In memory of Prince 1958-2016

1989: WHEN PRINCE CAME TO RULE MY WORLD

By the time he entered my little suburban life as a young teenager, Prince had already recorded the bulk of his most legendary records. Purple Rain, Controversy, 1999 and Sign O’ The Times established this one-man super band as one of the top acts in the world during the 1980s. His very worthy credentials however were unknown to me that fateful morning – a Saturday, in 1989 – when my bleary-eyed adolescent self, decided to switch from my usual morning cartoon fix to a newly discovered music video program. Prior to now, my exposure to music was largely down to my brothers’ KISS records, my parents’ Bony M collection and commercial radio. Yet my hand-me-down tastes were unceremoniously pummeled into oblivion after tuning in just in time to catch the Batdance music video. After those 6 plus minutes, I was convinced I had just witnessed the coolest man in all humanity and sad as it sounds, I wanted to be Prince.

I’m happy to admit that Batdance as a single was hardly Prince’s greatest effort and as my knowledge of the man’s work grew, I discovered this Frankenstein’s monster track was in fact a rush-recorded bastardisation of several other half-finished cuts from the maestro’s Batman soundtrack project. Director Tim Burton famously hated the track and it even caused a rift between to the two artists, but to my ears, Batdance was a game-changer and my personal year dot in terms of a never-ending music obsession. That initial burst of musical puppy love manifested first in daily calls to request radio shows – my voice and singular request became so familiar to DJs, I needed only to say ‘hi’ to get my reward – and secondly in a new found interest in dancing. The Prince/Joker dance routine in Batdance had to be learned. Not having danced anything bar forced, dusty old ballroom style routines before, I like to think my childhood bedroom bore witness to something approaching an enthusiastic funkateer in the making. 

As fans know too well, Prince was never seen in flat-soled shoes and looking back, an elevated heel would most certainly have afforded me the missing ingredient in perfecting my contortions and twitches. There’s no way a boy can request high-heeled shoes from his parents without a long, long conversation, so in a compromise, I decided adopting a pair of found silver gloves would bring me closer to Princely greatness. One’s teen years are of course filled with shame, so this life-changing obsession was a closely guarded secret. After all I was in unknown territory, and how such a passion might be perceived by others bothered me. Prince-inspired dancing in oversized silver gloves was restricted to the bedroom along with the air guitar solos. Naturally, my shame was soon discovered after my father walked in during a three-turn pirouette followed by a knee-drop (Batdance again) and, rather than have him think I was dancing, I pretended I was having a fit. For the first time, I had a ‘thing’ that was all mine and I was enjoying my obsession and wished for it to remain un-scrutinised by the Bony M fans in the next room. 

Apart from owning a copy of the Batdance cassingle bought for me by my older sister, I had no claim on a single piece of recorded music. Then roughly a year after Batdance I discovered the wonderful world of second hand record shops. In those days, well-worn back catalogue albums and singles were dirt cheap and my local outlet boasted an absolute goldmine of Princely gems. It was however, the 12” single of Let’s Go Crazy that came home with me on that first visit, primarily for its evocative and luxurious cover art and a possibly salacious b-side track entitled Erotic City. This latest discovery left me enthralled and did not disappoint. The duet in which Prince writhed around in neon-lit urban sleaze offered a scintillating, funky peak into a more adult world than Batdance. I had not one, but two new dances to learn. Let’s Go Crazy’s over-the-top party cry grew on me instantly and fast became a bedroom dance session staple. Erotic City meanwhile yearned for a completely different expression. Where the idea came from to strip stark naked bar a bed sheet worn as a cape and stomp and writhe around, I’ll never know. The power of Prince’s music is all I can offer as explanation (coupled with a good slew of suburban boredom) and that same explanation will suffice for what possessed my 14-year-old self to take the naked sheet dance into the yard of my parents’ home under cover of darkness. 

