LIVE

Rip It Up, Issue 224, 1 April 1996, Page 38

LIVE

NUNFEST: MARTIN PHILLIPPS & THE CHILLS, THE CLEAN, 3DS, KING LOSER Otago University, Dunedin, March 22.

Tea, then to the University Union Hall for Nunfest 96, the fifteenth anniversary of Flying Nun. It was to be a night with the odd flicker of nostalgia, reminders of some of the milestones of a label that’s so much part of New Zealand music that it’s hard to imagine the business without it. .

King Loser’s wilful brand of subversive mayhem kicked off the night. The musical and personal traits of Chris Heazlewood and Celia give the band an edge of unpredictability, and although Loser fans said this wasn’t one of their vintage nights, there was still enough to savour. Overload in the kitchen caused a fuse to blow and the PA and lights shut down, giving the band an excuse to set fire to one of the cymbals. The crowd loved it. Normal service resumed, and Celia kung fued her way through the dangerous ‘1692’. They’d be welcome back.

A Speights before the 3Ds, a band who seem to have lost momentum since Hellzapoppin took them to the brink of being recognized in the sreets. Nevermind, tonight they were great. The distinction between the two Daves styles of writing and playing is now bordering on a tension that’s strengthening their live intensity. Mitchell is totally focused, hunched over his demented guitar lines, while Saunders plays a more upright pop, that at times borders on the vulnerable. The whole deal is delivered by a band that’s become clenched-fist tight and dynamic. Impressive.

An under-rehearsed Clean were next on, and although they were a bit rusty, a mite tentative, they couldn’t fail with the riches of their repertoire to draw on and Dave Kilgour’s unerring guitar. So, ‘Getting Older’ was trotted out as fresh as ever, and ‘Point That Thing’ still sounds like a classic, and reaching right back meant ‘Tally Ho’ with Martin Phillips doing the keyboards. Nostalgic, sure, but these were timely and timeless reminders as to how -important the Clean were to Flying Nun and New Zealand music in the 80s. They helped provide the link between the primitivism of punk and the more eloquent developments of bands sensible and capable enough to retain directness and honesty, in a decade of confusion and fashion. Lest we forget. “What do you think of the new band?,” asked Martin Phillips towards the end of the Chills’ excellent set. The crowd roared approval, an early sign that perhaps Phillipps can once agian pick up the tempo of his fluctuating career. Who knows? But tonight it was a triumphant return to home turf, with 'Pink Frost’, ‘Leather Jacket’ and ‘Heavenly Pop Hit’ getting ecstatic receptions. And the newer stuff sounded fine, particularly the hook of the new single, ‘Come Home’, and the sexually insecure undertones of ‘Bad Dancer’ and the frantic ‘New Millenium’. In the final analysis, the night belonged to Phillipps and his most forthright Chills ever. Appropriate, since he’s been Flying Nun’s most ambitious and most commercially viable act. Warhol allocated 15 minutes, Flying Nun have lasted 15 years. See you at the twentieth.

GEORGE KAY

PATTI SMITH The Roxy, Hollywood, USA, March 25. Quite simply, live rock music doesn’t get much better than this. From her first appearence on stage with only a notebook, through the gradual introduction of a truly intense band (Lenny Kaye and Tom Verlaine being the guitarists), to a nicely climatic ending, Smith was damn near perfect. The show was pretty fluid, band members would come and go as the songs dictated, Patti idulged in a lot of audience banter, and the set was pretty evenly split between old stuff, covers and new material. It was this .newer work which really seemed to hit hard, and even though a lot of it was still in the ‘not quite finished’ phase, it'still came across as some of the most powerful. material Smith has written. Considering over the last three years she’s dealt with the deaths of her brother, husband and best friend, it’s little wonder that Smith can write and sing with serious anguish. But she’s also

