese absorption of Western ideas and regurgitation of same in a BETTER form, it is no surprise that the Plastics are a great pop band.

My interview is scheduled at the end of a day of press for the Plastics. Lethargy is replaced by enthusiasm, however, when we discover a secret cache of cold beer. I quickly get down to basics with Hajime Tachibana and Toshi Nakanichi, the two songwriters of this Tokyo-based band — whose English is not too bad at all, certainly much better than my Japanese. The Plastics, it trans­ pires, have been playing together for five years. How did they meet?

Why, on the beach, of course!

Hajime explains: “ I went to the beach to capture an octupus, but I captured Chica and Toshi instead of an octpous. That is all.”

This is the first band for all five members. Chica Sato, who’s sing­ ing is based firmly in high-pitched traditional Japanese opera, is the only woman in the Plastics, and there are two synthesizer players, Takem i Shima and Ma-Chan Sakuma. When asked about their various backgrounds, Hajime and Toshi play around with the connec­ tion between “ backgrounds” and “ backbones” and assure me they have “ no backbones — just like an octopus.” All five are active in other areas, however, coming from “ arty” disciplines. Hajime and Toshi have worked as graphic designer and illustrator, respectively, and, as well as doing all the Plastics’ artwork, designed the album sleeve for the B52s’ second LP. Chica has worked as a fashion stylist, and it’s obvious from the vibrant, colourful, vaguely “ New Romantic” outfits they all wear, that they all like dressing up — and had picked up more than the odd item on the English leg of the tour. Ma-chan is a professional musician and Takemi still writes lyrics for a popular Japanese singer.

Five years on, the Plastics are Japan’s number one new wave band and laugh about their origins as a band playing covers of fifties and sixties standards. They cut their teeth on Lesley Gore’s It’s My Party, Paul Anka’s Diana and the Monkees’ Last Train To Clarksville.

It’s no surprise, then, that although there were plenty of offers from the Japanese record companies, most were perplexed over how to prom­ ote the group. So their first recorded work was a single, released on the British Rough Trade label {Copy!

Robot — two of their own songs). A friend, Hajime says, took tapes they had made to London where she tried three of the more adventurous labels. The result? “ Virgin, NO, Stiff, No, Rough Trade, YES!” Toshi reveals that he received a magnificent three pounds from this single, after the cost of pressing, transportation and so on had been taken o u t by. Rough Trade.,Hajime , is’ .'surprfs’ea — di dn’t .qet a. penny.

What's Japanese for plastic?-------------------Why, Plas-teek-a, of course!----------------------

THE F U S TIC S , W ITH A ID O F HONOURABLE INTERPRETER, TALK T O KERIPHILUPS Although the Plastics are now very popular on home turf, it’s bands like Rainbow, Whitesnake and Kiss that drive the crowds wild in Japan. Heavy metal, it seems, always gets a good response there.

Australian fans have been able to see a lot of bands by “ piggy backing” on the potentially large Japanese audience. If a European band is popular enough in Japan to warrant touring there, it is then relatively cheap to add an Australa­ sian leg to the tour. Because of our small population, it is often not economically feasible to tour Aus­ tralia alone. I ask if Japanese fans go wild over bands like Graham Parker and the Rumour, the B52s pnd thp p.ojice. Toshi expl.ains that large seatied venues’ are v0ry,heavt' ily controlled ever since an audi­

ence once went bananas and a couple of people were trampled to death. If a patron stands up or makes his way to the front, he’s assisted to the nearest exit by security guards.

The Plastics are keen consumers as well as purveyors of the modern sound, and Toshi and Hajime fall over each other to relate their favourites. The Talking Heads and B52s are high on the list (in fact, all members of both those bands are thanked, by first name only, in the sleeve notes of the Plastics’ re­ cently released self-titled LP), fol­ lowed quickly by Devo, who they say they “ still like” . Many American reviewers compared the Plastics with Devo whentheyfirstappeared.v B oth.'M nds 'vkbi'e obVIdusly 'ih-.' terested in the social effects of

“technology” , both used synthesizr ers as a basis for their brand of pop, and, for a short time, the Plastics also wore matching white space suits and danced in a robotic fashion.

This is their third U.S. tour, and the band has come to New York from their first ever European shows. Toshi and Hajime declare these to have been “ no good” , but console themselves- with the fact that it is, after all, their first time.

Hajime is shocked by the decline of the English economy. He spent some time in London eight years ago and is appalled by the changes — and the fact that some people do no have enough to e a t . , Wb‘return, to favourite bands'and they both mention the Kinks. The

Beatles, the Rolling Stones and other British bands of the sixties were the sounds they were listening to when they were growing up.

Some more modern Brit, acts find favour, although we have a bit of trouble here disengaging their names from the language barrier.

Hajime declares his affection for the music of “ Robert Phillip” and a three way conversation ensues with Toshi and I trying to discover who he means. Hajime thinks the “ Robert” part must be the problem and experiments with various ways of pronouncing “ Robert” before light dawns and I realize he likes Robert Fripp. Toshi says he likes Don Cherry and then we have problem s with som ething that sounds like “ Sudden Lation” but turns out to be A Certain Ratio.

By this time, the other members of the group have drifted in and, although they aren’t saying much, they are obviously listening. I ask if traditional classical Japanese music has influenced the Plastics at all, and Takemi plucks the waterfall of tumbling notes I associate with this style of music. They tell me it is called Koto (I don’t ask them to spell it, things are complicated enough already).

What ambitions do the Plastics have? Obviously if non-Japanese speaking bands can hit the big time in Japan, there’s no reason why the Plastics can’t grab a piece of the action in the West. They all collapse with laughter when I ask if they want to be rich and famous, like the Police perhaps. “ Y es,” says Hajime, “we want to be very big and veiV famous, but as a new wave band. More like a type of Public Image Limited.”

Well, I can’t actually see Public Image being “very big” and “very famous” , but I can certainly see that the Plastics could reach a wide audience — and without having to compromise their new wave cre­ dentials. Like many listeners dis­ satisfied with offerings on straight Japanese radio (mostly copies of what is popular on the European/ U.S. charts — cloned ABBAs and Bee Gees), Hajime and Toshi turned to F.E.N. (the acronym for Far Eastern Network), the U.S. Army station, to hear more stimulat­ ing sounds. Although they claim initial inspiration from David Bowie and Bryan Ferry — the early seven­ ties versions — their music has embraced more diverse sources than just this couple. Euro synth­ esizer m usic (from Can and Tangerine Dream on), mix ip with a pop feel borrowed from the best of America in the fifties and the best of Britain in the sixties, with just a dash of the more adventurous fringe of current English music — Gang of Four, etc.

Another dimension is added to the music by the lyrics, sung in English both at home and abroad.

Although they make their concerns abundantly clear, an odd quirkiness is created by their unfamiliarity with the language. Take these lines from a song calledD iamond Head: “ Oh, w ell! A fter all!/W esternize is m o d e rn ize /lt’s the positive insecure/ln this Modern World/Oh, shut up baby. Don’t be serious/ Someday t call your name Mr Diamond Head.”

The overwhelming anonymity that arises from the large mass of urban dwellers concentrated in a place like Tokyo leads to these words in Robot: “There’s no mass production today/There’s no mass communication today/There’s no mass media today/You’re robot.” In Copy, the Plastics depict the Japanese as people without origi­ nality, desperate to be like every­ body else and keep up with the latest fad.

On stage, there is no evidence of such a de-humanising backdrop.

There is something quite magical about their presence — the Plastics are beautiful, confident, smart, exo­ tic. Chica, who wears a false plait until her energetic shimmying spins it off, and Toshi handle the vocals, and spend most of the set willing victims to the furious dance beat.

There is no drummer. A rhythm box and a variety of percussive “things” help keep the music light. The Plastics like to see their audience dancing, in fact they say it is their prime concern. The problem is, this outfit is just so damn good to watch.

What’s the . Japanese word for p 'l^ tic ? Plhs-teek-aj of course.

Turning Japanese?-! really think so!

Roadrunner 15

16 Roadrunner

I

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STAR iterview with

lael Hutchence of Inxs The day after I met Michael Hutchence, North Sydney’s calm across the harbour was shattered by the shotgun blasts of a police shoot out with a drug running, allegedly gangster type. Real Kojak stuff this. No such fun though, as I find my way to the two storied terrace of the band’s publicist where I’m to meet the man himself. I’m busy making sure the cassette recorder works when Michael sweeps in.

He’s possessed of an almost embarrassing supply of star quality. It’s hardly fair that a hundred other faceless frontmen from a hundred other Sydney bands can get none and Michael gets it all. Still, that’s the way of the world. He’s sharply attired in green drainies, a green and white flecked pullover and a heat pair of winkle pickers and is the proud owner of the best quiff in Australian rock music. And I’m immediatey struck by his politeness and, above all, Ws obvious intelligence.

Despite his ample “ cool” if you like, there is no suggestion it is in any way assumed. He would have been a star bus driver or a star scientist just as easily as he is a star singer in a fast rising Australian band. He displays complete belief in what INXS are doing, while at the same time he’d be the first to admit their many flaws. And flaws are what every band has, be they musical ideological or whatever. But how many bands are prepared to admit those flaws themselves? Few bands would own up to playing Steely Dan while the Sex Pistols were inspiring the embryo punks, but often it’s those types of things which are important. Not that you could accuse INXS of sounding like Steely Dan, but the mental notes were made and they subsequently moved on. “ We had a friend who’s actually mixing out front for us now, and he bought a four track and we had -this sort of experimental circle happening. We called it a circle. We moved into a jazzy type of thing. Steely Dan, Weather Report, and so on. Oh, it was very pseudo what we were into, trying to progress, but we were too inexperienced nausically.”

Then they shot off to Perth for a year, partly in pursuit of their drummer, and partly to avoid the influence of a Sydney set deeply in a musical rut, which most people, apart from the handful in the Fun House/Darlinghurst crowd took for granted. In Perth, they stepped back into an environment almost ten years past, practising for up to eight or nine hours a day, and were left completely to their own musical devices. “ We moved into a quiet four bedroomed house and proceeded to ruin the neighbourhood” .

Did he see it as an important time where they went to . Perth and came back as INXS ready to take on the world? “ It wasn’t as simple as that. It wasn’t a matter of going over there, getting it all together then saying right, we’ll Show them. It was one of those things where you do something regardless of the consequences, more for the sake of not doing what every one else is doing.”

Well, whether by design or accident, the sojourn in Perth was indeed well timed. By the time they got back in 1978, the events of 1976/77 had begun to dawn on the masses at large. In Darlinghurst, as elsewhere, the instigators realized the New Wave was no longer solely their property.

Not to a great extent mind you, but enough to make a ‘^tu rn in g INXS’s job that much easier.

They got early exposure supporting Midnight Oil, but they were still a little like a ship without a rudder. Then along pame manager Chris Murphy to hold the wheel.

“We were playing out at some revolting RSL or something, and we had a lot of good ideas but we needed someone to take hold of them and turn them into realities.” ' So Chris Murphy and Michael Browning (ex manager of /)!\C/DC and now leading light with Deluxe) proceeded to do just that. Did they prefer the freedom and control an ifidependent (if you could call Deluxe that) would give them? “ Well really, none of the big record companies %ere particularly interested in us because we didn’t have that big rush happening. I guess Michael said, well they’ve '.got potential. I mean he’s not stupid. He must have picked the right bands I suppose.” ; The rest is history. Three out of Deluxe’s first four bands hit paydirt, the Dugites, The Numbers and INXS. Only Toy ;.Love failed to hit the mark. They’ve since dissappeared, l,feaving a small handful of grieving fans. When considering ijh e Deluxe story it’s interesting to note that originally INXS • jwere regarded as the fourth band on the list. Now I’d easily

rate them the top of the pile.

That becomes most obvious when you consider their recent luring to the Dirty Pool camp. But it must be easy to feel overshadowed by the big guns of Flowers and Cold Chisel. “ Yes we do to an extent. But you’re in a safe area when you’re with the biggest. Anyone you have a fight with, well that’s one down.”

We’ve hit a bit of a sore point, accusations that INXS have had too easy a parth on the way up. Michael quickly jumps to his band’s defence. “ Not that we’re out to slash our way through the Australian rock industry. We had a pretty hard time. We had a fairly fast rise but there was a lot of shit taken on the way.

People shouldn’t get the wrong idea that we had it easy.”

To illustrate the point, he says they played 280 gigs last year. In any case, I can see no harm in trying to circumnavigate the rock morass with a bit of intelligence and a bit of tact. That hoary old myth of “ paying your dues” should have been laid to rest years ago. Trouble is of course, even if you do use your head, you probably end up paying your dues despite it.

“Anyway, I don’t think INXS want to be the biggest band in Australia.”

So are their sights set on the U.S. and Europe? Well naturally. “ But we’re not going the same way as Dragon and Mi-Sex and God knows how many others. They get sucked into the U.S. rock industry, which is a multi billion dollar organization, and get spat out the arse.”

Their manager has informed thexelevant U.S. agencies they are coming in January whether they want them or not.

Succeed or fail, one thing is certain, INXS will have pleased themselves, not bowed to anyone. Michael can be confident and arrogant when it comes to his band; at the same time he’s realistic. He knows the rock papers rule the roost in the U.K. and if INXS’s brand of “ smart dance music” is to succeed there (at first consideration a more likely possibility than in America) success might ultimately depend more on good luck than anything else. And what of Europe; remembering their first single "Simple Simon” secured them a cult following in France. Michael put that down to half the population of France being called Simon.

Everyone bought their record as birthday presents. “ See we don’t want to touch Europe unless we get Ariola, which are the best. And that is very important for a band like us, who must be marketed very carefully.”

He suddenly realizes what he has just said and lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “ I hate that word but it describes things pretty well though doesn’t it.”

Yes I decide to bring up their rather wierd liaison with Richard Clapton, who is currently producing the 2nd INXS L.P. “ It’s very easy to say, ‘Is this Richard’s jump for credibility?’ And I’m sure he realizes he’s going to get something out of it. But it’s so blatant, anyone with any sense shouldn’t really consider it. His music is so far removed from ours, and I think Richard is very credible himself anyway. See we’ve never really been interested in the recognized Australian producers, because the records end up sounding like the producer not the band. So I think, fingers crossed, there is method in our madness.”

I expressed my disappointment at their selection of a non original as the current single (not that there’s any doubt "The Loved One” is a true classic). I also suggest their version is a bit sluggish and doesn’t improve on the original.

Michael conceded the second point (singing for me a much boppier guitar line he would have preferred), but not the first. “ We wanted something smack bang in the middle of our first album and our second. We only wanted one single off the album, ‘Just Keep Walking’ was the last thing we wrote.

We originally thought of putting out ‘In Vain’, but if we’d done that, we’d just have been pandering to the critics. We wanted something that had nothing to do with us.”

Anyway, whatever I think, their decision to release "The Loved One” has been vindicated by the public who have gone out and bought it in truck loads. “ We made our money out of it,” laughed Michael “ and Gerry Humphries certainly needed the money.”

Michael, along with keyboardist Andrew Farris, pens most of the band’s lyrics. The best thing about INXS songs is the way they avoid many of those standard rockist

themes, the love song (in this context, their latest single appears quite ironic), life on the road, and so on.

Unfortunately, occasionally they go too far, almost to the point of writing about something merely to be different. “ Yes, well those lyrics on the first album don’t say enough. They go from trite to inaccessible.”

So what does he want to say? “ I’ve always been trying to communicate to young people, because I think young people really have a hard time trying to survive, especially now. The world’s moving too fast really. I mean you and I will literally be suffering culture shock on our own culture in ten years time.”

Are INXS political then? “ We are only political in as far as we write songs which are anti-policy. I don’t like being governed.”

Ah, INXS as anarchists. “ No, it’s more rebellion rather than political. It’s a personal thing. You write about what you’ve experienced. I don’t think I’ve ever made up anything.”

It’s a bit easy falling back on the old faithful, the generation gap, but INXS do it with a certain flair, always tackling things from new angles. “ My images are very concrete. Actually, I’m very much into beat poetry. I’d really prefer a poetry reading to a song.

I mean John Cooper Clarke is one of my heroes.”

So who else are heroes? What does he listen to? “ Oh, all the trendy stuff. You know, Joy Division, Talking Heads. It’s the new trend. It’s almost become ridiculous really. What used to be considered underground has now become the norm.”

I remarked that 2SM were recently giving away packages of Joy Division, Teardrop Explodes and Spandau Ballet Albums. “ Yeah, when that happens, it’s all over really, isn’t it? f almost feel we shouldn’t be around to be part of the last wring out, the last squeeze out. Because that’s what I feel, 1 do think that rock and roll is sort of finished.”

But they continue to work within the existing framework of the industry. Doesn’t he find that repulsive? “ Yes.” So he should feel guilty, right?

“Yes sure, we go on Countdown and that. But INXS have always been the sort of people who use the industry as much as possible. And I can explain much of our success to the way we have manipulated certain people. I don’t care how people view us. It only hurts me when people don’t realize the way I’m thinking.”

Two days after the interview and one day after the shooting, I’m off to catch INXS at Selinas, Coogee Bay, where a big crowd is in attendance. INXS don’t put as many people in a venue as Midnight Oil or Cold Chisel, but the crowds on the latest tour have definitely been getting bigger. Selinas is a real chrome and mirrors, chicken in a basket type place, as big as an aircraft hangar, and with a light show like nothing less than the final scenes from “ Close Encounters of the Third Kind” . The only place I’ve seen to rival it is a pizza hut in Brisbane.

It takes the crowd a little time to warm the band tonight.