So as I grew and started to catch up on the years of music that had come before my awakening as well as the very latest, I began to encounter stories of rock music’s negative influence according to various killjoys, and was reminded of my sheer indulgence and slight hint of shame at how much I enjoyed Prince’s music. The danger element that had apparently been ruffling the squares feathers since the 1950s was well and truly in me now. Prince as an introduction to music it turned out could not have been more perfect. Here I was, already on the verge of disowning the rather lazy Catholic teachings of my childhood, buzzing with a new set of hormones and in possession of a fairly advanced understanding of how to embarrass my parents, and along comes Prince. Unlike the (in my mind) glam metal clowns, KISS from my brother’s collection, who seemed content to parade around looking like your grans’ worst nightmare, Prince to me was a far more relevant icon of rebellion. His playfulness, eroticism and untouchable style equated to the antithesis of all that was bland and acceptable in my world. 

In the wake of the shock news that Prince died at the age of 57 seemingly without a prolonged illness, I was compelled to go back to that period in my life when so much change was happening and acknowledge how much Prince’s music was a part of that time. As the cliché goes, he was an important part of my life, but perhaps less so clichéd is how. I saw wilfulness and abandon in Prince, as well as a strident bucking of the rules and for a time, it was all that made sense to me. I still believe that to make something truly great, these elements are essential ingredients. Ultimately though, through all his triumphs, failings and backlash, he was never contrived or fake, which is why what Prince was, will always be more than enough for me. 

lEIGh5

Suede: Night Thoughts (review)

SUEDE
Night Thoughts
(Warner Music)

Time was NME journalists and the like would devote entire columns to the latest Suede single, marveling all the way and proclaiming them to be the saviours of Brit-pop. Every morsel the band threw to the public was, for a time, a gold nugget rolled in glitter. The established old guard, including Brett Anderson’s musical “parents” Bryan Ferry and David Bowie, couldn’t get arrested when Suede dropped their debut album in 1993. It was a lot of pressure for a young band, and they ultimately those gold nuggets began to take on a decidedly brown hue by the decade’s end. After a stately return in 2013 with Bloodsports, which went a long way to recapturing their glory, teasers for the release of Night Thoughts were peppered with references to early Suede touchstones. Particularly, singer/songwriter Anderson’s fixation with the nightmare of domesticity and Kate Bush’s album Hounds Of Love. Sure enough, the influence of both can be found here.

Take side two of Bush’s album, dubbed The Ninth Wave; a concept piece about the last thoughts of a drowning witch and compare Anderson’s blueprint for the new album; thoughts of a metaphorically drowning man who has found himself in domestic hell. To round out the concept, Suede even commissioned a feature film based on the album. Yet after Bush and later, Fever Ray masterfully addressed similar concepts I was a tad sceptical approaching Night Thoughts. The album opens with When You Are Young, which unsettles immediately. Icy, descending strings coupled with children’s shrill voices buried low in the mix give way to Brett’s typically dramatic, foreboding vocal. No Tomorrow manages to raise a daft lyric-inspired smile, despite being about Valium abuse. It’s also a good, loose rock number vaguely reminiscent of old-skool Suede hit, Trash. Back also is the slow-burning epic Suede on Pale Snow, which hits its mark without falling over the top. Tightrope alternately sees Brett straining his voice, which highlights a flaw in the song’s ill-advised attempt to be powerful. His falsetto rears up with better results on Learning to Be, while first single, Like Kids verges on irritating. Pared down, Night Thoughts could have really been epic, rather than a little overwrought, which has always been a fine line for Suede. The cinematic concept and lyrical theme are impressive in parts, but as a whole, the idea feels stretched making it anti-climactic. Giving the masculine perspective on domestic inertia and paranoia is an original move, but unfortunately so is hearing them burdened by normality.

lEIGh5

Manic Street Preachers: 'The Holy Bible' 20th anniversary

THE SACRED AND THE PROFANE

This month marks the 20th anniversary of one of the most intriguing and intense records ever produced. The story of The Holy Bible - The Manic Street Preachers 3rd album - has become the stuff of legend. As a tribute to the album's enduring importance, I was compelled to write a few thoughts on the facts and possibilities surrounding its creation.