capable of tracks like ‘Under the Southern Cross’, which was performed as a very beautiful, simple acoustic number, and probably should be our new national anthem; or ‘Grateful’ "(inspired, seems, by a visitation from the spirit of Jerry Garcia) which was an elegant, happy little romp. Throw in with this Smith and the band powering through some favourites from Dylan to Wayion Jennings, Verlaine laying down some heartbreakingly good slide work, and Patti telling bad old jokes, and you’ll get idea of how great it all was. —To be honest, the only way to really explain it all would be a song by song' breakdown, but I’m going to limit myself to two brilliant moments. The first was Patti and the late great Fred Sonic Smith’s son Jackson coming out and shyly deconstructing ‘Smoke on the Water’, while his Ma and Kaye dueted on the vocals. The second being the big wind up of ‘Not Fade Away’ and ‘Gloria’, both elevated to an almost terrifying level of intensity and joyous power. It was a show where it all came together perfectly, and you could remember exactly why this rock and roll was so alluring in the first place.

KIRK GEE

BJORK, PLAID, LAVA LAVA North Shore Events Centre, Auckland, March 2. First of all, full marks to bFM for sorting out the reliable return ticket bus service that got me and three bus loads of this-side-of-the-bridge based punters to . the concert for a mere two bucks. I hate to think how everyone would have managed otherwise, due to the amount of ‘where the fuck are we?’s I was hearing on the bus. You would have thought we were bound for another planet, rather than a short distance up the motorway. On arrival, the unfamiliar venue gen-' erally impressed — full seating up the back, and a virtually empty mezzanine to • the right. There’s ample room for dancing — early on, at least — and the very mixed crowd seem to have a better idea of how to enjoy support groups like Lava Lava and Plaid than they did when a similar non-conventional band vibe ; was struck up in support of Massive Attack’s Auckland gig last year. Most of ‘the kids’ are high as kites, and even those who aren’t suss onto the distances this kind of music can take one’s soul to, so everything’s cool. Lava Lava are accompanied by a face-painted dancer, and lay down some percussion heavy vibes and scrummy trance interludes. Plaid have all the good touchstones in their bag o’ ambience — a carnivalesque-horror show blend, which is eventually whipped into a storm that takes one distances making the trip to the Shore seem paltry in comparison (are we on Mars yet, Mommy?). A high pitched chant of, “we want Bjork!, we want Bjork!”, actually gets, going before the little lady of the moment makes her appearance. She. stands at front of the bare tree models around the stage, illuminated in purple, at the centre of a half oval lighting palette. The ear splitting screams which herald her arrival finally make way to a torchy take on ‘Headphones’, as one of the trees appears to split, and emit a flattened beam of red light. The effect is chilling. Having blown everyone into immediate submission, the band of drums, turntables, and keyboards break into ‘Army of Me’, and Bjork swings her arms in robtic manner. My least favourite song on the album, this comes across great in magnificent sound and vision. The cranes seen behind the illuminated trees, which look like they’ve been bandaged in their bark, add to the; industrial-organic atmosphere. A piano accordion vied for attention alongside Bjork for the first time on ‘Modern Things’, and went on to claim equal doses of credit many times throughout the show. Things begin their ascent from here. ‘Human Behaviour’ is given an enchantingly cheeky delivery, even showcasing some screams which sent me back to the Sugarcubes’ 1990 . Auckland Town Hall show, when nobody knew quite how to take this crazy chick. These days nobody can get enough of .her, as she proves when skipping across the stage, a la Madonna, ‘you J can dance’-style, creating a wave of jiggling in her wake. ‘One Day’, ‘lsobel’, a shimmering and. note perfect ‘Possibly Maybe’, and a • take on ‘The Anchor Song’ that sees the .. piano accordion reach its highest point, prove to be the more reflective part of the set. In retrospect, it was a pleasant, breather well-placed, for when things pick up with the awesome ‘Hyperballad', they don’t come down for quite some time. All those who know what’s good for them wildly floor out that insidious backbeat of the first song in a trilogy that winds it up through ‘Enjoy’ and .‘I Miss You’ (which Bjork precedes with a quick burst of: ‘B-b-b-b-b-baby, you

ain’t seen nothing yet,’ proving she’s far from blind regarding what she’s doing to this crowd). The glittering fountains that erupt at this point are a special surprise too. Rather than winding down after this awesome set piece, a techno slamming version of ‘Violently Happy’ gets everyone screaming while they shake it.

