Summer on the run

Rip It Up, Issue 210, 1 February 1995, Page 42

Summer on the run

Summer is the time to have hot fun. Sly Stone said so. It’s also the best time to have a lover, but if you don’t, well, there’s always the saving grace of rock ’n’ roll. Loads of bands were on the touring tip during the holidays of January ‘95, and rather than fester in Auckland, I chose to put the thumb out and hitch a few rides.

At midday on new year’s eve, there’s thumping on my door. First of all, Dead Flower’s drummer Rob Dollars laughs at my pyjamas, then says: “You coming? You’ve got two minutes.” Grabbing a toothbrush, a dozen pain killers and a pair of gruts, I stumble downstairs into the van. In the right corner is bassist/driver Dave James, and in the back line is Steve from Piranha Lighting and tour manager Michael Jamieson. Whizzing south, in no time at all we’re entering the rush-hour style traffic that has built up around the beach front at Mount Maunganui. Collectively we’re open-mouthed. The beach is crawling with unbelievably pretty girls. "More babes than an episode of Baywatch,” observes an increasingly dizzy Michael. Right at the far end, almost at the base of the mountain, Dave Dobbyn and band have set up. The stage looks out over the beach and the view is a dream — the sky and the ocean are matching shades of deep blue, and it looks like you could swim straight up and away from everybody. Dobbyn’s playing tunes from the wonderful Twist album and they sound sublime. ‘What Do You Really Want’, ‘PC’ (“Don’t talk PC, it’s a disease,” says Dobbyn) and ‘Language’ really rock, but my favourite is still ‘lt Dawned On Me’. As soon as he’s finished Dobbyn boards a flight to Christchurch, where he’ll end up playing to over 2,000 people at the Dux De Lux. Down the road at the Soundshell, the crew are setting up for tonight’s concert by the Exponents, the Dead Flowers and a Palmerston North fourpiece called Polly. The Soundshell looks like a suburban swimming complex without the pool. What appears to be changing rooms is actually the backstage area, and the gigantic brick placed

in the middle is the stage. By 9pm Polly are occupying it. So, they’re playing. Well, it’s sensitive, it’s angst ridden, and it’s sure as hell not rock ’n’ roll! Get these pop pretenders out of my sight! Tonight was the first Dead Flowers’ show in over two months and they were lost at times, yet two new tracks, ‘Serious’ and ‘Problems’, were cool surprises. But to this day I still can’t figure

out why Riqi was wearing ski goggles. While the Exponents are setting up, Dave and I go exploring. There’s a huge police presence on the beach, and that equates to a very subdued atmosphere. Anyone caught drinking plonk on the beach is bailed up and arrested. We settled for that new frozen coke drink, only to discover that it tastes shitty. Virtually from the i word go the Exponents i are invaded. A posse of / blondes bounce up on / stage and shake their I fine booties right till / the very last song. / Yeehah! And although / Michael does his very I

best to keep anyone with a dick from interfering, one bloke does manage to scramble up, wave his at the fans,

and leap off. By now, hundreds have used the security of darkness to leap over the fence and the place is pumping. The opening chords to ‘Who Loves Who The Most’ have the moshpit going crazy and a fine new year’s is had by all. Afterwards, we have to snake the van through a wave of people walking in the other direction, but manage to leave the Mount before the trouble starts. Michael and I stay with the Exponents

at a poncy place in Tauranga called Willow Park, eating overpriced toasted sandwiches and watching Demi Moore movies till dawn. Sunday is Rotovegas day and I don’t mind the smell of this place. Ace Of Clubs is the venue, and Christ, is it ever butt ugly. I’ll bet it hasn’t had a lick of paint since it opened. Inside it’s like a Cobb & Co for junkies.

While the crew put up the pieces, Riqi, Michael and I visit the local rock

station. There, Riqi is interviewed by a gothy lookin’ fella who doesn’t have a single decent question. I could help the fella out (maybe I could ask how Riqi’s name’s spelt on his passport), but no, I let him flounder. A free afternoon gives us room to roam. Dave and I eat at Stages Cafe in Fenton Street. Don't ever go there. It’s the kind of place where you pay five bucks for a piece of toast, or 10 if | you want it buttered. After lazing at the hotel watching Throw Momma From The Train, we stroll to a very empty venue. Local band Crawlspace

are already at it, so let’s have a listen. They play hard and they play fast, yet recognise the impact of a good melody. They make me wonder what Thin Lizzy would sound like now. The Dead Flowers put on a fine show this evening. All the elements fell perfectly into place, even though Bryan Bell dances like he’s new to it.

