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Rip It Up, Issue 101, 1 December 1985, Page 34

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Rip It Up 100th Issue Party Six Month Club, Nov 28 There's a tradition in journalism that a publication never writes about itself. NME doesn't review its own tape releases, so why this little piece? Rolling Stone created a precedent when it reviewed its 10th anniversary television special. But they rubbished it which puts us in an awkward position, because the RIU concert was excellent. And that provides the only acceptable reason for a review: to put on record the first-rate efforts of the musicians involved. Jordan Luck had the unenviable task of being first up, although Mac’s Gold Ale had probably taken the edge off the crowd's critical faculties. Luck courageously performed accompanied only by a single guitar, played by Paul Scott of Pop Mechanix. Their first number was almost acappella, with wonderful harmonies to a simple melody. They took the same res-

trained approach to Kiss’s 'I Was Made For Loving You’, highlighting the beauty behind the bombast. The party began when Dave Dobbyn and friends took the stage. Peter Warren and Dobbyn had flown over especially for the concert, and they were its driving force. "Please allow me to introduce myself ...” sang Peter Urlich, the club's proprietor. With lan Morris on rhythm, th’ Dudes' front line was complete, and the only person needing an introduction was Richard Kennedy. Kennedy, ex-Red Mole guitarist now based in New York with expatriate band the Drongos, was the rediscovery of the evening. He fitted in so well that Dobbyn and co kept calling him back for another number. He turned quite a few heads with his playing on 'Sympathy for the Devil’ and the rock 'n' roll stomper 'Mercury' After Urlich had sung 'Walking In Light’, Dobbyn ambled into his trump card a country version of ‘Be Mine Tonight’. More guests hopped up after a batch of newish Dobbyn songs like The Pleaser', played by the core trio, with Mike Chunn on bass. Out

of the audience, Diana Ross-style, came Ray Columbus. So did much of the dancefloor, who invaded the stage for a spirited ‘She's A Mod'. Ray handled his new Invaders with aplomb as he did the "mod's nod” Then it was the turn of Dalvanius and the Patea Maori Club, who performed their new single 'E Papa' while twirling pois and sticks. With help from Annie Crummer and Debbie Harwood on backing vocals, Dalvanius souled the show with the Staples' 'Respect Yourself. Country is going to be big in 1986, and hopefully that will mean that Al Hunter's day has finally come. He is a complete professional, which means he can leap in and entertain any audience with songs such as 'Neon Cowboy’ the ballad of the Keans’ sign in Queen St. RIU founding editor Alistair Dougal played bass and Dobbyn was still there on lead. The two of them showed new depths of improvisatory skills with the next guest, Andrew Fagan. The Mocker was another who surprised the audience with a stunning performance of 'Hey Joe’. It

was high camp Hendrix, with all of Kevin Kau-Kau's moves recreated, and provided the show with an hiliarious teeth-picking climax. What the evening showed above all was the versatility of our most experienced musicians. But professionalism isn’t restricted to old hands, as Soul On Ice proved when they took the stage after the others had already ripped it up, to close the show with a funky set. Chris Bourke

Tina Turner Mt Smart Stadium, Dec 7 Hmmm ... With the stage in darkness, the giant videoscreen suspended above is showing a movie teaser of Tina putting on

her stage clothes rapid succession of close-ups and did we see a ...? Ms Turner has never been known for subtlety. Suddenly the stage erupts in sound and light and there she is with a six piece band blasting out 'Show Some Respect'. (She's not known for irony either.) But what's this? Over on stage right is a long-haired muscleman who seems to have strayed in from Conan the Barbarian. Every now and again he stabs a keyboard but mostly he's mincing, posturing and grimacing for crowd/video camera. He also takes an occasional tenor sax solo, making sure every note is accented with a thrust of his codpiece-clad pelvis. Is this rock 'n' roll? Well it’s very silly and it’s certainly distracting some people from the music, but maybe that's the point.

Turner's voice is merged well into the mix, but this can't hide how dry and cracked it sounds.

Often the notes are only just hit, let alone held. (One begins to wonder how much enhancement went onto those studio vocals.) A slow number like 'Private Dancer' really exposes the shortcomings of her singing. (Oh but she still moves so well and there's those legs and she changes costume a couple of times, so ...) As for the band, their approach is basically full frontal stadium range blast and to hell with subtlety (of course). The rhythm section flattens everything before it. There is no soul surviving in 'I Might Have Been Queen! 'You Better Be Good To Me' is belted harder, faster, crasser. 'River Deep, Mountain High' gains an HM edge. The Mad Max theme becomes dull and plodding. 'Nutbush City Limits' is barked almost unintelligibly. What’s Love Got To Do With It' has lost its lilt and gets used to cajole the audience into yelling responses. And so it goes.

Yet as the set draws to its climax so do the performances. The band exercises some restraint and variety on 'Let’s Stay Together’ and 'Help’ and Turner is tearing out each line as if it may be her last. Her passion is enhanced by the tight instrumental control. Then we're away into a rousing 'Proud Mary' to close the set. Despite the enormous success of the Private Dancer- spawned singles it’s this 1971 cover version that gets the crowd most excited. The encores slip back into boogie and bluster but Tina’s changed again, this time to fishnet stockings and slit leather miniskirt and everyone seems very happy with it all. Hmmm. Peter Thomson The End of the Six Month Club Saturday, Nov 30. What happened. What hit me? The In Crowd were out in force for this event, billed as the biggest thing to hit Auckland since the previous Thursday’s Rip It Up party. As well as the tour de force we had expected, we got a tour that sociologists will talk about for years to come. The freaks, crawling from their lairs with invites held aloft, stood outside the Six Month Club and bellowed their god-given right of entry. When not pushing they vied with their neighbour and compared haircuts, make-up and body odours. Once inside, we nodded to best friends and gave passionate wet kisses to anyone we barely knew.

Then it struck. In a moment where attentions were mostly focused on the bar or the hairdressing apprentice throwing up in the corner, the curtains spreadeagled and a glowing face came centrestage to announce the band. A

beat banged, a chord was sounded and the night began. For those who can remember through an alcohol-coloured haze, images of leather-jacketed rockers and white heated rollers abound. The Mysterons, as the group is known, kicked off with a modernist nightmare version of an old Velvets song and then paraded through a medley of the Peter Gunn/Avengers/James Bond themes.

A veritable stream of stuff that your little brother wouldn’t touch followed; 'Waterloo', 'Devilgate Drive’ and a very twee ‘The Prettiest Star' by Mr Tony Drumm. Other stars appeared soon, teen idols Peter Urlich and Graham Brazier covering Bowie and the radiant Kim Willoughby and the Steaming Leatherettes belting out ‘Be My Baby’ Spectorstyle. It was a night to remember and a night the freaks may never comprehend. But for the fogeys, the fading stars and those whose 15 minutes never came, it was a night of unadulterated beauty. Peter Grace