The lone encore number isn’t hard to guess, but it's execution is. Bjork returns to speak for the first time (aside from her little sneezing ‘than-choos’), to say: “New Zealand has been gor-chiss to us,” before belting out ‘lt’s Oh So Quiet’ over sole piano accordion accompaniment. It doesn’t quite turn into the sing-along it’s begging to, but it’s a cool way to end the night all the same. I haven’t stopped smiling yet.

BRONWYN TRUDGEON

SUPERSUCKERS, 3Ds, GRIFTERS, MARY Powerstation, Auckland, March 1. For the second time in as many shows, I slept through Mary’s performance — this time I wasn’t even at the gig. But more on that some other time. The second of three fashionably late arrivals this evening, the 3Ds literally stepped out of a van and onto the stage. Their decision not to speak a single word to the audience complimented perfectly the practice room ambience of their set. Tonight, much to my bewilderment, the 3Ds displayed no evidence of spunk or spirit, ensuring even traditional crowd-igniters like ‘Outer Space’ and ‘Hey Suess’ fell hopelessly flat. Ever feel like you’ve just been ignored? The Grifters, from Memphis, missed their first scheduled flight from Australia, and didn’t arrive at Auckland airport until the time they were due on at the Powerstation. Supersuckers to the rescue. The Texas foursome look like a mob of Klan affiliated rednecks, but possess a dastardly sense of humour, and sound like a mutant combo of ZZ Top, the Johnnies and the Clash. They were an Orientation treat that unfortunately very few witnessed, for when singer/bassist Eddie Spaghetti announced: “Here’s one my momma wrote,” and the band barrelled into ‘Run Like a Motherfucker’, you could guarantee this would be special. Last year’s Sub Pop album The Sacrilicious Sounds of the Supersuckers was liberally broadcast, including the musclebound ‘Born With a Tail’ and the punkish ‘Thing About That’. Supersuckers laid down a ferocious punk/rock ’n’ roll hybrid, and just plain blazed. Cranking it up even further for ‘She’s My Bitch’, they took the short walk from superb to sublime. The utter high and 'wow!' moment was the pure pop of ‘Marie’, a song to the mother of former Supersucker Eric Martin who died of a heroin overdose. Just after midnight, the Grifters wandered in with guitars in hand, but chose not to play. No problem here, ‘cause few could have topped the Supersuckers tonight.

JOHN RUSSELL

JIMMY PAGE AND ROBERT PLANT Flinders Park, Melbourne, Australia, March 1. When Robert Plant played at Mount Smart Stadium in 1984, he downright refused to perform any Led Zeppelin material. Over a decade later, he’s again hooked up with his perfect partner in music, Jimmy Page, for a world tour that is practically all Zep songs! The anticipation was immense for this final No Quarter concert at the Melbourne tennis centre (will New Zealand ever have an excellent indor venue of this kind?). Rapturous applause from 15,000 people greeted Messrs Page and Plant, as they strolled onstage with their band and launched into ‘Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You’, a track they worked on at their first session together back in 68. It was already obvious we were in for something very special, as Plant squeezed every bit of emotion into the words, while Page picked meticulously through the guitar parts and finished the song teasingly with the first few bars of ‘Stairway to Heaven’. The blues rock of ‘Bring it on Home’ was followed by the raunchy riffs of ‘Heartbreaker’, complete with full length lead break, as heard on Led Zeppelin 11. Up next was the ethereal ‘Ramble On’, which has had relatively few live airings, and then the fine acoustic number ‘Going to California’. ‘Gallows Pole’ was preceded by a brilliant hurdy-gurdy solo with Nigel Eaton grinding some joyous wailing sounds from the unusual instrument. What followed was a total trip into timelessness, as the amazing 'Song Remains the Same’ roared with new life from Pagey’s double neck SG Gibson. Just like in the old days, it dovetailed most gracefully into ‘The Rain Song’. By this time the Melbourne All Open Orchestra had joined the proceedings,