Back at Tom’s Motel, beds are few, so I’m

tossed in the rear of the van. They try to tell me it builds character. The owners told me earlier that Supergroove have been banned from the place for being “absolutely disgusting rock ’n’ roll animals”.

Yay! It’s Monday and we’re off to the beach. The Waihi one. Only once we arrive, time that should be spent on the sand is frittered away in the garden bar. The local inbreds, gathered around their jugs of Waikato, use the other 80 percent of their brains to play games with the band’s name.

“Um... Dead Flounder.” “Good one Stan. My turn [long pause], um... Smelly Fish.” They clutch their fat beer bellies and collapse laughing etc. Nothing a good belt with a fly swat wouldn’t fix.

If you ever choose to stay at the Waihi Beach Hotel, bring your own food. Dinner was very average and I’ve a sneaking suspicion the chef is a vegetarian sympathiser.

It’s now kick-off time. Auckland band Dali have hitched down and get first crack tonight. This trio aren’t even worthy of a cheap one-liner. It’s gui-tar-noise-for-noise-sake merchants like Dali that give punk a bad name. Those days when any retard could get up, belt out two chords and squeal are well gone. Lots of air guitar and air punching accompanies the Dead Flowers performance this evening. The fans are getting down and loud and, to much applause, Rob does his infamous “spazzy” drumming during ‘Plastic’. The next morning, minor hijinks causes structural damage to the wall in our room. And since I’m (allegedly) to blame, the band return to the Mount for a show at Framptons, while I hotfoot it back to Auckland till the coast is clear.

The following day we rendezvous at the Memorial Hall in Whangamata. After only four days on the road, a pattern has already taken shape — food then music. Who can argue? The feast tonight is at the local pub. We number 15

at the table and, as Bob once said: “A hungry mob is an angry mob." Thinking ahead, Dead Flowers’ new manager, Manolo Echave of Frontier Touring, has laid on an eye-bulging banquet. The ham steaks are as a thick as a plank. It almost brings tears to my eyes. The return to the hall is premature and there’s a great deal of waiting to be done. But first, it appears there’s an introduction to be made. “Hey, are yous the Dead Flowers... yeah... we 11... we’re pissed cunts. Can you gimmee a light... choice... cunt. Are yous guys from Auckland... yeah... we thought yous was c 001... cunts.” It can only get better... but it doesn’t for awhile. Stoned Cold Crazy are on their home turf. They look 16 and nervous. Passable covers of Nirvana, Four Non Blondes and Smashing Pumpkins follow. Then so do Dali. Just when I’m getting annoyed to the point of trauma, the Dead Flowers arrive, and there’s every reason to smile. Tonight they are pure punk. The all ages crowd know it too. They pogo like wild things to the fast songs and make no exception for the slow. The version of ‘What Do You Take Me For’ that’s spat out this evening is the best yet. They wrap it up at midnight and sleep comes quickly on the way home.

The sunset is bright orange the next day, as we pull up outside the Orewa Town Hall. On the poster is Dead Flowers, Ulcer and Xenith. Outside there’s several groups of kids enjoying a drink and a smoke and ignoring the first band — the wise option, as Xenith are inside bashing out covers of the Breeders, Smashing Pumpkins and Nirvana, without a single nod to substance or tune.

The imminent appearance of three-piece band Ulcer draws the crowd inside. They own a fine set of edgy, semi-hardcore songs, and frontman Evan Short possesses a strong voice. Just this time, there’s a great deal more of the Pearl Jam influence present, and that’s something they could definitely afford to lose. Dead Flowers played it low key this evening, not able to match the energy of the previous night. They all looked in dire need of a deep sleep.

It’s Friday. That must mean we’re back at Mount Maunganui. This is the first date of Supergroove’s New Zealand and Australian Tour. For the North Island leg of the trip they’re accompanied by Dead Flowers, Thorazine Shuffle, Mighty Asterix and DJ Stinky Jim.

We arrive almost three hours before the doors are due to open at the Sports Stadium, and already the queues are lengthy. Inside, a massive stage has been built at the ‘visitors’ end of the basketball court, and an enormous Supergroove banner hangs from the wall behind. The remainder of the room will be given over to an expected crowd of 900 superfreaks. No point in hanging round, so burgers at the beach it is. Essential as it was, this pit stop means we miss Mighty Asterix, Che from Supergroove and Bran Muffin from Wellington band Gifted and Brown, who are just leaving the stage as we step in the back door.