There’s a lot of new material on show this tour, songs which will fill up the grooves of their second album due in September. Perhaps the unfamiliarity of the new material was a little unsettling for the crowd. It’s still the old songs which stand out, "Simple Simon”, "Roller Skating”, "Just Keep Walking” in particular, but some new ones, “ What Would You Do” and “ Far Away” also left a lasting impression. It’s six months since I last saw the band, and their sound was a lot thicker tonight, lots more guitar and less of everything else. Timothy Farris on guitar has developed into a real performer on stage, sort of a thinking man’s Angus Young, racing from one side of the stage to the other, jumping and swirling. But more than ever, Michael Hutchence is the centre of attention. He could be a young Mick dagger, prancing, pouting and wiggling his bum in the air. It’s all very camp, and it’s all very good entertainment. He’s fortunate he has the talent to back it all up. It could become a parody, a lesser talent would appear a complete ham. But Michael has the ability to steer that tricky line along the edg&of the abyss, and never once does he slip. This could begin to sound like a one man show but that is definitely not the case. There are six people in INXS, and they know what they want and if they are going to get it, it will be on their terms.

SCOTT MATHESON

Roadrunner 17

town, could have confirmed — and the sound at Bonds is certainly no better than that at the Garden. Kaplan states: “ Face it, fans, the Clash care no more for your discomfort than they do about the booing and pelting their self-picked opening acts have had to put up with. Like Bruce Springsteen, the Clash could fill Bonds for as long as they deign to maintain their residency, except that with Springsteen, you have a man who can make — who cares to make — even Madison Square Garden seem intimate.’’

A QUICK PRIMER ON NEW YORK CLUBLAND

Before we go on to what the show was actually like, this shambles illustrates some cold hard truths about the Man­ hattan club scene.

What follows is a cautionary tale — a lesson for all those who believe that the original ideals of punk can transcend the rock star system the punk movement set out to tepple.

At last! The Clash have finally left New York. Over the past few weeks it has been almost impossible to open a paper without their mugs and an accompanying article leaping out at you.

Briefly stated, the reason for the saturation coverage has been a series of gigs, their o nly U.S, dates, at a Manhattan disco called Bonds. They originally signed up for eight nights at the beginning of June. The two outlets handling tickets, a computer outlet called Ticki^ron and the venue itself, were overwhelmed by fans, many of v\^om were willing to queue for hours to make sure of a ticket.

As is usual with popular dub dates here.

Bonds oversold tickets — about four thousand a night i#ie n the venue is legally allowed only about two thousand. For reasons still unknown, the first gig was busted for overcrowding. Rumours ran from city officials choosing to make an example of Bonds, to some other club tipping off city officials to get their rivals at Bonds busted, to official attention being attracted by the popularity of the band and the unusual choice of venue. Whatever the reason, ensuing battles with the Fire Department over exits and the New York Buildings Department over crowd sizes, meant that the Clash would either have to stay on and play double the number of shows, or only half the ticketholders would get to see their idols.

The band chose the first alternative — and came out smelling like roses, when, in fact, the fiasco was partly their fault. The whole season was very badly organized. None of the British bands the Clash wanted to bring over to open for them were given enough time to organize visas and work permits, so many of them could not come. The day before the first show, the Clash still had not sorted out the local acts that would appear with them — and were playing the old rock star trick of offering support bands token money, but wide exposure to that middle mass audience that more ‘left field’ bands, like New York’s Bush Tetras and E.S.G., don’t get under normal circumstances. The Clash tried frantically to d'aft onto the line-up an y British band that happened to be in the country already — and were rejected by the Fall (who wanted $1,000, not the $300 the Clash offered).

Reports on the affair in the press generally fell into two camps — those which exoner­ ated the Clash of any blame and said the debacle was all Bond’s fault, and those which took a swipe at the band as well as Bonds for their ineptitude. The absurd impression created by all these stories was that of the Clash draggin a 24 hour entourage of rock press around New York with them. One read things like: “Later that evening, I’m riding past in a cab along with the Clash’s redoubtable helper, Kosmo Vinyl . . . ” and “ Up in the hotel room, Mick Jones is watching The Longest Day on Channel 7 and Joe Strummer is reading a thick paperback on the Spanish Civil War.’’ Talk about a three ring circus!

In the middle of all this garbage, only one article hits the spot as far as I’m concerned.

It’s written by one Ira Kaplan in the SoHo News (a sort of younger, more superficial Village Voice) and his remarks do not just apply to the Clash. He says: “ In the rush to apology and rationalization for the bands’ role that has characterized this paper’s and everybody else’s coverage of the Clash/ Bonds and PiL/Ritz debacles, one sorry and, I thought, obvious side of the story has been overlooked. The strains of band/ management greed combined with insularity from, and lack of interest in, the audience common to both events, have finally raised these groups to a pSritheon bf sorts. Jones •and■Strummer and' d.■ Lydon. .’81. • are - no different ,frqnj dagger and Richards and R. Stewart ’75. The prime movers of punk, Brit.

18 Roadrunner

division, have beoomo the rock stars they began their careers railing against. Maybe Sandinista! is a solid and interesting LP. but then so was Some Girls'* Kaplan then castigates P it for lack of concern for their fans: “They were offered an amourft of money that was too much for them to vwrry about thereibeing no PiL at the time, let alone a reheaiisedsone.’’ Much has been made of the Clash’s bone fide ‘band of the people’ credentials, English writer Mick Farren says: “They had chosen the some­ what more leisurely extended New York engagement in preference to a single mam­ moth concert at Madison Square Garden with its attendant chaos> discomfort and lousy sound.’’ If it were not to be found in the middle of an otherwise fawning article, one could have read this as a highly ironic remark chaos and discomfort were the hallmark of this season, as any of the people who bought tickets, especially those who had to make complicated plans and travel from out of

About three years ago, the Bottom Line was th e place for untried overseas acts to state their case before the New York punter — Graham Parker and the Rumour and Rockpile did their first New York shows there.

Two years ago, a place called Hurrah (much hipper than the slightly staid, sit-down Bottom Line) opened and provided a show­ case for bards like Dexy’s Midnight Runners and Delta 5, Then, over the last year or so, two other clubs, the Rltz and Privates, appeared and also started booking the newer British acts. The Rltz, in particular, has plenty of dough behind it and has managed to squeeze out the Bottom Line and Hurrah, iih e Bottom Line now seems to divide its time between jazz and showcase nights, where the major record companies can introduce their newest signings to the rock press in a small, comfortable setting. Hurrah, which also had an adventurous policy towards home grown talent, closed at the end of May, unable to pay theiinfiationary fees that the Ritz had made standard.

For a while it was just the Ritz and Privates, both of which could be relied on to book XTC, Orchestral Manoevres in the Dark and Madness, for example, when they were in town. Now a third party has entered the field in the shape of Bond International Casino

(known as Bonds), a big psychedelic disco, which recently has been going for the better known (often British) acts. From even this brief history, it would appear that Manhattan can only support tw o venues supplying this sort of fare, and I, for one, will not be surprised to hear that Privates (the least heavily capitalised of the three) will be the next to go.

Competition is fierce for the small band of hardy music fans in this town, and when a club gets a hot act, it witi invariably pack in an audience well beyond the legaf limit. How­ ever, I suspect that clubs cut themselves off from an even larger crowd through their own greed. Liquor licences allow New York venues to serve grog until 4 am, so club owners hope to maximise sales by putting bands on as late as possible, thus keeping customers coming back to the bar to stave off boredom. Punters are no fools, and, of course, Ibey turn up at the club at around midnight or later, knowing that the band will not appear until at least 1 a.m. So the clubs don’t get too many extra drinking hours, and ithey scare c^poter^ialdustomers who either ihave to go to w orktfie next day, or simply do not want to live a day-for-nlght lifestyle. The club owner vrtio hits on the bright idea of putting on his headline band at 11 p.m., will become an instant millionaire, I promise!

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE CLASH

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Tc^sters, rappers and funksters (Grand­ master Flash and the Furious Five, thb Treacherous Three, E.S.G.)from New York’s poorest (read black/Hispanic) borough, the Bronx, joined bands with hip Greenwich Village and SoHo addresses on the island borough, Manhattan (a couple of these outfits — the Bush Tetras and the Bloods — contained graduates from James Chance’s Contortions).

There were bands like the Slits and Funkapolitan from Britain — whites borrow­ ing, as do the Tetras, for example, from black riffs and rhythms. The black acts got a hostile and abusive response from the crowd — Grandmaster Flash being booed offstage two nights in a row. Ironically, white acts doing the same sort of shtick were allowed to play on. Racism and intolerance sure is a thing of the past in the States, especially in ultra-sophisticated New York! When the Jamaican toaster, Mikey Dread supported the Clash in Europe, he got similar treatment, but the Clash appeared on stage to dance during his last number, a gesture of at least so m e so rt of solidarity (I mean, why didn’t they come out first and introduce him or something?). Here, the support bands were just left to their own devices. Ed Bahiman, manager of E.S.G., thinks the Clash should have more actively stressed their role as hosts, and made sure the crowd was aware of their intentio n to present the best new music from Britain and New York. me tact that support bands were not advertised by name, and that no-one knew who the groups were or how many of them would appear on any given night, probably exacerbated this situation, but it is doubtful whether the people the Clash attracted would have had any interest in extending the range of their musical experience anyway. For the most part, the Clash were all they desired, and they wanted the band in the same monomaniacal way that other fans have wanted other mainstream rock acts. Sad to say, for all the political rhetoric, the anti-bigrecord-company-ripoff stance and the at­ tempt to bring roots black and white music (reggae, funk, rockabilly) to the ‘average rock fan’., all the Clash seem to have done by reaching that big, wide, white middle Ameri­ can audience is to compromise and cheapen their own values.

On stage, the band ran through their version of the Clash’s Big Hits, but the subtlety and variety that have made their albums worthwhile is lost in a live setting.

Everything is harder, faster, more rocky. It quickly becomes apparent that the rhythm section. Topper Headon on drums and Paul Simenon on bass, either can’t or won’t cut it on the reggae numbers. No-one ever thought Joe Strummer could sing, but the passion and content of the lyrics have managed to carry him on disc. Here, the passion was apparent, the lyrics were not. Like so many bands that go to great lengths to write meaningful words, they allow badly mixed sound systems to simply gobble them up.

With this band, one suspects that volume is used to mask lack of musical ability (in this area, all but Mick Jones are really disap­ pointing) and you get the feeling that time spent labouring over lyrics was wasted — Srummer could just as well have been singing nonsense syllables. Perhaps be­ cause the vocals are distorted to the point of unintelligibility, the band now uses a slide projector to illustrate various songs. The (images are (all iDQwqf;, (rnurder, mayfiqqi — the usual(o'ld shots from Vietnam,^frqnt ppges of local' sensa)idrial‘ afternoon newspapers (M urd och’s New York Post), head shots of

Reagan, the British royals, the Pope, and so on, appear on the corrugated iron backdrop.

Tired old images, easy clichds!

The Clash give a solid two hours worth of music even if the political messages go over the heads of most (late in the set, pamphlets about El Salvador are dropped from the ceiling. People stop grabbing for them when they realize no free goodies are being given away). The set seems to find favour with the crowd, but I’m surprised by the low energy level, and, at times, apparent boredom of the band. I had been expected a lively stage manifestation, but it is all very static. I imagine that the Heavy schedule debilitated the band more than somewhat, but the only one who moved at all was Mick Jones — perhaps it was his crutch-strangling white pants that did it.

Still, if there has to be a middle ground for

THE JAM: PLAYING UNDERGROUND

The escalating publicity surrounding the Clash meant that another of the Big Three bands of the British punk scene, the Jam, slipped into, and out of, town almost unnoticed.

They played only one show, sold out in advance even though they are nowhere near as well known in the States as the Clash — largely due to their more obvious Britishness (especially the Mod influence). They all looked very ‘sixties’ — Bruce Foxton, the bass player, could have been in any of the original Mod bands without altering his appearance in any way. I must say that my view of the Jam has been similar to my attitude to the Clash — I’ve liked a lot of their singles and the odd album track, but never been a diehard fan. Having lived through and enjoyed the Mod thing the first time around,

rock, I would prefer it to be held by the Clash than any of the other contenders for the territory, if for no other reason that they do have such values. Even if most of the people who saw them at Bonds can’t see any difference between them and REO Speedwagon, for example the Clash do at least have a non-sexist attitude (there are no ‘suck-my-dick-baby’ lyrics) and they have a healthy opposition to war, the draft, etc. Even if you can’t hear them in concert, the concerns of their lyrics are accessible on disc. The Clash have a fighting chance of nudging out the Van Halens of this world — certainly a better chance than the Au Pairs or Delta 5. Overt (especially left-wing) politics and rock and roll are uneasy bedfellows — and it does take guts to try to push an anti-establishment line in such a Big Busi­ ness game.

its revival seemed to indicate a shortage of ideas. And I have never thought much of Weller’s voice, although, as with Strummer, emotion has often made up for lack of singing ability.

The Jam share with the Clash an avowed concern for their fans, and an awareness of the dire problems facing much of British youth — although not expressed with such breast-beating. Like the Clash, the Jam played a stand-up venue — the Ritz — and it was obvious that more than the legal limit had been allowed jn. The set was exciting, well paced — and the sound was excellent, the lyrics audible. The Jam covered material from Setting Sons and All Mod Cons, as well as their latest LP, Sound Affects, and, although their set was hard to fault (convinc­ ing even non-believers like me), the two covers they performed (the Kinks’ David Watts and the Motown hit. Heatwave) did show that Weller’s songs don’t quite mea­ sure up — good though they may be in comparison to a lot of other pieces of trash trying to pass themselves off as songs these days.

FIRST ALBUM Produced by Hitmen and Mark Opitz NEW SINGLE "I Don't Mind"[iooi69) b/w "Rock'n'Roll Soldiers" ON TOUR NOW! my

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Sunday 5th

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Monday 6th

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Ffuday 10th

STARDUST ROOM

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BRIGHTON HOTEL (A^teAnoon) MELBOURNE

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The Brothers Finn - foto. Eric Algra.

. . . A CORROBOREE IN THE BIG APPLE

The Ritz also hosted a sell-out show by those fab Kiwi battlers. Split Enz. Every antipodean in town was in evi­ dence (there was even one waif waving a New Zealand flag, for God’s sake) and the Enz got a warm, if not demented, response.

The band seemed a little stiff at first — perhaps a nervous response to the Big Apple’s fearsome reputation for eating bands alive — but the music, songs from Waiata (as Corroboree is known over here, to the confusion of all but New Zealand scholars and expatriates) and True Colours, sounded just fine.

These boys are obviously world class, although they don’t look quite-as good here as they do in Australia — largely due to the sheer deluge of com petition constantly pouring through New York. Their big problem in cracking the U.S. market is that not since the Beatles led the British Invasion of the sixties, have Americans gone for sweet, soulful pop music in a big way. Looking at recent charts full of ballads, country songs and black funk. Split Enz are confronted by the same wall of indifference that greets another superlative pop band Squeeze, every time they take on the U.S.A. After several tours. Squeeze are on the verge of yet another shot, and it’s pleasing to note that their Manhattan gigs are sold out, and they are playing some suburban dates

as well this time. Split Enz are under no misapprehensions about ‘overnight’ success here. Bass player Nigel Griggs cited the carefully planning, endless touring and pati­ ence that were needed to turn the Police into a big U.S. act, when I spoke to him last week in New York. This is their second North American slog and they have been taking on extra cities in the South, as well as the hipper Los Angeles/San Francisco/New York circuit they followed the last time. Having waited seven years for success in Australia, they figure they have the necessary self control to adopt a long term strategy for world domina­ tion!

Although many of the reviewers in the States seem to have preferred True Colours to Waiata, I think that later album is superior — the pop sensibility further refined, with the brothers Finn really proving themselves dab hands at song-writing (even though there is no scorcher like / Hope I Never on this record). The live set lives up to the vinyl expectations, even though a couple of the older songs, Poor Boy and / Hope I Never, are given lacklustre and emotionless read­ ings by Neil and Tim respectively.

The band had obviously really hyped themselves up for this set, and the response at the end did not reach the ecstatic heights they felt their due. In spite of Tim’s “Are you really sure?’’, the two encores were the most relaxed and good-humoured numbers of the evening. While the crowd is certainly with the band. Split Enz do well to adhere to the low level work-and-see approach. In this country, nothing is handed out on a platter to those who deviaite from the norm.

As an expatriate Australian migrated to Auckland from Syd­ ney, I took an interest in the music scene here, having been around the Sydney scene for years. The first thing that struck me was the accessibility of the bands here. Auckland is less than a third as populated as Sydrrey so this is to be ex­ pected, but, more than that, there is a sense of the audi­ ence’s identity with the band performing. A subjective affinity pervades.

NZ CONNECTION

The main venues are pubs and Above: Coup d ’Etat. Below Dave McArtney and Pink Flamingoes. nightclubs. Pubs shut at 10pm except Friday and Saturday nights when closing time is 11pm. Sun­ days all hotels are still closed here!

The clubs are pretty revolting — mainly plush decor and table ser­ vice only, which means no going to the bar and ordering a drink. Bottles of wines under the table become the optimum. FRUSTRATING! The main inner-city pubs for bands are the Windsor Castle, Gluepot, Rumba Bar, Reverb Room and New Station Hotel. The Windsor and Gluepot are more “ estab lish ed ” and feature the mainstream bands. On weekends these bands have supports which are often more worthwhile seeing than the main attraction. Main club is Mainstreet since daggers on the popular with the Friday night north shore (similar to Sydney phere — it goes something like, “ If I crowds. His blues-orientated music were there, I’d have more chance of north-shore) became a skatingis quite unique here. Most recent is rink. However the north shore has success and developing my musi­ Blind Date, a two-thirds ex-Street seen a new huge pub open up in cal style” . It can be true of course, Talk band which has an energetic May called Milford Marina which is but the fantasy more often over­ drummer and some exciting songs rides the reality. proving popular. from guitarist Mike Caen.