and added a warm majestic touch to the arrangements. The version of ‘Since I’ve Been Loving You’ would have to be one of the best ever, as Page was playing .with fiery precision, and - Plant was vocally reaching heights not heard since Zep’s heyday. Tonight’s rendition of ‘Whole Lotta Love’ was a freak-out medley which included the obscure ‘Night Flight’, segments of the classic ‘Dazed and Confused’, and oddly, a few lines from a couple of Doors songs (‘Light My Fire’, ‘Break on Through’). .' Highlights were when Jimmy took centre stage for a wicked solo spot on his Les Paul, and the spaced-out section where he utilised his Theremin to full effect as Robert echoed howls and moans around the building. Several Egyptian and Moroccan musicians were now introduced for the song chant of ‘Yallah’, and into ‘Four Sticks’, where they fully complemented the composition with stringed instruments and infectious rhythm patterns. Their traditional sounds also made a mood-setting intro into the powerhouse ‘ln the Evening’. This led to the definitive Zeppelin epic, ‘Kashmir’, performed magnificently with full accompaniment and overwhelming enthusiasm. It even charmed a large novelty snake to dance around for a bit!

Of course an encore was demanded, and the duo obliged with the delicate ‘Wonderful One’. The band emerged wearing cartoon animal costumes, then proceeded into ‘Black Dog’ as everyone went wild. Things seemed very surreal, with streamers and balloons floating over stage, as they let rip with a full on, jammed out 'Rock ’n’ Roll’. In the tradition of Bonzo, the 26-year-old drummer Michael Lee played brilliantly all night, and even sweltering in his bunny suit, he topped things off with a rapid fire drum finale. The two and a quarter hour show was over, and for most of the musicians it was the last time they would be working with Robert and Jimmy. Plant was heading back to London, while Page was off to holiday in Bali. Where they go from here is in the lap of the gods.

GEOFFDUNN

FINN BROTHERS, DAVID KILGOUR, BIC RUNGA Regent Theatre, Dunedin, March 5.

Dunedin is generally off the map for most bands because of the fallacy that only a couple of mutes and a switched on dog ever bother turning up. The Finns, in their various manifestations over the years, could tell you otherwise. Right from the prototype Split Enz to the last encounter with Crowded House, Dunedin, eager to show loyalty to aspiring kiwis and to gather at the temple of decent rock ‘n’ roll, has always got in behind the brothers. Tonight was no different.

An unclassifiable audience of wizened Enz heads, sedate teenagers and various types in between were softened up by a handful of songs each from Bic Runga and David Kilgour. Bic had the audience spellbound with her soaring, flawless vocals, and adequate songs and tight flares. Dave couldn’t compete vocally, with his nice, Alex Chiltonesque imperfections, and sadly his fine songs fell on indifferent ears.

To the Finns. As a concept, this brotherly get together has probably been on the cards since Neil saved a flagging Enz just prior to Frenzy. Forever the Samaritan, Neil also rescued Tim from his astonishingly erratic solo career by hauling him into Woodface era Crowded House. He ain’t heavy. Still, this collaboration isn’t entirely about blood being thicker than commercial failure, as the Finn album has a solidity to it that more than partially excuses family contrivance. And let’s face it, the Finns are slick entertainers and they’re quick on their feet. The guy who yelled out, “rock and roll!”, after an Everly Brothers styled duo bracket prompted Neil to hammer out ‘Smoke on the Water’ on acoustic guitar. Their dry off-the-cuff patter between songs kept the night amusing without being too precious, and nostalgia was confined to versions of the timeless ‘Poor Boy’, ‘Dirty Creature’ and ‘Time for a Change’, where Tim left his drum kit to play the piano part. The temptation must have been there to slip in ‘I Got You’, a guaranteed roof-raiser, but Neil’s past was adequately catered for by Crowded House songs 'Weather With You’ and ‘Four Seasons in One Day'. They don’t come much better. So, the evening leaned on the Finn album with key spots being occupied by ‘Mood Swinging Man’, a tribute to dad, the jagged rocker ‘Niwhai’, and the beautiful ‘Last Day of June’, a classic from Neil’s bag of ballads. Yet it was the home movies by the swimming pool and of cricket on the back lawn, set to the strains of ‘lt’s Only Natural’ that captured the essence of the evening; from Split Enz through to their latest reinven-

tion, the Finns’ story has been a triumph of good old backs-to-the-wall, kiwi perseverance. An enjoyable night out celebrating a couple of national institutions who embody the qualities we hold so dear.