Auckland guitar-pop group Thorazine Shuffle use up a couple of songs while finding each other, but they gel soon after. ‘Blame’ goes on to kick big butt and lead singer Josh Hetherington adds icing to the cake by jumping in to visit the front row, wagging his guitar behind him. Dead Flowers are hampered by a bad sound mix, both on stage and out front, but as seasoned pro’s do, they delivered. Meanwhile Supergroove, dressed in their trademark black outfits, are backstage, limbering up, drinking wine and telling dirty jokes. There’s no pre-gig band huddle, the smokers just take extra-long drags. The lights go down and then burst back on with the first riff of ‘You Freak Me’. It has an explosive effect, virtually smacking the crowd into a frenzy. The energy level doesn’t dip below 100 percent for the entire set, and almost doubles when the big hits — ‘Scorpio Girls’, ‘Can’t Get Enough’, ‘You Gotta Know’ — are played. After one encore, the frantic ‘Five Word Headline’, it’s over and we’re straight back on the road, again.

Saturday, January 7, is Greg Johnson’s birthday. This day could be fun, but I’ll have to keep my wits in close proximity. You see, Greg and his Set enjoy the drink. It sits on their shoulder like a vulture, but.calls itself a friend. I arrive at his Ponsonby flat at one o’clock, to be met by the rest of the band and a bottle of red wine with my named, carved on it. Alarm bells start ringing, but it would be rude to refuse. As the clock chimes two, we depart — the band, the crew and singer Greg Fleming in the ‘Rent-A-

Dent’ rental van, and Greg, band manager Davind Voot and myself in a sporty hatchback. The destination is once again, the Waihi Beach Hotel.

‘Greg Johnson Set Top Act’, it says on the sign outside, we must be here. By five we’re killing time in the garden bar, washing down jugs of Lion Red with jugs of Lion Brown. While tanked up and full of bravado, playing a sport seems a good idea. Soccer’ll do, any excuse for an after match function. Boredom sneaks its way in two minutes later, so we retreat to a table clutching jugs of beer and tankards of vodka and tonic. The band are due on in an hour, so I’ve time for a brief lie down. Under the table looks like a comfortable spot.

Up an’ at ’em. Greg Fleming is taking aim under the lights. After half a dozen solo tunes, including a delicate Replacements number, he’s joined by Johnny, Chris and John from the GJS, for the glorious ‘Codeine Road’. The Greg Johnson Set come into my line of vision around 10.30 pm, but how can they be in two places at once? Anyway, they impress immensely with a new one called ‘You Stay Out Of Your Life And I’ll Stay Out Of Mine’, the new single ‘C’Mon’, and my old favourite ‘Two Feet Off The Ground.’

Later, the bar gets closed early for some, and just briefly the lights are knocked out, but it’ll be okay in the morning. Not true. The reality is, it’s a rough ride back to Auckland on Sunday, and I get to see my breakfast for the second time. Apparently there are photographs. Thankfully, there’s time for a shower and a change of clothes before the three and a half hour drive to Tutukaka, for the second of the Supergroove shows.

Up in Tutukaka, they do things differently. The first sight I see when walking into the pub is a big bloke with a jug of beer in his right hand, and his very active left hand up the front of his girl’s skirt. In turn, she’s holding a jug of beer in each hand and is sporting a completely blank look on her face. I’m almost convinced this kind of behaviour isn’t acceptable at Squid. The enclosed outside courtyard of the pub houses the stage, which makes for a very intimate setting. There’s more of a barbecue atmosphere than a pub feel. Out the back, members of Supergroove, Dead Flowers and Thorazine Shuffle are playing hackey while Mighty Asterix is on stage. He toasts over beats provided by Stinky Jim’s records, then drops a couple of tunes from his forthcoming album. Thorazine rock even harder than on Friday, due in part to a big dumping of guitars in the mix, and this time they include the brilliant pop gem ‘Queer’.

The Dead Flowers have their set cut short due to time restrictions, meaning they don’t play the hits — a big disappointment to me and, ultimately, the folks who paid to hear them. Again, Supergroove blast from the darkness with ‘You Freak Me’, and the effect mirrors that of Friday’s show. The audience erupts and the band do their best to out jump them. Jo and Karl dance like they have mighty big ants in their pants and the stage could be a trampoline for all the bouncing that Nic and Tim do. The hits do the most damage, but tunes from Tractor aren’t far behind. Another insane show.

One of the Flowers has an early start in the morning, so we point the car towards Auckland and press go.

The diary shines blank for the next four days until Mountain Rock. Although it’s been great to get away from the city, I look forward to spending a hassle-free week at home. But that pleasant notion was shot to hell because Greg Johnson has been right all along — people can talk (and show snapshots) in this town.