It seems most bands that be­ Mainstream bands here I sup­ If you’ve ever done history you’d come reasonably popular here jet across the Tasman. Recent exiles pose would include Pink Flamin­ know how to pronouce Coup being ‘Pop Mechanix’ to support the goes featuring Dave McArtney, d’ Jfitat, a band which until recently latest Split Enz tour, and KNOBZ. It ex-‘Hello Sailor’ (likable despite his featured Jan Preston on Keyboards is epitomised in a song ‘Let’s Go to Womens Weekly article) and Jim and inspiration. Jan recently left Australia’ by a band. Vivid Militia, on Lawrie, drummer from infamous NZ and should be in Australia by the the Class of ’81 album. More later. band Street Talk. Their line-up has time you read this. The band is still It’s actually a pity I think, because recently changed. Ex-Dragon together as a three-piece. Harry the pervading climate here is con­ keyboardist Paul Hewson has gone Lyon ex-Hello Sailor is on guitar, but ducive to development— rather to Perth and has been replaced by I’m afraid the band may sink into than the more static Australian another keyboardist, and a second oblivion, especially without Jan’s guitarist Ian M orris. Hammond charismatic talent. There is cer­ environment.

Though Australians and New Gamble, again of Street Talk fame, tainly a deficiency of female musi­ Zealanders seem to hold a common has his own band and, while not cians in New Zealand, even worse fantasy view of the northern hemis- being world shattering, is very than Australia.

JOY DIVISION

F A C O Z I0 0 3

A Factory Records Product

As far as the newer bands go, there are a lot of them. Recently Propeller Records released an album called ‘Class of ’8T which has twelve songs all by Auckland bands except for one Christchurch band. I could list what I consider the more outstanding conbributions to be, but in totality the album is worth hearing. Several of the bands play semi-regularly around Auckland.

Blam Blam Blam and Screaming Mee Mees come first to mind. A new venue called Squeeze in downtown Auckland is officially to re-open which will hopefully cater for these more innovative bands. It is re­ miniscent of the sleaze of Frenchs Wine Bar (S ydney-siders may know) but has none of the derogat­ ory connotations that bands who used to play at Frenchs encoun­ tered.

JENNY BAKER

U N K N O W N PLEASURES

"U n kn o w n Pleasures is an English rock nnasterwork, its only equivalent probably being made in Los Angeles twelve, years ago: The Doors' Strange Days, the m ost pertinent comparison I can rhake Listen to this album and wonder because you'll never love the sound of breaking glass again'' Max Bell New Musical Express

20 Roadrunner

Other bands which don’t feature on this album but are well worth hearing are Penknife Glides who supported Split Enz on their NZ tour, Rank and File — a more reggae oriented band, Danse Macabre and the better known but barely recognised Techtones. All have individual styles which no doubt will be developed.

A phenomenon here which I don’t think is paralleled in Australia is the predominance of the bootboys (lit­ erally). This sect is probably more reflective of the English punks cum skinheads whose main objective appears to be violence. Their un­ iform is cropped hair and disposalstore black boots. Their violence appears to be especially directed towards the Maori and Islander people. At the moment there is an official research project into Black ‘gangs’ here. I guess it’s a product of a more repressed economic society — as compared with Au­ stralia, there is little scope for “ productive” rebelliousness. In general the music climate here is more directly connected with the British music scene. The bootgirls are often quite provoking at music venues or parties and if someone decides to challenge them the provoker is immediately met by open opposition by the male mem­ bers of the sect. Personally I have never been intimidated by these people but as an objective obser­ vant I find it quite fascinating to note their mode of behaviour. Last week I was at two different venues in a row where blood broke up the bands’ playing performances. Quite an unusual occurrence for me after Sydney!

Suffice to say that one could spend a long time exploring the music scene here without becom­ ing bored. Unfortunately it only properly exists Thurs-Sat, so time is often limited if your lifestyle reflects your musical taste ie. often the more interesting bands feature at the smaller venues earlier in the week. So if you wanted to make it a social occasion it would be difficult.

It is good fun here though, so maybe a three week holiday here would be worth much more than you’d anticipated.

Released in Australia Dy GAP Records ■ Manufactured and Distributed by EMi Ausbaiia Ltd

SINGLES toane

Village People: ‘Food Fight’ (RCA) I didn’t believe this the first time I heard it. It’s like a combination of the Dickies and the Revillos but without the dumbness of the first or the honesty of the first. The only reason for buying it is to play a joke on your friends— well, that’s more valid than a lot o f . . .

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The Voices: ‘Wish It Was’nt True’ (Deluxe) A lot o f . . .

Madness: Grey Day (Stiff) Talking of fantastic, that’s exactly what this is too. Another ‘big’ band putting their feet in all the right places. Gargantuan bass riff, eveiything else going chunka chiinka in a body wrenching fashion.

A deep sense of English melancholy pervades, but look at that life force bubbling! Madness might just have invented blues/ska.

The New Christs: (Green).

Gutsy Sydney/Detroit rock courtesy of Cab Calloway and other assorted superstars, one of whom sings very like a chap who was once in Radio Birdman and who calls himself Rowdy Yates for contractual reasons. Actually Cab dropped over to the office when he was in town a couple of weeks ago and we had a bit of a chin wag about this and t ha t . . . and basically if enough of you buy this then he’ll get a band together and do some live gigs. On the evidence o f the twotracks here it would be a worthwhile exercise.

Adam and the Ants: ‘Stand and Deliver’ (C.B.S.) Narcissism has never been the most long-lived of attributes. The Ants exploded with such an impact it would be churlish of us to expect them to maintain their intensity of attack. Save that one for the geniuses of the planet. Adam Ant is no genius, and despite the fact that he’s put away the Apache ethos for Dick Turpin’s castoffs, this strikes me as a little samey. The B-side ‘Beat May Guest’ is less ‘Antimusic’ than thasheroo rock’n’roll. Ah, well, there goes another brave new world.

pop sensibility that the Rads displayed on their very first single, but not quite enough to make this a complete success.

Squeeze: ‘Is that Love’ (A&M) I’ve heard this on the radio and every time I think, ‘I don’t remember that Beatles track’. If you want a track to add to ‘Revolver’ after all these years then this is for you. Yup, It’s that good. Actually I’d much rather hear this than ‘Stars On 45’. Buy it in droves you nostalgia mongers!

Steve Cropper: ‘Playing My Thang’ (MCA) Real boring, mannn.

Eddie Low: I’ve Never Been to Bed With An Ugly Woman (RCA) This is either very hilarious or very sick. Make up your own mind.

Aztec Camera: ‘We Could Send Letters’ (Postacard) Before we get onto the music I must say that this is the best single sleeve I’ve ever seen in my life.

Lots of Victorian style paintings of chaps in kilts.

Stirring. Twelve string acoustic guitar introduces this verging on the dirgey post nep-psychedelic ditty. If it wasn’t so exotic I probably wouldn’t like it at all.

The Crackajacks: ‘Can’t Do Without You’ (Missing Link) Another regional variant — Ockerbilly this time, ‘m afraid this lacks a bit of spark, and rockabilly without spark is like porridge without salt.

Heaven 17: ‘I’m Your Money’ (Virgin 12") The follow up to ‘Fascist Groove Thang’ and while not quite as superlatively wonderful it’s still more snappy than a bag full of crabs. Special Dance Mixes it says on the cover and who am I to doubt it. Definitely aimed at the leg shaking brigade (are there any of you left out there?). If you haven’t bought ‘Fascist Groove Thang’ yet do that immediately and when it begins to pale C.B.S. should have released this. Funking great.

Chas and Dave: ‘Rabbit’ (interfusion) What happened to Ian (Dury)’s credit?

The Dugites: ‘Waiting’ (Deluxe) Quite a leap this for the Dugites — from the beach pop of ‘In My Car’ to the grey industriality of the grim eighties. Yes, it’s modern all right, but despite Craig N. Pearce’s accusation of ‘no­ thought’ I can’t help thinking of Western Austria instead of Rottnest Island.

The Shakin’ Pyramids: ‘Take A Trip’ (Virgin) It’s the McStray McCats! No — it’s Scottish busker McRockabilly! Shake that sporran Angus!

Actually it’s a little known fact that the Scots actually invented the blues after Culloden and that McRockabilly was first performed by the MacLeans on the Isle of Mull in the early nineteenth century. Of course the genre has lain dormant all these years due to the Highland clearances, but the S.P.'s have returned to claim their rightful heritage. Aye, right.

Dynamic Hepnotics: Hepno Beat (Mambo) Don Morrison of the Bodgies said on the radio the other week that the D.H.’s were the best band in the universe. While not going quite that far, this is indeed a spiffy little vinyl debut from the Sydney swamp rockers. Lotsa creole clattering, voodoo tom-toms and burbling brass on ‘Hepno Beat’ — an inducement to conga dancing if I ever heard one. ‘Funky Turban’ has a more bluesy groove but is still excellent fun.

Girls at their Best: ‘Getting Nowhere Fast’ (Record Records) I reviewed their latest single last month — this one’s a bit older and not quite as good, being more punksy/rootsy and with a very abrupt end. Still it’s better than a lot o f . . .

The Dagoes: ‘It’s You’ — Double^.P. (Greasy Pop) The Dags brought a test pressing of this around when they came over to wash the dishes so we got it down on tape — probably in the wrong order altho the songs are the same. ‘Kids Got Style’ kicks off the tape — a meaner meatier version than the one that appears on the 5MMM album. The Tomato’s keyboard playing is positively manic, Richard is in good voice, getting into choirboy territory towards the end, and the band rollick along, with, yes, style. The anthematic ‘This Perfect Band’ follows, rough as a barbed wire glass crusher, and power, power, power! I don’t like the wanky ending, but then again I always was a bit of a pedant. ‘It’s You’, which I guess is some kind of ‘A’ side is next. Great full sound, great song, great playing. Phew, hot stuff!! Richard’s vocal is again the standout — depth, feeling, STYLE, on ‘Bolling On’, which starts off slow and acoustic and fills out admirably to a singalong chorus. 7 Ain’t Your Foot is another goodie, dynamic, well arranged, majestic in scope. There is an epic quality about the Dagoes sometimes — you can see them smile on stage sometimes when they get everything RIGHT. And there’s certainly not much wrong with Ten Years On’. Quite simply it’s a classic. Soul and passion exude from every groove. Everyone in the band plays their part to perfection (and with eight people that’s an achievement in itself.) Look, if you’re in any way into rock/soul/pop you gotta hear this. Dagoes rule. O.K.?

The Champagne Edge: E.P. (Au-Go-Go) What is that horrible grating sound Horace? Art? Oh right. Actually this would be great if it wasn’t so lame.

Oingo Boingo: ‘Just A Lad’ (A&M) I think these chaps have discovered the vocoder. But they’re quite harmless really.

Jefferson Hankerchief: ‘I’m Allergic To Flow­ ers’ (B.F.D.) This isn’t available as a single, but it was once, and I think it’s the funniest thing I ’ve heard since Billy Connolly on Parkinson. A searing diatribe (well, more a parody than that) of the hippy dippy flower days — and that’s the difference between neo and post psychedelia — the drugs are the same but the foliage is different. A woeful, sorrowful, harrowing tale of what it’s like to be excluded from a movement due to physical disability. Absolutely brilliant.

Karen Marks: ‘Cold Cafe’ (Astor) Ex- Model’s manager strikes out into the creative regions with the aid of Melbourne underground figure Ash Wednesday. And by god it works. Some real windy city angst diffuses out of the speakers, and the song hangs together quite neatly. But not a hit.

Tenpole Tudor: ‘Swords Of A Thousand Men’ (Stiff) You may remember Tenpole as the demented cinema usher in the Great Bock’n’Roll Swindle.

Well, he’s forsaken the Pistols coat tails for Adam and the Ants tribal beat soup these days. The grandiose production fails to conceal the hollow­ ness of this particular Ittle scam. ‘Who Killed Bambi' was bliss compared to this.

The Radiators: ‘Room Full Of Diamonds’ (Powderworks) The Rads discover reggae! There’s a hint of the

Dead Kennedy’s: ‘Too Drunk To Fuck’ (Missing Link) This is both very hilarious and very sick and I love it. The most pertinent social commentary since Mother’s Little Helper. I mean just think how true this Is. A scathingly incandescent punk rock song — musically derivative as hell, but lyrically superb. The Dead Kennedy’s are the true heirs of the Sex Pistols and there is no greater accolade than that in the scheme of ’80’s rock and roll.

The Donkeys: ‘Don’t Go’ (MCA) A definite stab at poppiness, and a bit closer to the mark than either the Quick or the Beat both of whom have had hits in recent months. A bit too sixties for a definite thumbs up but not a bad little churn.

Wendy and the Rockets: ‘Reputation’ (Mushroom) Melbourne heavy metal/pub rock. Boring as the surf at St. Kilda.

Mike Oldfield: ‘Arrival/Celt’ (Virgin).

Zzzzzzzzz . . . pleasant. . . zzzzzzz . . . boring . .. zzzzzz . . . muzak moderns . . . zzzzzz . . . grunt, ah, ‘Celt’ — that's me! About as exciting as a very wet day in Edinburgh.

Get Wet: ‘Just So Lonely’ (C.B.S.) Sounds like Manhattan Transfer trying to be new wave.

The Puritans: ‘Start To Finish’ (Puritan Records) An attempt at being weird and exciting that doesn’t really come off. Still you’ve gotta give ’em credit for trying.

Bram Tchiakovsky: ‘Shall We Dance’ (Arista) A simple melody swamped by over emphasis.

Shame.

Japan: ‘The Art Of Parties’ (Virgin 12") A cry from a tiny soul.

Chris Duffy: ‘Down Yonder’ (Larrikin) Either his banjo has got hiccups or this is a bad pressing. American music on Australia’s only folk label. Shameful.

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Sunny Boys: Happy Man (Mushroom) Two versions of this— one yer normal 7 inches of vinyl and another in a flip top cassette box with 2 bonus live tracks. Nifty huh? ‘Happy Man’ perpetuated the Sunny Boys Pop preoccupation.

The Sunny Boys achieve the first prerequisite of pop, freshness, with ridiculous ease, there’s power there too and the lyrics are a darker shade than the music. It’s hard to achieve anything startlingly original working with the tried and trying idioms of pop, but the Sunny Boys come pretty close.

Simple Minds: ‘The American’ (Virgin 12") Caledonian funk — Waaaghh! Mechanically precise. Skids-like mass chorus and different, more intense than anything else around at the moment.

DONALD ROBERTSON

THE PARAMOURS Working Modern Rock Band require male lead vocalist.

Phone 79 6688 or 42 8182 after 5. u^r.Boadrttnrter 21

Hunters and Collectors The Electric Ballroom, Melbourne.

On first viewing it’s a hard driving metallic and d istinctly western ur­ banized funk that is the fitting key behind this band’s door. It’s sincere and it’s shuddering. What gives, I say? What gives and why? Well, the answer is this — last year’s Jetsonnes are now this year’s darlings as far as the post­ holocaust post-Talking Heads funk jour­ ney men and women are concerned.

With the enrolling of Greg Piranha on percussion and Geoff Crosby on synthesizer and the replacement of Margot O’Neill’s vocals by Mark Seymour’s Hunters and Collectors are the Jetsonnes propulsified.

Just to jog your memory, continuing support/ input is provided by Doug Falconer on drums, John Archer on bass and Ray Totsi-G uerre playing guitar along with Seymour.

And why? Well, to answer that on the basis of a couple of gigs would only be a vacant gathering of hopelessly unbased airs and misplaced assertions (besides, let’s save the ‘why’ for some proceeding article). There is one reason that s obvious though, and that is the music is there as a viable alternative to standing still (i.e. dancing). Make no mistake, this is a rock band, but rock with a true sense and knowledge of the dynamics of dance floor funk. It’s both within reach of art and capable of operating on a sweat-and-beer type mentality.

No time for apathy now. There’s no room for idle thoughts when this band strikes up and delivers their patented versions of mental-cocoon-shell cracking. It’s all interest and involvement — the audience can’t escape it, and they’re not meant to. Intense is the appearance and manic is the reaction.

People have to learn to dance to this band.

The intensity is such that for an audience to respond both physically and intellectually (that is to cope with it) either a number of viewings of them is needed or the set needs to be doubled in length. And to do the latter would result in such an overload of informa­ tion in one evening that I doubt whether even the most sophisticated discophile could tolerate the strain.

But what a nerve they have! This steel, this vibrant mechanical suppleness. How do they dare to push us so hard and so fast? It’s beyond me, this music they’re staking their claims in. Nothing can stop this sound. No international borders, no trite personal pre­ judices and no bigoted record executives.

This sound should (and will) bounce violently right across the boards of this Earth’s dancefloors and through any old hat sen­ sibilities that stand in their way.

As it was later pointed out to me it was necessary to place the insipid Seriops Young

eOMBMCKTINATUHRUNTERS&COIUCTOIIS Insects in between Hunters and Collectors and INXS this evening, otherwise it would have been the headliner (HA!) being over­ shadowed by the collective (and huntive?) might of Seymour and Co. The difference in the audience reaction to both bands was obvious. One band (you know who) forces the audience to respond, whilst the otfier waits for it to happen.

As was apparent at the end of Hunters and Collector’s final song. ‘RUN RUN RUN’, people want this band and want them now.

Such tension! Such commitment! This band demand something new, to be sure. To be anything less than a fan after hearing them is something that I’ll have to ponder in disbelief.

Of course, there are certain elements inside this sound that have been mentioned before. Y’know, all the right names — A Certain Ratio, Talking Heads, Eno .. . and a varied sprinkling of things like the tension of a traffic jam, the freedom of a space walk and the heat of an August Darnell pioneered jungleland. All this and more.