GEORGE KAY

MALCOLM MCLAREN State Opera House, Wellington, March 8.

He came, he talked (and talked and talked), and outraged — which probably means Malcolm McLaren would have considered his appearance at the recent International Festival of the Arts a great success (or failure... a much greater achievement in the cynical McLaren’s eyes).

We were promised a multi-media show, but we just got McLaren, in suit and tie, standing at a lectern, with a glass of water, chatting his way through a collection of slides. He started with his childhood (the first slide showed a freckled young Malcolm at the beach), worked through his marketing exploits in the 70s fashion scene (at one point pulling out a pair of Gl trousers when a slide wasn’t available to illustrate his point), to a series of involved shaggy dog stories (the most coherent told us how Oscar Wilde supposedly discovered rock ’n’ roll in a small cowboy town during his American tour). McLaren’s ultimate marketing achievement (apart from himself, some cynics might opine) was the übiquitous Sex Pistols. Johnny, Sid and the gang accounted for surprisingly little of the evening. There were tales of broken toilets at a disastrous press conference, constant references to how utterly and uredeemingly bad they were as musicians, and a fascinating account of a thwarted Russ Meyer collaboration, Who Killed Bambi? How fascinating to have seen the one scene completed... or some of the McLaren’s own footage for The Great Rock ’n’ Roll Swindle, which, according to the. man himself, included a vision of Sting screwing a young Brazilian stud... but it was not to be. McLaren was cagey about his own music. Briefly we were given a glimpse of how he wrote one of the Paris songs, but inevitably we were swiftly given more trivia. The audience was as entertaining as McLaren. The show had started at 8.30 PM. Jaffas were rolling down the theatre within half an hour (and a bottle at one point), and during the second half (which didn’t end till 12.10 AM) there was a steady stream of people shuffling out of the State Opera House. I suspect McLaren had the audience participation he wanted.

WILLIAM DART

EVILIS, NEFARIOUS, SINATRA White Hart Hotel, New Plymouth, March 16. The White Hart in New Plymouth. Legendary. Not a place to go to if you scare easily. Propped up around the walls are a few rough lookin’ lads with number ones, who appear dead eager for you to look them in the eye. Even the posters of Samantha Fox and John Taylor’s ex on all fours are of no comfort. Sinatra step on stage at 10.30 PM in front of no one in particular. The Kyuss/Helmet comparisons tossed at the Auckland five-piece fit well, ’cept for the fact Sinatra don’t write songs. They wrestle out tons of riffs and tricky tempo changes, but hold out no hooks or melodies to make themselves memorable. Their set quickly begins to sound like one very long jam, and my mind has wandered to other places long before they limp to completion. Nefarious play straightforward, grunty, NP-style punk, unperverted by fickle rock fashions. As with Sinatra, there’s zero melody to speak of, though Nefarious take it a step further, with very little holding their evil noise together. Make it angry, moronic and powerful, seems to be their creed; and to that end, ‘Where Ghosts Walk’ and the growler, ‘Motherfuckin’ Hell’, stand out for their sheer brutality. Evilis play a blinder on this, the final show of their North Island tour. The previous evening in Wellington they came close, tonight they totally drop the bomb. At first Evilis create what appears to be a brick wall of roaring guitar noise — and granted, they can tend to power through a set without much definition — but with a sympathetic mix, as is the case at the White Hart, you do hear colour and dynamics. The opener, ‘Anything For Now’, is their best song, and is as catchy as anything I’ve heard lately. It rips along nicely and truly cleans the brain out. With a rhythm section that’s also firing wickedly, everything is loud and furious, provoking spirited moshing from the hardcore

down front. Nigel from Nefarious joins in for the stompers ‘Grip the Bars’ and ‘Hold the Kill’, and to end, guitarist Richard Davies tears into the savage ‘Cult of Youth’ with unrestrained energy; Over the two nights away, with a pace that never faltered, : Evilis. ran through their bag of tricks and showed a healthy regard for. the best bits of rock ’n’ roll. What else do you want?

