Gary SteelGARY STEEL sniffs out another mouldering review from another not-so-present era.
Wellington Performers Collective Fundraiser, Rock Theatre, Friday/Saturday 27/28 May 1983
Jumping the gush of piss seeping across the footpath, Rev No. 2’s girlfriend swore at the half-beast half-human wetting the tavern’s doorway.
Arriving at the Rock Theatre was like walking into a time-warp. Deja-vu city! Do you remember those long nights past spent slumming it in this dark snake pit where bands played and people twiddled their thumbs, and the music whistled round and round?
Three years on, the atmosphere is pleasant. Fern leaves decorate the walls. It is Friday and the music still whistles round and round, and the audience are quiet shadows.
It is a worthy cause for which we attend. Organised by the Performers Collective to raise funds for a regular venue, the pamphlet handed to attendees reads: “All the bands are playing free to try and achieve something we all want to see – that’s getting a venue where anyone can go, regardless of how you dress or how old you are. All we’ve got at the moment is the pubs – that means bands getting ripped off, high cover charges, greedy pub managers and punchy bouncers.”
Rev. No. 1 lies on the floor, motionless. Rev No. 2 arrives too late for Jungle Mice. Dicey acoustics work against Tin Syndrome’s technology. Sounding loosely tied to the modern synth/dance band genre, circumstances make accurate judgement impossible. Impressions: big, strident noise, orchestrated by synth frills/fills/thrills.
In ideal circumstances every component should become distinct, a valuable contribution to the whole. Here, Tin Syndrome sound over-busy; despite urges to dance, those who did hit the floor found the rhythms altogether too stodgy/difficult to master.
Stark raving organisers lost half an audience to the interminable squawk of Pelicans and Ra & The Pyramids, two similar conglomerations who got prime spots for the sake of A Well-Known Journalist who just happened to be playing in one of the two bands. What they do do Pelicans do well, but what they do ain’t much: covers of old blues material in the Ry Cooder ethnomusicologist’s vein may have some geographical relevance in America, but here this stuff sounds lame and heartless. Just pub fodder. As for Ra and Co, they’ve got to be kidding. Sharing horns and drums with Pelicans, they’re like rock’n’roll club rejects, except these guys lick the boots of soul music. Lick the boots!
Adjust the button marked ‘Contrast’. Freedom For Sheep comprises three-quarters First Fifteen, plus one new guitarist. Very loose, their songs are only half-written as yet. There were moments of brilliance, however. One was Tim screeching in his ‘Three Little Fishies’ in-excelsis voice. Other highlights were a moving rendition of ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ and a piss-take called ‘Boots And Skins’, with an impossible Oi rave-up that had the few boots in evidence staring red-faced down at their steel caps.
If Freedom For Sheep tighten up they should be phenomenal.
Unrestful Movements played to a by-now diminished crowd. Their beginning was brilliant, with Glen stooped over the microphone snarling out his lyrics like a visual representation of the core of the music. But then… Glen’s guitar amp went dead. UM petered out in the middle of song and never quite regained their momentum. They looked worried, almost stage-fright-stricken. A band like UM’s needn’t worry when things go wrong. Be warriors.
Saturday, and Rev No. 1 is again in a state not fit to behold. Rev No. 2, not expecting to have to sharpen his critical faculties for the night, misses H S Art and ADPB. I do see and hear The Jellymen and Primitive Art Group. The Jellymen are a large, loosely defined group of rock free-form improvisors. Tonight, Jane Walker fills in on bass, then switches to drums. Tennessee bangs drums and cans of Freshup – and screams. Tracey reads newspaper items. All a bit too much, actually. The pieces went on for too long and were not distinctive from each other. Pretty much a mess. At times, something discernably interesting would come out of that mess. I fear, though, that the context was fuel to several members of the group who seemed more interested in the potential for ego gratification than great music/art.
Primitive Art Group followed with their brand of improvising free-form. PAG limit themselves to jazz, but by applying rigorous levels of self-discipline, they are capable of making noise that does achieve more than just a masturbatory tool of mock rebellion for its members. Because these musicians know each others’ capabilities, they have a format that works but still a world of invention to play within that format. Their set was short and sweet.
Pressing commitments drove Rev No. 2 away. Missed: Mole Manne and Tempo House.
Summary: Some awful music, some great music, some awful within the great and great within the awful, etc.
Comment: DO IT AGAIN.
+ Originally published in TOM magazine.