On second viewing they’re much more the rubbery — give and take overtly funkif(r)ied machine that they aspire to be. This evening shows that Geoff Crosby’s synthesizer really does work and he isn’t just a(nother) pretty face hiding in the background under a silly hat. His synth is immediately engaging right from the opening moments of World of Stone and Alligator with their melancholy brooding sustains. It’s his synth which exemplifies the evening’s performance. It’s sharp and brittle, groaning and gothic, tense and provoking; all in all the perfect metaphor for the (near) perfect gig.

The best band to em erge in the world in

Pagan Idols Jump Club, Melbourne Tuesday night was a clear, Antarctic Melbourne night. I was driving home penniless and'shivering — my car heater won’t switch from ‘vent’ to ‘hot’ — when I diverted to the Jump Club to bite Laurie Richards for a couple of drinks.

The band scheduled for the middle bracket was Pagan Idols, but more intent on warming my ulcer and with the preconviction that not much was going to happen anyway — Melbourne rock has been pretty vacant for a while — I didn’t pay much attention. It was then brought to my notice that the night was one of the benefit nights for 3RRR-FM, the Melbourne education/rock station that pioneered FM in Australia and is currently fighting a desperate battle with its creditors. Bands, managers and promoters around town are contributing their services to keep Triple R alive.

The Pagan Idols opened their set with an instrumental. It was gutsy, loud and somewhat spartan, in the heavy-butintelligent-and-creative mould. I borrowed pen and paper from the bar.

It was then that I took a closer look at the band.

Ex-Romantic, Nick Rischbieth, on bass, Tony Spinosa — the Ringwood Kid — on drums and two former members of Wrecked Jets, Peter Tulloch and Michael McGinley, sharing guitar and vocals. I saw them about a month ago in Nick’s loungeroom -com e-rehearsal/recording-studio.

They were okay, sort of, then, but I remember thinking that they had a long way to go. , ' Tuesday showed that they had been* doing their homework. The rhythm section is very tight. Rischbieth has the experience of years in the industry and Spinosa is fresh, hitting his kit hard and accurately. The instrumental is a heart stopper. A very clear guitar riff evolves into relaxed expressive energy, warming the audience to the band.

‘Can I Go Home?’ and ‘Howlin’ Life’ are the A and B sides of the Wrecked Jets’ single, co-written by Tulloch and McGinley. They continue the powerful style with fast crashing rock, giving the band’s overall tension a credible, sincere face, whilst being extremely danceable.

‘Mary's Brat’ finds McGinley singing with Tulloch picking sparse lead licks. It’s a slow song, building in waves to short explosive peaks, shifting into controlled roar, then holding back as a prelude for another crashing wave. The fast bright chording contrasts the witty lyrics that tell the sordid tale of single-mother-and-child in an oppressive world — I think. The words are a little obscure. It might be about the little baby Jesus — but in any case they sound meaningful.

‘See You Again’ finds Peter Tulloch’s stark voice introduc­ ing the song for a couple of bars, then the bass and drums

22 Roadrunner

But what are names when all these curving mixtures of inputs are transcended by this new animal? Give them room to move; just allow them one unbiased moment of percep­ tion with an open mind and you’ll be in, boots ‘n’ all, with no grace and an indiscriminate amount of fluster about you.

th e last tw o w eeks sez Craig N. Pearce. enter, bubbling quietly behind the two guitars. One playing a punkish dadadada beat and the other highlighting the off beats — a little like the Clash’s ‘Police and Thieves’. Yet another subtle variation in style, ‘See You Again’ is fast and boppy, but maintains the dominant theme — tempered tension.

Dylan’s ‘Ballad Of A Thin Man’ is well delivered, but the fading star would rather serve anybody than hear the Pagan Idols hard edge treatment of his sociaf commentary epic.

Tulloch’s guitar leads are sharp and continuous, but are held back accenting the song rather than appearing as guitar hero wanking. McGinley sings with early-Dylan pain and London East End post punk anger. The number contains a menace that has characterized the best of Melbourne’s creative bands. It’s a good cover, succeeding because of its marked difference from the original.

The last track that I can remember from a well-oiled night was ‘Miss Japarti’. I was wondering what kind of neurotic, Indian food fanatic inspired the song until I finally deciphered some of the words. And I don’t care if I Missed Your PartyII still got drunk and had a good time! Didn’t have to sit in a room full of tarts/ Just listening to songs that broke my heart/ Missed your party - but I stili had a heil of a night/ Missed your party - but i stili had a heli of a night. ” It leads off with Tulipch on vocals and a pronounced bass line from Rischbieth, with Spinosa throwing in short tom-tom rolls.

The trouble with many so-called ‘heavy’ bands is that they only know one way of creating their particular mood.

Pagan Idols have a strong knowledge of rock’s chiaros­ curo. (Ouch! — ED) They are not limited to one style and keep the tension with delicate style changes.

They still have rough edges to file away and some embellishments and polishing wouldn’t go astray, but the basic form and content are there. At last, Melbourne has a band worth watching.

(P.S. This is not an objective review — I still can’t be anything other than subjective about entertainment.)

DAVID LANGSAM

INXS, Mental As Anything Stagedoor, Adelaide.

A phalanx of young Adelaidians hug the southern perimeter of The Stage Door. Spillage stands on the road. A security guard accompanied by a doberman are responsible for the tight formation tonight Somebody somewhere is scared. Take Christopher,, he was overcome with nostalgia. Me, well I came for

Whilst it is Crosby’s synthesizer and Greg Piranha’s original percussion ventures (L.P. gas tank, metal bars — this is a viciously centralized sound that crystallizes the rhythmic then turns it loose throughout the evening) that slip into the starring cameo roles, it is the twin guitars/bass trio that turns and shapes the sound. Even when the synth does lead the band down some dubwise passages it’s because the guitars allowed it to.

It is, ultimately, the seamy and the coarse side of the band which proves most impres­ sive this evening. Marvel at the steamy wonderland of forbidden delights conjured up by ‘Loincloth’ and the metallic, angled flight lines that are sweetly and succintly utilized in the twin guitar meshs of ‘Run Run Run’. The former has the prickly skin of a pineapple and the smooth succulent flesh of a mango. It’s a vibrant flushing of sparkling charismatic timbres that exorcise them­ selves with careless abandon. Not so whim­ sical are the harsh (and jovial) contrasts in ‘Run Run Run’, which begins with a slicing of raw nerve fibres. All the instruments follow the guitars into a groaning, creaking sweat laden wagon load of funk which nearly bursts but holds back at the most critical point and stands back to allow John Archer to pluck a playful mid-70’s Kraffwerk-like riff on his bass. Still the bass.

Then it comes. Moving over the sands. Dry at first then slowly building up, gathering strength and moving towards its target. A lusting, slathering, lascivious burgeoning of faintly Arabesque voices that stem from the throats of six wild horsemen and duly carry the virgin chorus over and above the audience to the clouds outside. Nothing could sneer, not a soul would dare laugh as Hunters and Collectors endeared their way into a thousand pained hearts with thefr attractively packaged soul shrieks.

One last mention for the notorious anthem ‘Chocolate Speedway’ which, as with the two previously mentioned songs, conveyed a wild, untamed animalistic sense of grating fear and hurtling rough edged force. It prowled and it growled. Then it scratched and snarled. Then it ripped and roared. Then it rose to its full height, displayed with every muscle and every tendon the strength it had control of, then sprung from its hind legs and carried the grinning, now volatile, audience away.

Just as the band did.

Hunters and Collectors are a wild swirling of sensations. Both tactile and intuitive: the stars of the show. The real electricity in the Electric Ballroom’s debut pig pen of a night.

Give these men credit for their art. This band is an opening, a light source full of exaltation and ripe with life. Their’s is a pod teeming with activity and wisely holding back from bursting and painlessly curing us all — wise, for the moment, because theirtime will come.

For those who have witnessed Hunters and Collectors live, it already has.

the follies, but my intuition said the burner.

Upon entry one becomes abruptly acquainted with thei vastness of the place. This ain’t no barn, this ain’t no fun,, this is Pub Sport Arena. Estimated audience size over2000, people relegated to class insecta by the money men.

Queue for drink, queue for waste disposal, queue for the warmth of the junk food dispenser. Big simian security rule the roost. Slowly I worm myself to within eye distance of the stage. I make a vain attempt for the pen in my pocket, but penalizing looks tell me to give up. One memory assignment coming up. If this is chaotic then let that be the gist.

Instinctively some members of the audience chant: ‘Chi-sel, Chi-sel’. Somewhat later INXS appear on stage.

‘On a Bus’ starts the time clock. Michael Hutchence demands viewing on his progress around the stage. The band remain intent on a safe arrival. “ Hmm, Adelaide smells good tonight, is there a nurse in the audience,” remarks Hutchence. A song about a girl with an Oedipus complex follows, a quite forgetful and time consuming number. This lull is overtaking by the blaze of ‘Far a Way (Fareweiiy. Here the band erases all stops, instruments are fever clear, the synthesizer by way of Andrew Farriss leaves every space memorable. Quickly Kirk Pengilly swaps his guitar for sax. A jamming ‘Simon Simon’ follows, smiles abound as players make their way around the stage.

Bass player Garry Beers, and drummer, John Farriss, play a pursuing game of rhythm. Pengilly’s sax work was both economical and well directed.

A sixties light pattern illuminates the stage. A few notes are played before cheers drown them out. Yes, it’s tonight’s crowd puller, ‘The Loved One’. INXS play this gem with verve and passion, without ever losing sight of the sentiment. A few people brave their neighbour by doing the obligatory pogo during ‘Jumping’. The last song of the set, ‘Just Keep Walking’, is saluted with raptuous applause.

See, a message isn’t always dour, it can be infectious.

INXS leave the stage. An encore is demanded and forthcoming, with the throwaway pop of'Seat Aa Go Go’. At this juncture the power is cut. An agitated audience manages to persuade those responsible into turning it back on. INXS leave us with a dedication to the Electricity Trust, ‘Wishy Washy’. I and five hundred other people head for the one toilet.

Mental as Anything presented a polished set of insincere rock ’n’ roll. It went from A-Z with ‘The Nips are Getting Bigger’ (Pavlov’s Dog), strategically placed at Y. Greedy Smith’s forced joviality, and old friend with the audience ploy (lend me a cig), continues to enforce one’s cynicism.

One saving grace though, it was over in no time.

As I walked to the exit I realised the crowd had vented its frustration. I was walking on a thousand bucks worth of crushed glass. Goodbye Adelaide.

TOBY CLUECHAZ

PEL MEL Queensland University, Brisbane.

What a great drummer. Unusual and forceful without being overbearing, his timing is superb, and his thoughtful use of the entire kit has left me somewhat perplexed. Most people tend to regard the role of the drummer as secondary, but this band really utilizes the capabilities of beat. These were my first reactions to the live Pel Mel. Pel Mel has attained a certain amount of notoriety of late with the sell out of their first single, independently financed on their own Primate Label (the label has subsequently released an E.P. of equally high quality by The Limp). The single “No Word From China” was the centre of more than generous reviews earlier in the year, and upon seeing the band play live one can only confirm the vinyl impression — it’s a splendidly crafted piece of music eminently contemporary by anyone’s standards.

Since the recording of “ China” Pel Mel has undergone a couple of m ajor line-up changes. The original band featured two guitarists, but recently Jane McGee (who bassplayer Lindsey O’Meara describes as the Maureen Tucker of the guitar) left for Europe after finding the pressure of constant playing not what she had originally envis­ aged. In addition O’Meara (a member of the now long gone, but highly acclaimed, Voigt 465) replaced the original bassplayer with­ out, seemingly, losing any of the spontaneity exhibited on the single.

Pel Mel see the advantage of having only one guitar as twofold. Firstly, it means that no-one can afford to be lazy (not that they are) in their approach and attitude to playing.

Secondly, a change in line-up will no doubt refresh the music and hopefully spawn new material. This seems to be happening already!

Pel Mel’s first performance in Queensland was what you might call half-baked. Being a lunchtime concert for the students of the Queensland Institute of Technology it would be an understatement to say that the atmosphere wasn’t right. To make things worse the obscene (and there’s no other word for ’em) Jimmy and the Boys had played the day before to a delighted crowd of Engineering students who weren’t really appreciative of Pel Mel’s music. Despite the lack of aesthetics the performance was a pleasing curtain raiser that promised a lot more. For a band that once covered FIVE Wire songs it was hard for me not to be enthusiastic.

Friday night at Brisbane’s leading non­ cabaret venue, the 279 Club, was to be one of those rare nights to remember. I arrived to see the latter half of what amounted to a much improved set from theTitanics. Playing original material, their influences, it would be fair to say, derive from latter day English bands.

Middle billing this evening went to a rising Qut of Nowhere, and they all but managed to steal the limelight from Pel Mel. Recently described as “Jazz-Punk” by Clinton Walker in an article on Don Cherry in Rolling Stone, Out of Nowhere have often been mentioned in the same breath as the Laughing Clowns.

Ed Keupper is an obvious influence and as such it wasn’t all that much of a surprise to see ex-Clown Bob Farrell step from the audience to play an impromptu final number with the band. Out of Nowhere comrpises two clarinets, drums and singer/songw riter/ guitarist Peter Walsh. Walsh’s previous band. The Apartments, released a three track E.P. on the Able label in late 1979 (about the same time that they disbanded).

About the only thing that has been retained is the distinctive Walsh voice. Although their first performance featured Xero bassplayer John Zero, Walsh has seen fitto doaway with

the instrument. To be truthful the neeo tor a bass player in Out of Nowhere is superfluous.

Their performance this night was a pleasure to witness, and to be described as a Laughing Clowns Mark II becomes all the more unfair. Certainly there are similarities, but Walsh’s vocals are far more versatile than Keupper’s. This is not to dispute the appeal and effect of Keupper’s monotone style of singing, but rather a point of contrast.

This band deserves to be recorded.

Of the three Queensland performances by Pel Mel the 279 Club outing was the most complete. It was viewed by a quietly ap­ preciative audience of about 250, many of whom were left speechless by Out of Nowhere.

M ulti-in strum en ta list (synthesiser/ saxophone/clarinet) singer Judy McGee to me is like a chance meeting of Shirley Temple and Lora Logic. The girlish features and light hearted appeal of i emple with the precision and feel for melody exhibited by Logic. Songs like “ Frankinstein” see her subtly countering the staccato (Gang of Four influenced?) guitar with some haunting syn­ thesiser playing. Then, at the other extreme, in “ Day” she plays a piercing sax over the top of an incredibly threatening drum pattern — it’s what you might call controlled chaos, with the emphasis On controfted.

The roll of the bass is one of the most interesting aspects of the Pel Mel unit. While certainly not assaulting on the senses to the same degree as his other partner in the rhythm section (or even the guitar or saxophone for that matter), the bass is more often than not the important instigator of a melody all of its own. It’s undeniable that the bass is a major strength within Pel Mel, but you don’t grasp its importance as im­ mediately.

The following night revealed an ambitious (“ ODD” is probably a better word) billing for another of 4ZZZ’s 1981 Joint Efforts. High on the billing was Iva Problem (there’s no stick inside the iceblock) and Flowers. I was long gone before they’d even set up the Marshall stacks. Enough said.

Starting off the proceedings at the Queensland University Refectory this night, all the way from New Farm in Brisbane, J.F.K. and The Cuban Crisis. A great pop band centred around singer John Kennedy.

He likes The Beatles and Elvis Costello, I know that. They only do one cover — The Cure’s “ Boys Don’t Cry”, which may or may not give an insight into their music. In any case J.F.K. got the nod from the Flowers road crew who decided they liked the band enough to twiddle with the sound equipment for positive results.

Pel Mel were forced to endure quite the opposite in hospitality. The Flowers roadies clearly disliked their music and made their feelings known by completely disregarding the on stage mixing facilities. The only thing that did come across more distinctly than on the two previous occasions was the potential of the Synthesiser, but I suspect that was a product of the immense hall rather than the Flowers P.A. Pel Mel’s performance, not­ withstanding the odds being heavily stacked against them, was deserving of credit again even if not as gratifying as the previous night., The audience of around 2100 was probably the largest the band had played in front of (although they did a support for magazine in Sydney last year), but unfortunately com­ prised mostly 15 year olds (out to see Countdown stars Flowers) largely unsym­ pathetic to Pel Mel’s material.

All things considered it was an extremely entertaining visit by one of the many Aus­ tralian bands that not only deserve to make it here, but overseas. I eagerly await their return.

DAVID PESTORIUS

Out of Nowhere joined by Laughing Clown Bob Farrell.

— pic Graham Aisthorpe

BLACKOUTS AND BLOWOUTS Furniture Eats Music — Adrians, Perth.

Louie Louie — Broadway, Perth.

When ‘Furniture Eats Music’ walked on stage at Adrians on a night when just about every suburb in Perth was without electricity because of an altercation between workers and government, a bunch of people were pleasantly surprised. For F.E.M. were none other than the NEW TOYS minus Bryan Mather (rhythm guitar) and Adrian Taylor (drums). Up on stage the other three mem­ bers of NEW TOYS — Peter Herring (synth, vocal), Barry Blakeney (guitar, vocal) and Danny Mather (bass) — have found them­ selves a drummer and decided to do this one and only performance, for Danny, you see, will be in Melbourne by the time you read this.

Barry and Peter have written a host of new material but nothing sounds anywhere near as important as what the NEW TOYS did.