JOHN RUSSELL

BAILTER SPACE, EYE TV, SCI Fl STARLAND Powerstation, Auckland, February 28. Sci Fl Starland (youthful Auckland three-piece guitar pop spunkarama) play their first piece like it was their last — excessive stage swagger and post-song feedback, leading me to believe they were going to bugger off then and there. Is there more where that came from, or have they shot their wad too early? Yes, there is more, and no, they’re all still hard as. SFS’s set is tight, well constructed, bordering on epic, and very safe. Realistically they could turn into a very marketable all-age venue filler, with a sliver of style borrowed from tonight’s headliner mixed with Supergroovy kiddy appeal. Whether that will make Mr Guitarist/Vocalist, any less of a smug, arrogant little tosser is anyone’s guess. Even if their manager wasn’t ‘Mr Orientation! , Eye TV (formerly known as the Dead Kennedys) would still be a perfect choice for an Orientation gig. They rock, they groove, the kids love them, and most importantly, they look like they’re having a bloody good time. The recent tour of the States has had two noticeable results. Firstly, the band play like they, could still belt out a flawless performance even if their limbs were all surgically removed. Secondly, bassist Mike looks like he could change his name to Billy-Bob and drive large trucks, across Texas listening to .‘Convoy’ on the radio. Ten-four, good buddy. Looking forward to a new Eye TV album and some new songs in the set list. How do you write an objective review of a band you have been almost fanatically devoted to for years? Bailter Space (tectonic plate shifting, Richter scaling volume gods) remain one of the most unique guitar bands you’re likely to hear, either live or on record. Material from the very accessible Wammo album features most prominently tonight, and the university scum and paying patrons seem very happy with, this, thankyou. But the kind of live Bailter Space I like to inhabit is the home of the enormous, belching, three-headed noise beasty. ‘BEIP’ (off Robot World) is reduced to a pounding onslaught, aided by uncharacteristically harsh vocals from Alister Parker and blasts of white light from the disco-overkill rig. And then of course there’s the voluminous opus, ‘Grader Spader’, during which my eyes roll back in my head and my cerebral cortex goes into a spasm. Thankyou very much. More soon, please.’

DAVID HOLMES

SNFU, EVILIS, SLAMBODIA. Kurtz Lounge, Auckland, March 3. . Due to the late cancellation of the Japanese leg of their tour, hardcore fans were treated to a hastily arranged series of New Zealand gigs by Canadian outfit SNFU. .- . . First up though, Slambodia were in fine punk rocking form, belting out songs that had more to do with the old New Zealand punk tradition (eg. No Tag and Sticky Filth) than 90s style neopunk, a la Green Day or, the headliner’s Epitaph labelmates, Pennywise. The singer’s mohawk was soap-spiked to perfection which, even in double time, didn’t wilt or sag throughout his head noddding, thigh slapping antics. Evilis followed up, doing their best to grind, slap, roar and pound some life into the somewhat hesitant Sunday evening crowd, and after finally abusing them for being so “lame”, a few more punters ventured onto the floor for their last song, ‘Cult of Youth’. They were treated to the spectacle of the evil looking guitarist (of dubious youthfulness) on singing duties, stripping off his shirt, stalking around the stage, grunting and screaming in his best diehard rockers frenzied fashion. By the time SNFU hit the stage, a fairly decent number had filled up the dancefloor and the air had livened up, as they launched straight into a hard thrashing set. The bass player, whose gat dangled down around his knees, pouted and posed in a parody of some kind of rock god, pulling off riffs with gusto as he swung his bass about like it was a musical hula hoop. . They played my favourite song from early days, the witty little ‘She’s Not on the Menu’, and an entirely unexpected cover of Fear’s hardcore classic ‘I Love Living in the City’. Cool. I left contented. Situation /Vormal Fucked Up.

NADIA HOPE