Ask anyone who was there what albums defined the Brit-pop era and you wouldn’t get much of a variation on Blur’s Parklife and Oasis’ Definitely Maybe. Those bands were celebrating their creative or at least commercial peak, and were a feast of material for music columnists everywhere. The year was 1994 and in grunge’s dying light it was ‘no time for losers’ as British rock – from many journalists point of view at least – provided an antidote to the endless parade of sulky post-Nirvana American 'slacker' bands. Realistically though, very few of the so-called Brit-pop bands wanted a bar of the media-driven ‘scene’ they found themselves unwilling parties to. More to the point, there were in-crowd bands who made bankable albums and gave good quote - namely Blur and Oasis – while two rather angular outsiders (also good for a quote, it should be mentioned) felt rather more worthy of my attention. A year after their much hyped debut, Suede dropped the grandiose, career-defining Dog Man Star and it's raw ambition alone lifted it head and shoulders above anything in the then scene. Its creation however, was so utterly punishing for the band, any promise of a future seemed in tatters. Suede's rise and fall and rise again became a pattern which ultimately defined them, but such triumph and tragedy paled in comparison to that of the Manic Street Preachers.

As opposed to Suede, 1993 was not a good year for the Manics. On the verge of being dropped by their label following underperforming second album Gold Against The Soul, the band who so many found difficult to swallow threw out the manifesto which had got them noticed in the first place. Old, borrowed ambitions of ‘world domination’ and ‘highest selling albums’ were let go of. The new manifesto if there ever was one, was to ditch the clichés – or at least to stop trying to compete with Guns N’ Roses. For the Manics, the way forward was in sight, but at what cost? I sometimes wonder if they would have done things differently had they known the outcome awaiting them in the wake of their third album. The recording of The Holy Bible (working title: The Poetry Of Death) was by all accounts a fairly jubilant time within the band. Reportedly, Nicky Wire, James Dean Bradfield and Sean Moore were smashing through tracks in the studio in record time. His technical role as ‘rhythm guitarist’ meant that Richey Edwards was scarcely required during recording, yet he never missed a session. Realistically, his work was already done and he had little to do but witness the process of his words being turned into music.

Romantically speaking, Edwards’ approach to writing conjures up images of the Marquis De Sade amusing himself with a bout of desperate scrawling and analyses. Along with co-writer Nicky Wire, it’s fun to imagine the pair wiling away the hours over a bottle of claret, filling note pads with ‘controversial ideas’ and ‘quotable common sense statements’ by dusty old European provocateurs. Wire may in fact have planted this image in my head himself, but he knows too well that it is barely half the real story. The lyrics on The Holy Bible will forever be the handle by which it is grappled and wrestled with. Musically no one could deny its intense power, but Edwards’ raw insight was so compelling, many could not get past it then and – following his slide into depression and ultimate disappearance – it only served to act as an epitaph. The pen had proved mightier than the guitar and the Manics would go down in history as the band who had and lost the greatest writer of their generation. What was it then that separated Edwards from his contemporaries and peers?

Over the centuries many great periods of enlightenment have been documented – the birth of science, Renaissance art and critical thinking all rank among events of historical importance, but rock music’s ability to shape society is often overlooked when compiling such lists. Having said that, The Holy Bible didn’t shape society any more than the invention of the lollipop, but as a contemporary piece of art, it strived for more – much more – than what was already on offer. Its significance was felt  by the listener willing to invest in what was actually being stated, and in many ways it was near impossible to criticise. Listening to his words, I feel as though Edwards not so much  peered into the abyss, but shared an intimate relationship with it. The beauty of it all though is his lack of trite self-reflection or cringe-worthy emotive megalomania. The Holy Bible is beyond ego which is its most enduring feature. It’s the album equivalent of the artist who stopped painting himself and finally broke through the surface, producing a work of genuine truth in all its wonder and horror.

Key track, Faster works as a summary for the album. It’s truth is the serendipitous realisation that only if we discard the ego, are we free to realise our true power and potential. Hence, the setting we are in as listeners is not the ‘happy being sad’ territory occupied by the pompous black-eyeliner wearing goth and emo bands. The album, it must be said, only reveals itself gradually. Titles are often misleading, lyrics sung in a garbled fashion but then there is no doubt what 4st 7lb deals with. Here Edwards offers a matter-of-fact approach to anorexia from firsthand experience, devoid of any kind of self-pity. He treads a fine line between critical analysis and exploration based on remarkable insight and observation. But the tragic reality of Edwards was that in apparently achieving this rare kind of detachment, he lost his will to self-preserve. He came to see himself as so flawed that his mind would not allow him help his failing body. The much-documented self-harm and poor diet on top of alcohol abuse finally landed him in a psych hospital pumped full of sedatives. To this day, Nicky Wire believes that Edwards’ treatment in the Priory was his undoing.