The NEW TOYS played some of the finest songs I’ve ever heard. Although they dis­ banded in December, 1980, their music is still played, because fortunately they made a tape of their material before they disbanded and Bryan left for the East. The tape is enti­ tled ‘No New Toys for Christmas’ and if it ever comes your w a y . . . well, don’t miss the op­ portunity. The NEW TOYS played an honest, personal, melodic style of popular music that drew on the vision of the Velvet Under­ ground, The Modern Lovers and The Only Ones. ‘Furniture Eats Music’, on the other hand, are confused and very loud. The bass can’t keep up with the drums and the vocals are being chewed up by the guitar and a friend of mine says words to the effect that the power could be cut off any second. Lucky

for everyone, if applause is any kind of barometer for appreciation, ‘Furniture Eats Music’ conclude their set and leave the stage. So much for nostalgia.

In a different bar on a different night ‘LOUIE LOUIE’ debut. This three piece band is fronted by Kim Salmon, former guitarist and vocalist with the ‘legendary’ Scientists. There isn’t much of a possibility, however, of LOUIE LOUIE achieving anything near the heights that the Scientists reached. If only because they’ll be together for only a short time before Kim leaves for Sydney.

LOUIE LOUIE are very much taken by the Cramps, and if you add a dash of the Flamin Groovies and Johnny Thunders you’ll have

an idea of what kind of music LOUIE LOUIE play. It’s all entirely original, except for a pained version of Suzzane . . . The audience don’t really know what to do. It’s common knowledge that LOUIE LOUIE’S bass player totally slagged off the very audience he is playing before, in an article he wrote for this very paper some weeks ago. Perhaps this is the reason for the empty dance floor? Or could it be that LOUIE LOUIE are, after all, only a support band and therefore are not worth dancing to? Whatever the reason, au­ dience reaction is still stupid. LOUIE LOUIE play with a passion; it’s a pity thay shan’t be around for much longer.

MICHAEL MULLANE Roadrunner 23

SPRINGSTEEi SINGULAR Bruce Springsteen and the E. St. Band Wembley Arena, London.

We took our seats among the 8,000 at the Wembley Arena, for Bruce Springs­ teen’s second night of his five-concert stint in London. Wembley is a cruddy place, something between a derelict tube station and a basketball hangout.

We were directed to the seats that CBS had kindly provided after 4 months of requests. They were quite good; we were on a tier, off to one side, but about 3/4 of the way up the long corridor of a hall. Below us, the stage hummed, simply built but already seemingly buz­ zing with what would come. Low to the ground, it had a front section which would allow the performers to get even closer to those who had paid their 12 dollars to get it. Those that were lucky enough. In the U.K. three hundred thousand people wanted to see Spring­ steen and the E Street Band. One hundred thousand did. For the rest, there was just the vast sign outside, with “ Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, Sold Out” , and the verminous forms of the scalpers, or “touts” as they call them here. Still, at least they gave the truly desperate one last chance to see the band. For up to $100 Aust.* Springsteen and the band ran on, right on time at 8 o’clock. In front of the “team ”, Springsteen was like a small, nuggety bikie, with a bodgie haircut and a leather jacket, tight black jeans and hobnail boots. As the others dispersed around the stage, and the crowd that had been screaming “ Bruce, Bruce!” began to come to terms with the fact that they would finally see the man play, Springsteen ran straight to his guitar, threw the strap over his shoulder, went up to the microphone, and screamed “ One, Two, Three” , and they broke, with as sweet a start to a concert as you could ever ask for, into “ Promised Land’’. The crowd was already singing along by the end of it. Then, Ramones-style, “the Boss” kept pushing the pace, not letting the band have a break but ripping into more rockers, this time from “ The River”. These were the songs I imagine that many people, like me, found hardest to like when they first heard the double album last year, yet now say more about rock than anything else being done at present.

Two songs stand out from the early part of the performance. They were “ This Land is Our Land”, and “Independence Day”. The former is, of course, a Woodie Guthrie song.

It is a song which is political in the way “Imagine” is political. It says what it wants in the most basic, simplified language, and Springsteen did it justice, sang it from his heart. Then came “Independence Day”. He took a risk here. He spoke, uttering almost his first (and only) words for the concert. He spoke about his father and mother, and how important it is to realise that one should love them, love one’s family. It bordered on “ Days of Our Lives”, and trod the line very close indeed. Like nearly all of Springsteen’s material, it either worked, or didn’t, on whether you thought he was credible, or not Sometimes, as he stumbled his way through the preamble, it was possible to doubt. It was the accent, the breathy delivery, the almost cornball American sentimentality. But that’s no surprise. Springsteen is always over the top: always has been. You either accept him or you don’t. With the end of “Independence Day” , the audience had accepted him, heart and soul. He had gambled and won.

For the rest of that part of the show, the band worked tirelessly at songs from “ The River”, plus two excellent new songs; one about the death of Elvis (whom Springsteen tried to see by hopping a wall at Gracelands in ’77 before the death of the king), and the other just called “ Trapped”. Aren’t we all The band is brilliant, erecting from the first few notes a Specter wall of sound which nonetheless allows for incredible subtlety light and shade. Through it all, the arrange ments distinguish themselves, and each instrumentation seems to work perfectly for each song. Specially heavy use is made of Roy Bittan on grand piano, and Danny Federici on synthesiser and organ. The synthesiser, while often there, is never obtrusive, never really noticeable. The guts of the music is guitar, bass, drums, sax and piano. But the organ does often get a starring role. Especially that whistling, mournful organ so reminiscentof Dylan before he died

ROADRUNNER 24

Bassist Garry Tallent, who’s been with the E Street Band for years, looks like a balding English pub band player. He looks young, a bit strange in his Kinks fashion and ginger hair, and can’t move. Neither, for that matter, can Miami Steve van Zandt, on guitar. The quintessential New York street rat in appear­ ance, he has the on stage fluidity of David Byrne. So with three including drummer Max W einberg in th eir seats, and two im ­ mobilised, the real visual stuff is left to Bruce, and Clarence Clemmons. But more of that later.

After 80 minutes, the concert came to one of its blinding climaxes. Bruce, who had been dripping with sweat since the third (or was it second) number, gathered the members of the band around him. Grinning, grabbing them, running off around the stage, he seemed to be trying to make amends for something. The audience, which by this stage was just stunned by the quality of the perf^ormance, and the realisation that here, at last, was rock music that was real, duespaid-up, blood and gutter and stars rock, became restive. It did seem that the show was ending. At 9.20. The band seemed to be taking their bows. The clapping, thunderous all along, now reached the proportions of a hungry army on the march. God knows what would have happened if the show had really been over. But instead, a smiling Springs­ teen stepped up to the mike and gasped “ We’re taking a short break now. We’ll be back soon with a whole new set!” We staggered off, out into the nether parts of the stadium where one couldn’t get a drink at any price because of the queues of hot, thirsty people, into the parts of it that were like the under-budget tube station, and I pissed with at least 50 other men while someone sang “ The River”. And no-one could believe that the performance was really that good. But it was. Blindingly good.

Something of a kinship had grown up between us, Mandy and I and the people we were sitting with. The lot on one side had a set of opera glasses. On the other side were two Glaswegians with beer and hash. We all debated what would open the second set, and what would be the encore. We were right about the encore. No-one guessed what would open the set. But “ Cadillac Ranch”, when you think about it, had to be right.

The band was a lot looser right from the start of the second set. Soon Clarence, who normally spends his non-sax solo time smiling sweetly and dancing like one of the “Temptations ”, was right down at the front of the stage, blasting out one of those remark­ able sax solos that have always marked Springsteen’s music. Then Bruce joined him, guitar on his hip, and the pair of them were ripping through the rockers of “ The River”.

Songs like “ Out on The Street”, and “ You Can Look But You Betta Not * Touch”.

Springsteen leapt down into the crowd, playing his guitar, and you can only imagine how they would have felt. What were they meant to do? Tear him to pieces? Fuck him?

Instead, they seemed to be happy just to touch him as he played on with that maniacal grin and glare on his face. And as he moved up gears, fast, you realised that the man is an absolute madman; a crazy music playing, performing machine.

Then came “Hungry Heart”. By this time, on occasion the singing of the crowd was lounder than the band’s. Springsteen had gestured to the crowd to sing lines and segments of songs already, and everyone had responded in a way which would make most other performers who’ve tried, it feel second class by comparison. But as the band got into the opening bars of “ Hungry Heart”, and Springsteen leapt and danced in that whipcord, jerky way across the front of the stage, he let the crowd sing. They sang all of the first verse of “Hungry Heart” before Springsteen had even opened his mouth.

Then he sang the verse again, with everyone singing even louder.

By this time, it was apparent to everyone that something very strange was happening.

It was no longer a normal concert. It was more like a ceremony, or a celebration. There was that indefinable feeling in the air, spurred on by Springsteen’s own incredible charm, humour, power, and the sense of “this is how life must be lived” of his songs and his performance, that made people in the audi­ ence feel “ in touch” with each other. It was one of those sorts of occasions. There was a true “ communication” of emotions going on between people, and the feeling of “ if we could just get over the alienation” in the air.

Things were immediate, spontaneous. Ev­ erything was sparking. And at this height of the performance, with Springsteen laughing, screaming like a madman, cheering the

audience, saluting with a clenched fist, it’s true to say that he completely captivated that crowd of 8,000 normally sullen, cowed Londoners. He filled them with hope. He made us feel that life could be good, exciting.

And in the end, with the incredible repetition of climax on climax that you get in Springs­ teen’s music, one was lead to the feeling that all the sad, cynical rock writers of the world could jump off cliffs 0 .' drown themselves in their tears. Springsteen knows about life. He has immense power. And being at a concert, when he is hot, is a lot like very good fucking.

The only thing that Springsteen the rocker is not, is black. But he is, in a way, because Clarence Clemmons, built like the proverbial brick shithouse, and seemingly untormented by the “ darkness” that Springsteen has written of, is his alter-ego on stage. This is continually highlighted. They charge at each other, “ shoot out” with their instruments at close range, lean on each other, almost smooch. “ Springsteen even introduced him as The Champion of The World! The King of The Universe!! The Master of All Things!!!’ ” .

Yet, you do not get the feeling this is “ performance” . In fact, you know that it is not.

As you watch Springsteen on stage, and you mull over all the people that have doubted him because of the perhaps a little too over-romantic songs (although you doubt it after seeing him) of the early period, you come to the conclusion that this man has cast-iron credibility. He is what he says he is.

He gives the audience everything. He is Elvis with an edge of political and social con­ sciousness, and without the handlers; he is Dylan without the wall of mystification of the early days and the intellectual weakness of the latter ones; he is Lennon minus the sad personal weakness and vulnerability. He is not the future of rock and roll. He is rock and roll.

At this point, he broke into something very different. A riff was played, .and everyone knew to sit down. He did “ Fire” . Then he did “ Because the Night” . Everyone was glad he did, because it was good to hear them, but also because you learnt that the Pointer Sisters did “ Fire” justice; and that even poor old Valery-Verlaine-Rimbaud Smith, with all her battery of pretension, did real justice to “ Because the Night” . Just as he himself did. “ Hungry Heart” , “ F ire” and “ Because the Night” seemed to be the peak, or the ultimate climax, of the concert. After that, Springsteen began to wear out the audience, both mentally and physically. His energy is stupendous. He would rip to the end of a song like “ Ramrod Rock” , and jurst when you thought the man would never be able to go on, he would run off stage, replace a battered set of strings with a new guitar, on the jog, shower himself with a glass of water, and run back on plugging in the instrument, just as the prelude theme reached his in-point.

I have already spoken of the sexuality of the performance. This is implicit in all of Springsteen. It is in the songs about cars, gangs, small-town love, disappointment, heartbreak. It is a wellspring of passion that continually drives his most potent songs, such as “The River ”, or “ Hungry Heart ”, or “ Backstreets ”, or “ Stolen Car ”, or even the neglected “ For You” . But it is not a sexist treatment, despite the repeated cockrock songs, and the all-male driving force of the band. This is because Springsteen, the songwriter, places love and sex in the perspective both of economic oppression and of the absurd eternal" comedy of ever falling in love in the first place; and because Springsteen, the performer, emphasises the passion and giving of sex, and not the set submission of one partner gender to the other. His love songs are songs to which nearly all ordinary, especially working class people, can identify, and they are shameless.

guileless, and easy prey for the cynical - and in fact anyone who cannot “ let go” . He almost transcends the bounds of sexism, simply because all the people in his songs are the oppressed; - the people. That’s not to say that he can handle the female perspective.

He cannot and does not. He takes the male perspective, and tries to emphasise the things that should draw all people together.

The latter part of the second set was marked by one classic after another. Just when the audience thought there must be a fla t point com ing, there would be a “ B ackstreets” , and then, after that, a “ Rosalita” . It was simply impossible to stop this lunatic. By this time, of course, the performance was even beginning to tell on Springsteen. (He has recently shortened his shows from 4 V2 hours to about 3, after his minor breakdown). At times, hobbling around the stage like a man who’d been fucking for a week, or pathetically bent over the mic­ rophone singing a ballad like a real version of Tom Waits, he seemed that he couldn’t go on. The second shirt was soaked early into the “ new” set, and he spent a lot of time just wiping sweat from his brow. He even incorporated a mock heart attack in the show, with doctors in 50’s medico garb first trying to carry him off in a stretcher, and then his guitar, emphasising that he is aware of the punishment performing gives his body. It would probably be the best way for him to die.

Then came the end of the show. The ceremonial line-up, the clasping of hahds, the exit, and the minutes of stomping feet, whistling and clapping. The first encore was “Jungleland” , a strange selection perhaps, but despite the fact that it was a long melodic song on an album put out in 1975, everyone seemed to know all the words. Then came the second exit, and the second encore. We were proved right here. It was “ Born To Run” , and again Bruce was pushing himself and the band harder, and yet harder. I was amazed that after 3 hours on stage, putting in a performance like his, that by this time he didn’t forget a verse, or start shouting nonsense, or fluff a guitar solo. But he didn’t.

He kept rasping, singing himself hoarse, and his guitar(s) kept rippling, running and howling. The band just played on, perfectly, frenzied.

After “ Born to Run” , he urged the audience even further with a medley of rock classics, starring “ Devil With The Blue Dress On” , but we decided, when this was over, to leave. The stage might be the best place for Springsteen to die, but we didn’t want him to. Shocked, we staggered outside, into the balmy late May air, and wandered through the streets of suburban Wembley that uncannily seemed just like Bondi. We couldn’t make sense of anything. England.

These streets. Springsteen. He was just too good. Singular. A phenomenon.

In the “ Sunday Times” today I read that CBS is bankrolling Springsteen’s world tour.

In 18 months, he is playing to 2,000,000 people. The tour, with its leisurely pace and 45 member entourage, will lose 1,000,000 dollars. But CBS gets its investment back through record sales. For Springsteen, it’s obvious that the only thing is performance.

He lives for his tourig. His performance is a definition of performance that makes nearly all other rock seem weak and pretentious by comparison. Even his albums pale; are simply documentations of something so much larger, richer. As we walked away from Wembley, and heard him go into the third encore, we were unhappy we’d missed it, but delighted that we had been among the people lucky enough to see Springsteen play, before the inevitable tragedy, either of accident, stress or age, that always seems to visit the most prodigious of talents.

LARRY BUTTROSE

The press blurb starts out “Young, fast and scientific. . .

These' exact words can be found on the cover of the Dic­ tators’ “ Go Girl Crazy’’ and as a title of a song On The Dictators’ “ Manifest De­ stiny’’. Now this is a particularly nasty bit of plagiarism, but it may not be the band’s fault, it might just be the company they ke ep . . . ,

THE HITMEN Hitmen (WEA) Isn’t it a shame How the music lost again The power of the products remains Got blown out in the din.”

The Dictators’ “Steppin’ Out”

Hitmen is The Hitmen’s first album, long awaited, and anticipated with optimism in certain areas. I wanted to hear a great album (doesn’t everyone?), but,unfortunately, this one isn’t. I’m disappointed, but it isn’t all bad.

In several songs it is good, and it grows on you, but in substantial patches it smells like Middleton Beach on a bad day, which isn’t good at all.

These bad songs deserve to be canned, but then what to do with rubbish like The Radiators, Jimmy and the Boys, Mi-Sex, The Models, James Freud etc. ad infinitum. Mr. Einstein, whose brain weighed quite a lot, made a few strong points in favour of main­ taining relativity.

The Hitmen’s aim to play ‘Australian Pop Music’ has been achieved, and when treated as such the whole record, with few excep­ tions, must be viewed as kind of successful

MAGAZINE

already. It’s a pity that this aim has been reached via some none too subtle deriva­ tions from overseas counterparts.

Still, that’s typically Australian innit?

Most of the aforementioned derivation is from the likes of The Dictators (a lot), taking the form of attempts at that particular style of humour dealing with the “ Cars And Girls’ type subject matter, and reeks of intelligent people deliberately playing dumb. Most of it isn’t very funny anyway, although I did chuckle on hearing ‘‘Death Grip”: “ In Argentina .

Where you’ve never been-a They have a real problem.

It’s called the mass arrest.”

Beats silly little love songs I s’pose.

Certainly the more serious songs such as ‘‘Corridors Of Power” are delivered with far greater feeling, and come across as far superior. In fact ‘‘Corridors Of Power” is the best song by a streak with powerful imagery and some positively searing guitar. The song has a riveting chorus, and Johnny Kannis’ delivery is convincing, forceful and potent.

The album, definitely one for ‘hard rock kids . . . ’, is mainly notable for its gutsy guitar riffs through the verses, quick, catchy choruses, and some flashy, devastating lead breaks. The rhythm section is sound, rock

steady and driving, and Kannis’ vocals vary from very good to very mediocre.

Some of it becomes thick, heavy going indeed,"/ Want You” can only be described as Kiss with the distinctive Eric Burdon ‘‘Don’t Let Me Be Misundertood” riff.

At times the lyrics, for instance in “/ Don’t Mind” border on the, quite simply, embarras­ sing. It’s a fun-pop song with a terrific sounding chorus, and rapid fire arrange­ ment, b u t. .. er, those lyrics, yucch! (I don’t care WHO wrote them.) Must be murderous live though. ‘‘Mercenary Calling” \s another stand-out track with its sweet, trebly, distorted guitars and appealing rhythm.

“In Your Eyes” is a masterpiece, starting out with a soft acoustic introduction which carries through the first two verses and choruses to a crashing electric middle and back into the acoustic, accompanied by some beautiful, sweet guitar.

Finally, “1 Stand Alone” is also a pretty good song, and features a last half in which that foreign chap Masuak winds himself up and lets fly in a manner which I, second-rate guitarist that I am, find most distressing.

A hard-rock fun-pop album. PLAY IT LOUD!

DAVE EDMUNDS

playing. We go from ‘Singing The Blues’ to ‘Baby Lets Play House’. Then a worthy rendition of John Fogerty’s ‘Almost Saturday Night’, delivers one to the lachrymose (I’m Going To Start) ‘Living Again If It Kills Me’ (Lowe/Carter/Edmunds). Just to show some pedigree, ‘Baby Lets Play House’, comes from a 1968 session. While The Stray Cats add some youthful nervousness to ‘The Race Is On’. Oh yes, the old men of Rockpile also play on this album.

I can’t see the point in recording albums like Twangin, they’re so self defeating.

Today’s sound technology reproduces clear recorded sound, whereas discs from the 50’s owe a part of their character (appeal) to poor recording facilities. So people like Dave Edmunds use technology to recreate the sounds of old technology. In the final analysis it’s only half glory, and who wants thart on vinyl?

Twangin (Swan Song)

‘Magic, Murder and the Weather” (Virgin)

I find something gratingly perverse in listening to Dave Edmunds. When iso­ lated, the irritant can be called. Big Strapping Welsh Boyo Singing Like A Squeaky Nashville Guy. Twangin does have some utilitarian value though.

Songs from the 50’s and 60’s are brought together on one piece of vinyl, thus alleviating the drudgery of changing singles on the turntable.

Like all good crystalline substances, Magazine has precipitated, reflected, and now, after the almost perfect life­ span, leaving behind a gem of ridiculous brilliance. I love it; it makes strong sense, fine allusion and desperate good fun.

Howard Devpto’s pulled it off with a group of musicians qualitatively equal to the task, and the thread from “ Real Life” to “ Magic . . . ” is consistent synthesis, an impressive indicator of the late ’70’s bent breezes — Bowie mesh to Motown Soul and back again.

“ Magic, Murder and the Weather” is one GARY U.S. BONDS of those albums that makes me feel better Dedication about this schtick we calf ‘real life’, until it (E.M.I.) comes to trying to convey that thrill across paper to eyes not primed for the purpose. It’s enough to make one consider cute one liners Rock’n’roll dreams do come true, and other desperate contrivances to elude despite the shallow pronouncements of responsibility, both reader and record-wise.

J. Steinman esq. Imagine the scenario “ Magic . . . ” has got soul that tickles your — a young Bruce Springsteen, sitting in torso and insinuations enough for any his bedroom in Asbury Park in 1961 curious mind desirous of a wee peek thru when out of the radio comes Gary U.S. H.D.’s eyes. You won’t find an irrelevant, Bonds’ ‘Quarter To Three’. The young hyper-exotic egovision in this set, as much as boss flips out. ‘What is th is? ’ he Howard’s been accused of such deadendedness in the past. The place is littered with exclaims.

Twenty years later, the not so young boss earthy wit, illuminating clues and oblique finds the same Gary U.S. Bonds singing in a humour, giving a sense of crazy buoyance. roadside tavern. The Boss cannot cdntain And a lack of low spots goes without saying.

“About the Weather” is the best ‘on beat’ himself — he jumps up on stage and jams the night away with his boyhood hero. And bounce since Diana Ross and co. gave up street jive, and together with “Poison” , furthermore he decides he’s going to rescue Gary from his pit of obscurity by giving him makes the Soul revival, from Q-Tips to some songs.

Dexy’s Bureau seem grey and a little tepid.

2.7.81 That opening track also has my highest 1. Keri Phillips calls up from New York. singles rating this year, along with Heaven ‘Dedication’ is No. 12 with a bullet on 17’s “ Fascist Groove Thang”. Apart from Cashbox. such ultrapeaks, which must also include the And let me say, without doubt, that every softy, “ Suburban Rhonda” , things never get below excellent. And the little bugger’s so ‘unit’ is more than deserved.

I haven’t stopped playing this album since I distressingly hopeful; human potential, neurosis and even the ongoingness of got it. There is no other grouping of musicians in the world who have got the feeling for early Magazine/Devoto related ideas — “ We are sixties R‘n’B that the E. St. Band have. And so Lucky”, “ A new sort of freedom” . If you only listen to this record, you deserve to have when most of one side is written and polystyrene balls inserted in your inner produced by the Boss himself — well, how can you go wrong?, Gary doesn’t. The quality sanctum, wherever that may be.

Playing, arrangements and production are of his voice has not diminished over the years, and the E. Streeters insure him to immaculate throughout and a true credit to all involved. As to be expected, Dave Formula’s even greater heights than he ever reached all keyboards are the lynchpin of aural tags, and those years ago.

‘This Little Girl” , an absolutely captivating that beautifully phased bass, well, my spine early soul type song and the epic-like Miami just tingles. Steven Shear’s guitar is sharp, clear and diverse, an integral thread in the Steve penned ‘Daddy’s Come Home’ are the mesh. In fact, the whole thing becomes so stand outs on side one, but the best song on integral that, after a short while you’re not the whole album has to be Jackson Brown’s hearing extractable bits at all, just a hermeti­ ‘The Pretender’.

This is just the most moving performance cally sealed synthesis, where abstract influ­ I’ve heard for ages. It makes the original look ence and actual sound intersect.

So Mr. Devoto is going thru to “ other like a black and white version — and for a ideas” , and the rest of the band will no doubt song that I’ve always considered to be the further insinuate themselves into the creative best J.B. has ever written, that’s a pretty echelons of the international ‘scene’. The heavy statement. Play it three times in a row changes keep changing, but one thing’s for and if it doesn’t change your life, you’re dead.

This album is a joy to listen to. What more sure, we really are so ‘lucky’.

TYRONE FLEX can I say?

DONALD ROBERTSON

Everything is metronome consistent. The musicianship is immaculate in its locked corral, no one is allowed to buck and rollick in wide open spaces. As a follow on from this, one does tend to get bored with safe house

-m x THE CURE Faith (Powderworks) The album starts with ‘The Holy Hour’, and the mood is irresistibly created, there’s no choice. Sad and dark, but not cold, the picture drawn is not complex.

On the contrary, everything about the song is simple, including the quality of the mood/feeling created. Somehow pure, and overpowering. “ I sit and listen dreamlessly.

Promise of salvation makes me stay.”

The music consists of simply strummed guitar against repetitive phase shifting bass/ rhythm and changeless drumbeat. Slow, agonised it sounds, whilst slowly building to a level where effect is achieved, pointing out the images intoned ad reverbatim by the frail echoed vocals of Robert Smith. It’s endear­ ing and gripping.

On to ‘Primary’ where things liven up through the aid of a quicker tempo and more direct singing. It’s tremendous, overpower­ ing, while remaining (like all the others) remarkably simple and unflashy. Production

by Mike Hedges and The Cure is clear and dynamic, allowing every bit of musical and lyrical colour to emerge from the vinyl and flood one’s eardrums.

‘Other Voices’ is similar to ‘The Holy Hour’, except in the actual words. Faith is not

JOHN DOE.

TOBY CLUECHAZ

remarkable for its tonal variation. Whilst this is an intense album, very little contrast is achieved between songs, and the repetitive ness does become tiresome.

“All Cats Are Grey’ (They must use the wrong shampoo) impels you further to succumb to the mood, which holds weblike whilst not being suffocating. It is insistent with keyboards floating against unrelenting medium paced drumming.

Track five is the label, and it’s really boring.

Paper never did sound very musical, better get this turntable fixed. Onlyfourtracksaside eh?

Side two, with ‘The Funeral Party’, starts out with a heap of synthesised strings to great effect. This is not the type of stuff that makes great live entertainment, but in your loungeroom at any time of day it is guaran­ teed to induce melancholy. Very sad, moving stuff.

The side comes alive as ‘Doubt’, reminis­ cent of ‘Fire In Cairo’ attacks and rushes from the speakers. Almost incongruous with the rest of the songs, it relies on the same simple guitar-bass interaction, but is outstanding for the aggressive, rapid-fire singing. Once again the image is clearly defined, and the emotions of the song expressed in no uncertain terms.

One wonders how long this particular formula for projecting lyrics will remain effective. It is all very similar, albeit an ideal vehicle for giving weight to Smith’s vocals.

Undistorted strummed guitar against un­ changing drums, and shifting, but repeating bass.^This completes an environment most capable of transporting the lyrics and this thin but emotional voice to the very points of the psyche at which they are aimed. It makes The Cure distinctively The Cure.

‘The Drowning Man’ goes along similar lines with the same gripping intensity, and holds the line “ Dreaming like the drowning man” , which is the best line I’ve heard since “ Every moose, groove groove” . Startling imagery.

The final an- title track is Faith, Which is as good as any of the others, and much the same with its own particular uniqueness.

Faith is a dynamic, if repetitive album, which seems to engulf rather than attack. It is great, but if the next is like this, it won’t even be good.

JOHN DOE Roadrunner 25

VARIOUS ARTISTS THE MELBOURNE CLUB” (Missing Link) “ LIVE AT THE STATION” (Missing Link) Rock music began as a feeling, an abeitation of something else, something jazzy, something country, something bluesy — who knows? All the best rock, the most exciting rock, came (and stili does) from the heart (of course, to be ‘true’, to be totally vital to the moment at which it is formed, it must be affected by the head and environment — but then again, in a heart’s most pertinent stage of development it encapsulates the mind’s reasoning anyway). All good new rock comes from a growing, changing heart.

If one thing could be said about these two records it’s that they both, if not actually achieving it, have the air of something heartfelt, 'something honest (I don’t know, perhaps it’s mould). It’d be easy to say what the band members do now and relate it to what these records are and perhaps (in some people’s minds) salvage some shadow of meaning or relevance in these songs. But the records are one episode, they have been released as a whole and must be judged as one. They have no right to ask, and shan’t get, any half-hearted criticism merely for the sake of preserving the Oz rockist tradition of holding, especially past, indigenous releases on a different level from overseas sounds and analysing them as such.

The Club "The Big Beat” (ironic because its poten­

26 Roadrunner

tially vital sound has been virtually sapped out by the mix) by PARACHUTE is as good a song as any I’ve heard Elvis Costello churn out. The lacklustre, though intriguingly en­ gaging, end product is by no means the band’s fault. It suffers at the hands of a bad recording/mix (which is typical of both re­ cords — this one through accidejit, the other through intention). "Falling” Parachutes second contribution, whilst not containing the verve and all rounded excitement the first song did, pumps out quite an acceptable and at times verging on challenging, piece of beat flash. Sparks freely adorn and enter the music but the essence of the adventure still lies wild and uncaptured. Parachute are no doubt the hip-hot-hey stars of this record with only the next song challenging their status as such.

Soul displays its aching intentions in Sec­ ret Police’s original rendition of "Emotion”.

Roger Well’s pre-chic throaty rasps provide the grizzly base to a, perhaps, poorlychorded song but the soft pit-a-pat (verging on dub) section in the song’s middle more than brings it to an even keel. That, coupled with the (gll too short) pieces of soaring sax blasts and bleats that break out in weeping hives of anguish, give this song a juice which would not be easily dismissed in these days of Dexys/Bureau adulation/doubt. Secret Police do a fair bit of justice to their second song "Look Loveiy” as well, though its stilted farcical harmonies decay the pretty reggae flounce the rest of the song has. There is, however, an ample display of vigour and promising intent in the songs which, unfortu­ nately cannot be said for the following songs.

As for "Living Legends”, well, the odour of doubt the previous two bands may have aired in their weaker moments has been tranformed into a reeking stench here. "Hope­ less Case” is just that — an all too easy one dimensional non-collage of bleak grey beat.

Nothing new in being old and these two songs are just that. "Baby Do//”, if not show­

ing anything else (apart from some swilling, sea sick reggae) at least proves that Joe Camilleri is nothing more than a Wayne Burt plagiarist — and I’m referring to both voice and beat.

Burt salvages-a little pride for himself out of this record over the side with The Sneakers in a couple of songs called "Hanging On To M idnight” and "Late, Late Show”. "Hang­ ing” shows the sense of harmonics Burt is ofted lauded for by fathead Oz “ muso” critics but more often than not fails to deliver. It’s belated, lazy song construction ultimately lets it down with Only some offhand flourishes and half-textured reflections making it listenable. "Late Show” is a rock song/ballad and does, surprisingly enough flex a fair bit of emotion for a while b u tjt very quickly lolls back into its own comfy little bed of boredom.

Hard rock (no, no, no, not He^avy Metal!) was in vogue a couple of years and acutafly did do a couple of things in the way of offering audiences new perceptions, new ideas.

Streetlife’s self-titled effort does more than just wobble blubber too, it quakes. And make no mistake it quakes like rock always sa/c/ it did but more than likely didn’t. Streetlife grooves with a tenacity and rare to encounter and a pleasure to find.

Paul Kelly’s thin nasally, humourless voice leads the ivvariably similarly sounding High Rise Bombers through two abysmally con­ structed dirges before this record ends. The only glimmer of hope in the damp caverns of sound these songs implicate is either Sally Ford’s or Keith Shadwick’s saxophone hoofs.

The rest of the band just move incompetently up their individual blind alleys.

The Station

Whilst most of "Club” was recorded about 1978, "Live at The Station” lurches even further back into Australia’s somewhat dubi­ ous rock past.

Of Myriad’s (the first of the four bands fea­ tured on the album) three tracks only "Rock ‘n’ Roll Highway" manages to puli itself out of

the post-hippy mire that the other two songs flounder in. The song highlights with some neat little jazz sustains that collate a nice hybrid of sound, of which a fine example is Andrew Pendlebury’s guitar breaks that shimmer and shine with a sweetness alien to most bands of this era.

Next up. The Dingoes — a legend; and whether or not they were wholly deserving of the tag, they ably display the reasoning be­ hind the label with both songs they play here, one an original and one an “ original” transla­ tion of a standard. "Marijuana Hell” is the first and the original. In between some wildly (swinging between psychedelic-tipped and caustically hell bent guitar streaks) manic vocals come rushes of chorus and verse that make rock a word to be celebrated and not abused as it normally is. The irony lies not in the band but the audience. They were cap­ tured in all their filthy, blind, innocuos ele­ gance on this record and ably convice one of the reasons behind Punk’s original initial movements.

Following "Marijuana” is "When A Man Loves A Woman” led by the passioned, all too fleetingly felt, voice of Broderick Smith, whose singing shows where all those posey lead singeresque rock ‘n’ roll cliches sprang from. They all see a man impassioned by his (he)art such as Smith and try to vapidly per­ petuate the inroads, the truths he’s created by merely copying his words and sadly, though predictably, not relating to the actual feeling behind them. "When A Man Loves A Woman” has been truly placed in an immortal position.on hearing The Dingoes display this song. Everything you already knew, but never before felt, about rock and roll is here.

After being put through the welcoming ordeal of listening (therefore being inextricably tied to the apron strings of the performer’s heart) to this song one realises what baptism, what purging of the soul rock can sometimes in­ itiate.

Next is Saltbush, and to start with, they use American accents, American situations and American fatuousness (enough said?). To end with, the last time I heard material done like this it was done in an identical fashion by a commercial cabaret band dressed in matching blue suits at the Wagga Wagga RSL Club. Both of their songs(?) feature no­ thing in particular and execute these mar­ vellous stylings with an amazingly talented aptitude.

Wild Beaver Band finish the record off with a deft spewing out of three songs in a sort of heavy rock/country vein. If it sounds con­ fused, it may well be; I couldn’t tell you as I left the room as soon as I realised I was hitting my head against a wall and thinking about what slags women were and how much more superior men are to women. There was one lyric that stuck in my head though, “ I’m sittin’ on the corner on a Saturday night, got nothin’ to do but that’s alright.” Well, that may be alright for the just as long as they don’t swamp everyone else with their apathetic mumblings written, no doubt, with a ‘good fuck’ in mind after the ‘gig’.

The Tiredness — that both records emit overall is stag­ gering. What they say and how they say it makes one glad they weren’t involved in any sort of peer group that pressured you into having to actually go out and see most of these bands. Why these bands played, why these records were printed, and why I’m bothering to write this are all questions that delude me; but at the same time, I couldn’t care less about.

CRAIG N. PEARCE

ALBUMS GANG OF FOUR “ Solid Gold” (EMI) There’s Rock ’n’ Roll and rock ’n’ roll, and this li’l turkey’s a bit of both. “ Solid Gold” hasn’t much stretched the bound­ aries the Four set for themselves back in ’79, but that’s by no means a brown banana. If contemporaries like The Cure can be given the chance to seduce the wider-market sensibility, then such rela­ tive gut-dances as “ Cheeseburger” and “A Hole in the Wallet” should be reasonable carrot-on-a-stick fodder, all political pretensions and minimalist ar­ rangements aside.

This feels like a crystallization on a whole album scale, with respect to past patchy brilliance. “Anthrax” should be dug up without regret and given a good airing, to give the uninitiated a proper setting to judge “ Solid Gold” against or in spite of, if such an excuse is necessary, but “ Solid Gold” is the stability a low profile bunch like the Gang of

Four need.

It’s worth noting that the Four, along with the early Gure, the main force driving nep-Hendrix nails into J. Page’s coffin. Every song drips with harmonics, spattering the reverb wall in well controlled blocks and slashes — an achievement in aural interest.

Before it ever gets too much, the guitar simply drops out, letting the rhythm section flex a little under its own steam.

On the limitations side of the coin, tails usually comes up over heads, or, to put it ariother way, interest hooks are mostly on a fairly blatant level of good simple ‘political’ lyrics, thick mobile drumming, and making each bass/guitar statement stand confident and propulsive. It also entails a precarious balance between cohesive similarity and discreet diversity.

With this album’s consistency, individual track critique seems a little superfluous.

Suffice to say, each of the ten tracks are worth investigating; no duff spots or selfrighteous mouthings worth laying a finger on.

So you could label this review ‘positive but not inspired’, paralleling the product. All that’s left is your end of the spaghetti, so suck to it.

TYRONE FLEX

JOHNCALE — Honi Soit (A&M) This record has been sitting in my pile of current releases for quite some time.

In fact it must be over a month by now.

There was a time when I was playing it a couple of times a day, but lately it graces my budget Sansui turntable once or twice a week. I expect it will be that way for at least the next few months.

You see, John Gale albums are very spe­ cial to me and as such I’m very hesitant to make any hasty judgements. His work with the early Velvet Underground (Gale’s con­ tributions first two Velvets albums are mag­ nanimous) is well documented. At a time when it was very uncool to be overtly experi­ mental and adventurous in electric (NOT electronic) music that’s where Gale’s sym­ pathies lay. Then, when that form of music became very much the accepted thing. Gale explored the capabilities of melody (have a listen to the album “ Slow Dazzle”, a record that should form a part of even the most slender of collections). John Gale has never really sought to follow musical trends and consequently commercial success has al­ ways managed to elude him.

For those interested in a little history. Gale was born in Wales and lived there for his first twenty odd years, before moving to New York where he has lived ever since. Despite his long standing residence in America his strong Welsh accent has always been to the fore on his albums and Honi Soit is no excep­ tion. John Gale’s first solo album, “ Vintage Violence”, (GBS import that can usually be found on deletion in your favourite import shop) was released circa 1970 after he had done a rather lengthy stint as a producer, most notably with Nico {“ Chelsea Girls”, “Marble Index” and “ Desert Shore” ) and The Stooges (although some sources suggest that Gale was hired by Electra to oversee that Iggy and the boys didn’t destroy the studio!). Progressing rather quickly through (what may be loosely termed) seven or eight entertaining and thoroughly listenable albums you arrive at Gale’s first studio album of new material for quite some time.

Last year a live album “ Sabotage Live” was released on import featuring new material.

To some degree Honi Soit is an extension from that.

Musically Honi Soit is as melodic (probably more than) the live album, but its real links lie in the themes that Gale presents in the songs. A feeling of disgust (but always with a sense of self mockery, and at times a tinge of humour) at human conflict always pervades his songs. This element of pessimism that is at the heart of the John Gale vision in recent times was the basis of “ Sabotage - Live” and it is plundered here in the song “ Fighter Pilot”. While songs like “ Fighter Pilot” and “ Mercenaries” (from Sabotage - Live) are in no need of any explanation, his other songs pursue the same tragic vision in relation to personal trials and tribulations. One of the album’s most complete tracks, “Dead Or Alive”, is a perfect example of this. It recurs in “ Wilson Joliet” , where Gale’s magnificent voice sounds so completely engrossed in the song that the subtle use of chorus effect guitar (the trademark of the Gure’s Robert Smith) is almost overlooked.

One couldn’t claim this album to be Gale’s best by any stretch of the imagination. It doesn’t flow as well as previous albums, but maybe that’s where its appeal lies. The cover of the old country and western standard “ Streets of Laredo” is rather tastefully done and sees the welcome return of the viola to the Gale repertoire, here in unison with a crying guitar a la Tom Verlaine on Patti Smith’s “ Break it Up” (from her Gale pro­ duced masterpiece “ Horses” ). Other stand­ out tracks on “ Honi Soit” include the eerie “ Strange Times in Casablanca” and the lighthearted “ Magic and Lies”.

The album is impeccably produced by, (of all people), Englishman Mike Thorne. Thorne is most noted for his work with the Harvest label in England and more importantly with bands like Wire (whose three classic albums he worked on) and The Shirts. “ Honi Soit” also sees the reappearance of one Andy Warhol, who has been credited with the cover concept. Warhol was alleged to have been the creator of the legendary Velvet Un­ derground. Have I left anything out?

DAVID PESTORIUS

TAJ MAHAL The Best of (CBS) Taj is not very well known in Australia, but he has been around since early 1967 when he was in a band called the Rising Sons with a white boy called Ry Cooder.

The material on this album covers many styles, from basic country blues to Reggae, and the treatment of the mate­ rial is as varied as the styles.

Side one opens with “Leaving Trunk”, a song that shows where Gream and Led Zep­ pelin found inspiration for their early “ heavy” blues. It has an insistent beat, with wailing, harp, sparse, sharp guitar chording and rip­ pling bass. It’s an old Sleepy John Estes song. Next up is an easy, relaxed blues cal­ led “ She Caught the Katy and left me a Mule to Ride” followed by a great rendition of Henry Thomas’ evergreen country blues song, “ Fishing Blues” . This is a purely acoustic track, played simply the way it was meant to be, with the right amount of humour and lighthearted approach.“ Further on Down the Road” is much more sophisti­

cated, featuring classy backing vocals, sax and mandolin. This illustrates more of a “ soul” approach to the blues. The side winds up with a fast rocking rendition of Blind Willie Johnson’s “ You’re Gonna Need Somebody on Your Bond”, recorded live at the Fillmore East in 1971. The band on this track features well arranged brass and percussion. “ Cakewalk into Town” is played on guitar and bass tuba, and is an excellent, interest­ ing way to open side two. “ Chevrolet” is another great song, with impelling vocals over insistent blues guitar riffs. “Johnny Too Bad” gets right to you with its soulful reggae feels, and “ Take a Giant Step” features some very nice slide guitar work. Another live track, “Ain’t Gwine Whistle Dixie (Any Mo’) ” winds up the album. This track is a little long, but it has enough high points to sustain interest.

This is an excellent album, and should ap­ peal widely if people take the time to listen.

Taj Mahal has a good voice, and his blues is authentic. As an introduction to Taj Mahal, the set achieves its aim. It contains various styles, and succeeds in whetting the appetite for more.

STAN COULTER

fo r

Roadrunner 27

ALBUMS GRACE JONES Nightclubbing (ISLAND) A soft, sensuous cover, with a bible black portrait. Oh Grace, come down from your New York eyrie, be my pneumatic girl. I can’t play your damn record without the handcuffs on.

Nevertheless, one has to be sensible about these things. Somebody has been very adroit my dear, gathering songs from Vanda-Young, Pop and Bowie, Sting, and Marianne Faithfull.

A Vanda-Young song, ‘Walking in The Rain', opens with a jungle sleaze treatment.

This entails reggae turning beat, back swinging guitar, and Grace rapping out the lyrics. A little up tempo innuendo comes with, ‘Pull up to The ju m p e r’. Percussion is to the fore here as Sly Dunbar uses his drums and syndrums to great effect. Robbie Shakes­ peare’s busty bass is also prominent, while Grace delivers the immortal words, “ Pull up to the bumper baby, drive inbetweerv.” The Pop-Bowie composition. ‘Night-clubbing’, closes side one. It’s quite a purposeful rendition, the guitars of Reynolds and Chung are clear in their statement, to which the synthesizer and syndrum counterpoise by various touches. Grace’s vocals are steely, but the urgency which the song warrants is missing.

Side two opens with ‘Art Groupie’. I’m sure Grace is in a position to observe these creatures, however the chance to say

something melts into pleasantness. If you perform in front of something resembling Cafe Society, then it’s inevitable that you do a little song bird number. Here the song is called. Tve Seen that Face Before’ (Libertango). Tyrone Downie introduces the song with some interesting keyboard work, by the end of the song though this opening seems very incongruous. What we get is descrip­ tions of French boulevards, a bit of French patter in the middle, and an alluring accordian solo from Jack Emblow. Who needs it when you can still listen to Piaf?

Sting’s ‘Demolition Man’ becomes tant mieux in Grace’s hands. Everybody has a chance to rock out to this fast mover. The rhythm section offers propulsion as the keyboards and guitar cut across with varying sounds. Grace uncovers another male stereotype as she pouts the lyrics. A rather strange Marianne Faithful! song, Tve Done it Again’, closes the album. It’s a parody of those world weary songs, light and breezy, that any crooner would be at home with. The song is sang in sweet little girl tones as mention of The Mason-Dixon Line fades away. But dear me, does it give a laugh with theJines, “ First to take a trip on L.S.D., Firstto vote for Roosevelt back jn 33.”

To conclude, this was a very enjoyable album of black funk reggae plastic soul. The fine musicians gathered for this disc are not stifled in any way, for Grace handles the material with fine aplomb. The mix and production are very exact, everything comes through loud, clear, and to the point. Look, even Morgana Rothchild could shake her booty to this one.

BASEMENT 5 1965 — 1980 (Island) While not Reggae’s greatest fan, I do like and admire the form because of its uplifting positive drive, both in lyrics and music. Attempts to dilute the music

TOBY CLUECHAZ with western rock haven’t really been too successful and this album by Basement 5 is another example of that failure.

It straddles an uneasy position between heavy metal, 1976 style English punk and reggae: not a pretty sound by any means, and due to the predominance of the first two styles, more depressing than necessary. None of the styles

are tackled with much spirit or verve and what lyrics f can discern are pretty inane.

1965 -1980, the significance of whose title escapes me, was produced by top English soundman Martin Hannett who has been associated with more interesting music than this, as had Chris Blackwell, who gets a thanking on the back cover. Hopefully they will redeem themselves on future offerings.

RUTHVEN MARTINUS

PETER FRAMPTON “ Breaking All The Rules” (A&M) This album is being touted as the career rebirth of Peter Frampton, the man who enjoyed such success with his live album, “Frampton Comes Alive”.

His work since then has not been received with either critical or public acclaim, and those concerned with Fram pton-the-business-proposition must be beginning to feel they have a has-been on their hands.

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Frampton himself must be under great pressure, both from those around him and from within himself. Although it is unlikely that he feels bound to succeed for financial reasons, his sense of ego and self-esteem must be driving him to regain the exalted position he once held. Just how to plan the attack upon the market must have lead to some agonizing decisions for him. Should he continue in his soft-rock vein? Should he keep projecting the pretty boy image? Or should he try something else? And if so, what direction to take? Trying to write and be creative under such circumstances would appear to be almost impossible.

In an attempt to recapture the live feel that was so inherent in his previous success, Frampton has recorded this album on an old movie stage built by Charlie Chaplin in 1919.

Up to six microphones were used at one time to fully exploit the natural ambience of the room. The resultant sound is very full and thick. Two members of Toto, Jeff Porcaro and Steve Lukather, join Frampton, John Regan and Arthur Stead to form an outfit that is tough, competent and forceful.

And the music? I think it is the best set of songs I’ve seen Frampton present. Gone is the wimpiness of the live album arid the pretentious efforts of the last two studio works. This album is straight forward rock played with style and verve. The opening riff of “ Dig What I Say" hits the mark straight away. The guitar playing is imaginative, with Frampton conserving the sense of melody and guitar harmony he has always exhibited and marrying it to a new hardness and bite.

This album is more akin to Humble Pie than his more recent work.

“I Don’t Wanna Let You Go” uses a disco-rock beat complete with burping bass to underly a hard rock song. “ Rise Up” is a little disappointing because of a weak vocal line, but the music is alLthere. “ Wasting The-

Night Away” is good rock ’n’ roll that boasts a good chorus. “ Going to L A .” wraps up side one very nicely. Steely Dan influences are apparent in this moody, introspective work.

Some spiffy guitar sounds add interest, and Frampton’s vocals are above par.

Side two pounds away to a good start with ‘‘You Kill Me” , followed by a version of “ Friday on my M/nd”.-It’s impossible to go wrong with this song if you stick close to the original Easybeats arrangement. Although Bowie did it twice as well, Frampton does it well enough. The “ live” sound is particularly apparent on this track. “ Lost a Part of You” grows more and more with listening. This is the closest Frampton gets to softness on the album, with the accent on piano and acoustic guitar. “ Breaking All The Rules" takes the album out in a way that dispels any lingering doubts about Peter’s direction at the moment. This is a real rough, tough, no-more-fluff, scorching rocker, full of power chords and mean, nasty riffing. The drums here are excellent, with the bass drum really pulsing nicely. It is perhaps a little too extended, but it is good.

The company blurb that accompanies this album ends with this gem; “A tough, mature Peter Frampton has now made the album he was born to make. ” I don’t know about that, but it is certainly a step in the right direction.

He has certainly zoomed a few points upward in my direction. How this album goes down with the soft rock set who lionized him for “ Comes Alive” remains to be seen, but for my money Frampton is back with a vengeance.

I’ve always had respect for his guitar playing, but now I like what he plays, and there is a big difference. His soloing is extensive, but it has a lithe, rippling power that makes boredom impossible. His vocals are gruff, in keeping with the overall sound. I don’t know whether this album will stimulate a revival of interest in Peter Frampton, but I hope it does.

STAN COULTER

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JOE WALSH “ There Goes The Neighbourhood” (ASYLUM) This is a very pedestrian effort by Joe. None of it is really objectionable, but boredom always seems to be lurking around the next groove. From the opening slow, sparse, beaty drum intro of “ Things” to the slow, sparse, beaty outro of “ Rockets” it’s generally slow, sparse and beaty. Perhaps chunky would be a beatier (or better) word than beaty, but just listen to Joe Vitale and you’ll see what I mean. Sometimes I think Vitale should share the credit (9 r the blame) equally with Joe Walsh, his contribution to the “ Joe Walsh” sound is so great.

JUDAS PRIEST Point of Entry (CBS) It’s more than my life is worth to say anything bad about this album. The cheese-grater brigade would find out where I live and put me through a sieve.

So I won’t say it’s boring, dull, repetiti­ ous, and unadventurous. Neither will I say that it’s all been done before, be­ cause that would be obvious, wouldn’t it?

Judas Priest write material tailored specifi­ cally to appeal to the converted, of whom there are legions. Of that th§re can be no doubt. “ British Steel’’ sold in sufficiently amazing numbers to prove it. It’s becoming patently obvious that heavy metal will never fade away. It might not get the headlines, but the fact remains that AC/DC, Van Halen and Judas Priest are among the best selling bands in the world today.

As a musical adventure, this album fails dismally. However, when you are in an ag­ gressive frame of mind and want to do some really serious raging, there aren’t many bet­

ter bands to listen to. It’s very easy to can albums like this, but it would be dishonest for me to do so, because I’ll probably play the arseout of it during 3 a.m. post-gig rages.

There is a time for serious listening and a time for head banging. Turn, turn, tu rn . . .

Give me Cold Chisel any day, but I guess some variety is in order at times. Especially when you’re so drunk and stoned that the only thing you’re capable of is a sort of shuffling little d,ance accompanied by much shaking of the head and lots of mock guitar playing. C’mon, lads, think back to when you were seventeen, and try a little understand­ ing.

Anyway, the beat goes on, and on, and on . . . There are some good, tight little dual guitar'pieces here, and the rhythm section is as tight at the proverbial fish’s, and that’s watertight. Rob Halford’s vocals are tough, professional and adequate. Most of the songs are fairly throwaway, but it’s not really the songs that count. As long as the sound is there it could just as easily be “ Strangers in the Night.” Judas Priest have been doing their thing for so long that it’s all conditioned reflex by now. This is one for the fans.

STAN COULTER

POLVMORPHOUS P R O D U C T IO N S REPRESENTING - REDGUM THE RODGIES FOREIGN RODY THE JUMPERS AND NUVO RLOC POLVMORPHOUS PRODUCTIONS PO BOX 4fi NORTH RDCLRIDC S .fl. 5006 (0^ 267 5800

Anyway, while I prepare to write around the rosd I just spilt on the page. I’ll cast around for some positive comments. “ Rivers of the Hidden Funk” was co-written with Don Felder (of the Eagles, for those who have been dead for ten years) and has a good chorus. It sounds a bit like “ Cinnamon Girl” to me, but it is good and hooky. Once again, Joe pulls a song out of the shit with a passable chorus. That is the story for most of the album. “A Life Of Illusion” is a good song, and is somewhat more lively than the rest of the offering. Entertaining trum pet and guitarone arrangements really give it a lift. “ Made Your Mind Up” is pleasing, and bounces along quite well. Once again, the arrangement is simple and sparse, but it moves at a good medium pace. “ Down on the Farm” is a fairly silly little ditty about rock-starved animals who decide to have a bit of a barn storming time. “ Rockets”, “ Bones” and “ You Never Know” are fairly mediocre. Each has its moments, but not enough. The musicians on the album are the usual West Coast session kings, and, as ever, all performances are creditable.

There are no inspiring guitar solos here, but there are some interesting sounds such as the fuzz guitar on “ Bones”.

This won’t win Joe any new fans. After thre§ weeks of playing I have failed to find anything of musical or lyrical significance in it, so I daresay it is destined for life as an ashtray or a dust collector. I might play it once a year or so, especially late at night. If Joe could inject some life into his material and develop some new melody lines (or get someone else to sing) it would make for a vast improvement.

STAN COULTER

“ Fair Warning” (WARNER BROS.) Put this album on the turntable, set the volume to the limits of human endurance and step back for the intro to “Mean Street”. Ted Nugent claims his guitar playing can knock over a charging rhino at fifty paces. If that is true, then Eddie Van Halen’s playing must be able to strip the flesh off a cruising blue whale at fifty fathoms!

The man is good. He has a style that is all his own, and which defies description. The notes come tumbling out of the speakers in all sorts of crazy combinations and unheard of patterns, arranging themselves into a blistering, scorching aural assault. For the life of me, I don’t know why he doesn’t find a singer with some brains and the ability to write interesting lyrics. David Lee Roth can be something of an annoyance, and tends to get in the way of my enjoyment of Van Halen.

If you are looking for intelligent rock, don’t look here. If there’s anyone in the house with a bad heart or a case of nerves, lock this album safely out of reach. It’s hard, fast, arrogant macho rock all the way through. I imagine a Van Halen show could be a dangerous experience if the band’s fans come anywhere near identifying with the ethos expressed here. First rule; don’t dare play it when there is a feminist in the house.

She will quite rightly take an axe to the turntable if she manages to pick out some of the lyrics.

As for the music, what can I say? There’s nothing as instantly accessible as “ You Really Got Me” or “Jamies Crying” from the first album, but almost all of the songs have good, hooky chorus lines. The usual formula is for the band to sing the hook line while Roth wails and ad-libs over the top and in between. “ Dirty Movies”, “ Unchained”, “ So this is Love” and “ Mean Street” all follow this pattern. “ Sunday Afternoon in the Park” has an interesting extended intro which I pre­ sume is synthesized guitar. “ Hear About It Later” has an intro which could almost be described as tasteful, but the peace is soon shattered.

Van Halen are one heavy metal aggro rock band that do not bore me. None of the songs is too long, and the pace is always up. Good late night party music, this. It’s worth owning one Van Halen album for the joy of listening to Eddie Van Halen. He has a lot in common with our own Angus Young, but I think he is a lot more innovative and adventurous.

Just a word about the cover. It’s fascinating piece of work done in the style of those fifteenth century Dutch masters, and depicts various acts of violence, including people strapped to a conveyor belt going under heavy metal rollers, a prostrate man receiving a blow to an already bloody nose and a man charging headlong into a brick wall. Hours of enjoyment here.

Van Halen will never win any prizes for good taste. If you are into incessant up-beat rock and flash guitar, this is for you. If not stay clear. This sort of stuff can ruin lives corrupting the innocent and driving Festival of Light adherents to despair.

STAN COULTER

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Whether or not it’s as good as Closer is a pointless argument. Sometimes I like it better. Certainly if you’ve been listening heavily to Closer (and you’ve survived that) and haven’t latched onto this one yet, now’s your chance. If you already had an import copy and put it aside when Closer arrived, give it another listen. If you can stand it.

Dylan’s “I Believe In You” closes the album.

This is a powerful version, melodic and mov­ ing, dynamic and controlled. Once again, Cannata’s sax provides a lot of the highlights.

This is a great album. The production is clean and well defined, the playing is superb and the choice of songs is inspired. There are no passenger songs here; everyone de­ ADRIAN MILLER serves its place and contributes to the overall excellence of the effort. If this album doesn’t bring Phoebe Snow to the attention of a much wider audience than she has previously PHOEBE SNOW reached I’ll be very surprised. I repeat; “ Rock Away” sometimes an album jumps out and grabs Mirage you. This one grabs you, and its grip gets Every now and then an album jumps tighter and tighter. I can’t see many people out and grabs you. Sometimes it’s pro­ disliking it.

iii:

duced by an artist who is either unknown STAN “ CYCLOPS” COULTER to you, or by one of whom you have a limited knowledge. My knowledge of JOY DIVISION Phoebe Snow’s previous work is very SKAFISH Unknown Pleasures limited.

I was prepared to hear a pleas­ “ SKAFISH” (Gap/Factory) ant, laid back album with lots of slower (Illegal) Blech, blah and yik, what gross stuff is acoustic songs. What I heard surprised Hot on the heels of favouring the and delighted me. “ Rock Away” is a very this! Have we not suffered this half-arsed Australian listening public with the re­ powerful production, with tons of class Yankee foolishness long enough? Give lease here of Joy Division’s classic and lots of variety, it deserves to be a some ‘artists’ a little financial backing album Closer, Gap records have thank­ multi-million buck monster. from a gullible record company and they fully seen fit to also release the first Joy A glance at the credits will give you an idea take you the proverbial mile down a Division album, Unknown Pleasures. of the talent on this effort. Phoebe is backed useless garden path — my ears are While interest in this release may be on most tracks by the core of Billy Joel’s insulted. This turkey can’t muster one mainly historical, both from the aspect of band, with Doug Stegmeyer on bass. Liberty intelligent lyric sentiment and as for a stepping stone to Closer, and from the Devitto on drums and Richie Cannata on sax. rhyme, well, forget ft. And to think I was fact that singer Ian Curtis’s suicide has Cannata is also given production credits, fooled into thinking a guy this ugly must placed severe restrictions on the band’s along with Greg Lanadyi. Stegmeyer and be up to something interesting — there Devitto form a tight, inventive rhythm section, recorded output (for post-Curtis output and Cannata’s sax playing is always a joy to goes another nice misfit theory. see New Order), for people interested in hear. Most of the album was recorded in New For those masochists amongst us, the seeing what this man and this band had york, with the rest done in Los Angeles, ‘music’ runs the pseudo-R’n’R gamut that to offer this is an essential acquisition. vjhere it was mixed.

Tubes wallowed in but made a lot more

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For many, Curtis’s fixation with the bleak and the depressing will be too much to handle (“ In the shadowplay, acting out your own death” — Shadowplay). And although on this album the depression is much more personal (eg the unsuccessful campaigner for affection in ‘Candidate’) than, say, the more universal mjsery of ‘Atrocity Exhibition‘ on Cioser, the power of the lyrics injects far more than self-pity into the songs. Or perhaps it is only Curtis’s death which, after the event, adds an eeriness to lines like “ It’s creeping up slowly, that last fateful hour” .

(Candidate).

Unknown Pieasures, is perhaps not as polished as Closer, if that word may be used, but I find something in the starkness of this album which is even more chilling. The band sound is distinctly metallic, in a grey, industrial sense, with a lot more reliance on studio sound effect to add colour (The ’’shattering” sound in the epic / Remember Nothing still makes me jump with fright). This, combined with the fact that it contains a larger proportion of what could loosely be described as up tempo numbers (“Disorder”, “Insight”, “Interzone”, “ Shadowplay” and the bordering on commercial — “She’s Lost Control” ) has led to the peculiar step of some reviewers labelling this album as Heavy Metal. Certainly the guitar riff in ‘New Dawn Fades’ and also ‘Interzone’ might suggest the possibility of being done in this style, but while it is definitely heavy, and as I have said, metallic in sound, heavy metal is something entirely different.

Side One opens with “ Cheap Thrills”, an up-tempo west coast style song that shows Linda Ronstadt how it should be done.

There’s some attacking slide guitar from David Brown and some excellent “ honky” style piano from Craig Doerge. “ Baby Please” features some lovely sax from Can­ nata, a swinging beat, nice harmony and an excellent melody line. Next up is a great ver­ sion of Rodney’s “ Gasoline Alley,” “ Rock Away" brings us the first laid-back song, with, surprise, surprise, the first acoustic guitar making its appearance. It’s an appealing song, with a gentle, rolling beat, some strong bass and an excellent solo acoustic guitar sound, very much in the Carly Simon vein.

Another good rocker bri ngs up the end of side one. “ Mercy Mercy M ercy” pinches the guitar intro from Creedence’s “ Up Around The Bend” but all is forgiven as the song plunges into its very powerful bridge and in­ fectious chorus. Phoebe lets go the reins here, and her voice really soars. “ Games” the opening track on side two, brings in Russ Kunkel on drums, Danny Korchmar on guitar and Bill Payne on syn­ thesiser. “ Down in The Basement” is a gutsy, bluesy song that features some sustained, fuzzy, chording from the guitar and some clean, strong piano. “ Shoo Rah Shoo Rah” brings back the Billy Joel band for a pleasant bouncy song that moves along well. “Some­ thing Good” is more laid back, and gets my money for best track. The chorus is fantastic.

Listen to this track, it’s a gem. No doubt it will get picked up by both AM and FM radio.

sense of.. The frothy “touch her little pizza face” grossness of “Joan Fan Club” sits consistently with “ We’ll See a Psychiatrist” — the old ‘mommy-and-daddy-drove-mecrazy’ schtick. Everything’s too long, too limp and unbelievably crass, peaking (or abyssing) in the most draining heavy metal dirge I’ve ever encountered, suitably titled “ No Liberation Here” .

I wouldn’t want to stop this sweet Chicago kid from releasing such a cow-pat, but if you see a large shnoz and pale poxy back oozing at you from the record rack, treat it like a cane toad and maybe it’ll hop away.

TYRONE FLEX

POLYROCK — Polyrock (RCA) This, as far as I can tell, is the first album from this American ‘electronic’ band, and unlike most of their European and A ustralian contem poraries, Polyrock display a lack of adventure and experimentation on many levels.

Polyrock’s players are all quite adept but seem too intent on speed as opposed to emotion and consequently don’t supply the material with enough life to disguise the lack of ideas. The smooth production also de­ tracts from any raw energy that might have been present and the overall impression is one of soundtrack music being played too

fast.

The songs themselves contain workable melodies but the simplistic arrangements deny any development of the initial ideas be­ yond m inor variations or e le ctron ic/ percussive effects that occasionally flit through the mix. Singer Billy Robertson — he and brother Tommy supply all the material — reminds me of a lower register Russell Mael of Sparks. His twisted, clipped style robs the mainly indecipherable lyrics of any feeling, unfortunately only adding to the general lack of warmth exhibited.

If you’re interested in future developments on the electronic ‘avant garde’ side of rock.

I’d advise you to look beyond Polyrock for further enlightenment.

RUTHVEN MARTINUS.

DANNY GRAHAM “ Danny Graham” (Sinsemilla thru EMI) Categorically speaking, this album is a load of pathetic crappo-shmaltz — a waste of somebody’s financial support and a waste of reviewing space. It would be an insult to dear or Donovan or any other soft-core hippy person to make any comparisons, however technically appropriate. I was thinking of quoting a few lines but my taste buds revulsed at the thought and threatened to pull my fingers out on strike. I hope Danny finds somewhere suitable to dispose of all this wasted cardboard and vinyl, like sending it off to be recycled as smooth black Sorbent.

TYRONE FLEX

ROGER TAYLOR

“ Fun In Space” (WEA)

Remember a tedious but sometimes ‘cute’ bunch by name of Queen? Yes, no, or maybe, “ We will rock you” a n d . . . well maybe not. Anyway, fresh-faced young Roger (ain’t he spunky?!%$) is the short blonde from behind the drumkit, and “ Fun in Space” is probably the solo bit he’s wanted to do ever since he noticed that he too had fingers with which to intimidate a keyboard and flail/squeeze a guitar.

So we have an album of thickly produced mediocre instrumental dexterity well suited to the inane attempts at meaningful lyrics — ‘Hey little mama/ give me the keys tonight/ (ooh watcha gonna do)’ (“Let’s get crazy”), or ‘The air is too still/ Funny business alright/ Honey, can you feel it.’ (“ Magic is loose’).

The only set of syllables that avoids such silliness go under the title, “ My Country 1&2” ; an anti-patriotic lash-out against ‘(working for some other m an). . . one party and another’s all the s a m e ... Don’t wanna die for some old man’s crusade’.

In all honesty, the best thing about “ Fun in Space” \s the cover. A cute d’cute snap-shot of a veinous li’l gremlin from beyond the Milky Way feasting its bug-red eyes on a sci-fi comic with Taylor’s face on the front cover.

Well, it sure beats the hell out of being serious.

TYRONE FLEX

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JACK GREEN

“ Mistaken Identity” (EMI)

Humanesque (RCA) Early frontrunner for this year’s co­ veted award for the worst album cover — to be held at arm’s length with peg firmly on nose — cartoon sketch of the artist which harks back to the days of the Archies or the Partridge Family.

(Moreover Green claims credit for the cover design so he must be the creator and not the victim of some ghastly joke.)

Consequently expectations are that the contents will be light and disposable.

The single, ‘This Is Japan’, though an excellent song, does nothing to dull these fears. In fact on first listening it seemed that what we have here is the traditional one-hitwonder. However, with further listening the stronger tracks begin to emerge. So Much, the Latin flavoured Valentina and Life on the Line are all a little reminiscent of Tom Petty, and Babe with its Costello-ish chorus, stand up well to repeatedjistenings. Green’s guitar style (for although no musicians are directly credited, the fact that Green stands erect bearing guitar on the cover suggests that he may play it) is of the keep-it-subtle-andinteresting variety. Rather strangely then, the other half of the tracks veer more to the Loverboy, heavy metal end of the scale — and further perusal of the credit notes, such as they are, reveals one Ritchie Blackmore.

Now maybe I’m doing Green an injustice but I’d be inclined to suggest that he would have done better to have limited himself a little more and given the album a little more unity.

In true guitarist-writer tradition the lyrics are rather trite and hackneyed but that is often forgiven in greater artists than Green.

These few criticisms aside, the better songs on ‘Humanesque’ deserve an airing, and I still think the cover deserves one too.

ADRIAN MILLER

Side One, track one; “ Bette Davis Eyes.” Any comment I might make on that song would be superfluous, so I’ll resist the temptation and confine myself to saying that I’ve heard it so much that I feel neutral about it now. I settled down to listen to the rest of the album, with severe misgivings, hoping to hell that I wouldn’t have to sit through forty odd minutes of Rod Stewart’s little sister singing plastic songs. Happily, I didn’t.

The Stewart similarities are there in a couple of tracks, but overall, Kim Carnes has succeeded very well in establishing her own unique identity, with the help of some strong songs and an able bunch of musicians. That marvel of modern musical technology, the Prophet, plays quite a large part in the sound on this album, it’s almost always there, up front or weaving around in the background, thickening up the sound.

“Hit and Run’’, the second track, was co­ written by the authors of “ Bette Davis Eyes’’, Donna Weiss and Jackie De Shannon. It’s a good song with a good beat and de ­ monstrates that Ms. Carnes is quite versatile. “ Mistaken Identity", penned by Kim is a re­ laxed, tasteful song in a minor key that be­ nefits from a sparse arrangement spiced by good percussion. Very smooth. “ When Tm Away From You?" is next up.

Interesting, this one. Definitely has overtones of the old tousel-topped bum shaker. That’s because it’s Kim Carnes singing a song writ­ ten by another sing alike, Frankie Miller.

Perhaps Frankie, Kim, Rodders and Bonnie Tyler should record an album together, and we could all spend lots of pleasant hours working out who sings what. On a more seri­ ous note, Frankie is a great talent in his own right, and Kim does this good song justice.

Side One closes with “ Draw of the Cards”, an interesting song with a hypnotic beat and a catchy hook line. The impression left by

side one is positive. Arrangements and album that will cause barely a ripple on playing are good, there are some good mo­ the Richter scale of human excitement. ments provided by the guitar player and The main content of the album consists of some smooth sax sounds. The album was those so familiar Justin Hayward ballads, the recorded live in the studio, and the absence best of which would probably have to be The of overdubs gives it a nice spontaneous Voice. When they do try to rock it, as in sound. This is confirmed by the first track on Gemini Dream, for example, it comes off side two. “ Break The Rules Tonite” (sic) is a sounding like washed-out ELO, which eight straight-forward rock ‘n’ roll song that has a out of ten experts agree is not a flattering standard melody line and quite a few cliches, target to aim for. The lyrical content is but these are not overdone and it rollicks disgustingly trite for a band that pretends to along well. direct its material at a slightly more cerebral “ Still Hold On” starts with the Prophet set­ audience. We even get the grandiose nar­ ting the mood. Tinkling acoustics introduce a rated poem that went out with Pfocol Harum. touch of country which is reinforced by the (This comment is in no way aimed at the use vocals. This is a strong song, with lots of of poetry in rock, just the clumsy way in which appeal and a nice sax solo. “Don’t Call it some artists try to handle it.) This is Love" has a catchy chorus, while “Miss You especially disappointing when the cover art is tonight” depends largely on the Prophet and very tasteful and suggests that there may other keyboards for its effect. It’s a slower have been some interesting lyrical concept song, with a good arrangement which saves behind the songs included. Guess it only it from being a mite boring. “ My Old Pals" is goes to further strengthen the old maxim — an endearing ballad reminiscent of early ‘Don’t Get Sucked In By The Cover.’

Elton John which could have been ruined by The music does manage a few menacing a big production. The temptation is resisted. moments in Graeme Edge’s “22,000 Days", Very commendable. but this is all but lost on its silly chorus. John This album will set Kim Carnes up for a Lodge’s “Nervous" epitomizes all that is rewarding career. With the popularity of wrong with Moody Blues music — the song “ Bette Davis Eyes” creating interest, the begins well — pretty melody, simple effective album is strong enough to sustain the lyrics and sensitive delivery with just guitar momentum. It’s a very good effort, and leads and flute backing. The second verse intro­ me to suspect that Kim should be around for duces piano and strings, still very tasteful, but quite a while. the slush has begun to set in. Next we are STAN “ CYCLOPS” COULTER bludgeoned with heavily produced drums and vocals, consisting of at least a million vocal tracks which builds up via repetition to a MOODY BLUES lavishly overdone climax, losing all trace of what the song is trying to say originally. This Long Distant Voyager story is repeated again and again throughout (EMI) the album. Promising beginnings that lead nowhere.

Whatever possessed the Moody This is precisely the style of music that Blues to think that they had enough new minimalistic bands of the late seventies were and/or good ideas collectively to put out reacting against. Warning: After listening to another album at this stage is a bit the Moody Blues ‘Long Distance Voyager’ beyond me, but with Long Distance you may find it necessary to brush the cobwebs from your ears.

Voyager the veteran cosmic rockers (their term, not mine) have produced an

ADRIAN MILLER

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