Then in February 1995, just over five months after The Holy Bible hit the shelves, Edwards discharged himself from life at the age of 27. While suicide was a likely outcome, the true nature of his disappearance will probably never be known. The album was Edwards’ final legacy and the very act of writing it gave him not release or relief from his growing issues, but rather a doorway into an area of his psyche from which he could never seemingly return. Songs such as The Intense Humming Of Evil and Mausoleum had historical context – namely the Holocaust – but pouring over Edwards lyrics, he isn’t writing about one event in history, he sees human history itself as one long Holocaust. Abuse of power is a recurring theme on the album as witnessed in songs like Yes, Revol and IfWhiteAmericaToldTheTruthForOneDayItsWorldWouldFallApart. Edwards reappraised works like Animal Farm utterly stripping away any metaphor. IfWhiteAmerica… and Yes are as direct as their names suggest. The later dealing with prostitution in all its forms to be clear. Edwards was not so much anti-corporate – the band were on a major label after all – but he accepted that at every stage in one’s life/career etc… there is always somebody to answer to. Power is always somewhere else – never with the individual. 

Whether this troubled him immensely or it was just a fact of life as he saw it, is hard to tell which really is the true unanswered mystery of The Holy Bible and its creation. The rest of the band asked very few questions about Edwards’ motivation for what he was writing at the time. It was good material and they brought it to life, but should his outpourings have raised alarm bells? To be fair to the band, no. They were on their third record and it was shaping up to be the most ground-breaking material any one had heard in a long while. They trusted him as a writer completely and they yearned for success. Edwards himself had no ‘shrinking violet’ pretensions. He wanted the Manic Street Preachers to be the biggest band on the planet, because, as he put it, they were the only band who told the truth and they deserved recognition for it. His reason for naming the album The Holy Bible, was that it contained the true history of mankind and should therefore claim ownership over ‘that book’ which offered only fantasy. Ultimately though, his grandiose stance proved unsustainable, and once the songs that made up the album were out of his system, he physically digressed so completely it was as though his very soul had been sacrificed for them. Witnessing his final year from the conception to completion of The Holy Bible, Edwards disappearance almost seems like the only logical outcome following what he would probably have seen as total and utter fulfilment.

lEIGh5

Manic Street Preachers: Futurology (review)

ACHTUNG, BABY!

The build up for the release of Futurology began almost a year ago in the wake of the Manics 11th album, Rewind The Film. What was promised was a heavier ‘yang’ to Rewind’s acoustic ‘ying’ - Nice analogy, and hardly a first in music, but ‘yang’ comes nowhere near cutting it when describing Futurology’s monstrous, Germanic stomp over Rewind’s slow amble through Wales’ recent history. Recorded at Berlin’s world renowned Hansa studios, the second part of a proposed trilogy takes its cue from post-new wave industrial music, David Bowie’s Low and good old German precision. Pre-release, the fan-teasing announcements came thick and fast ensuring anticipation levels never dipped. A return to rock, a variety of guest vocalists, and the knock-out punch that Alex Silva would return on production duties had fans salivating. After all it was Silva who assisted in bringing The Holy Bible to life – long considered to be the Manics’ true masterpiece. While that album was a sprawling bombsite of nervous energy and the darkest of thoughts, Futurology is the post-devastation re-build - and if any band knows the meaning of ‘rebuilding’ it’s the Manics. 

But all anyone really needs to know in order to enjoy their current work is that contradictions abound and listeners are challenged to make their own minds up as to why. Futurology is defined as the study of patterns in society with a view to predicting a probable outcome. It is argued that this is a futile act, and that hindsight is the only true teacher. This pseudo-science is a hint as to where the Manics are coming from. The importance of ‘learning from the past’ is a mantra most history buffs are quite happy to chant, but on Futurology the Manics present a more realistic – opposite is reality – theory. The title track sets up the album’s manifesto with muddled tenses, “we’ll come back one day/we never really went away”. Musically, the past is carefully mined to include sounds associated with a time when Kraftwerk and The Human League were THE sound of the future. Rest assured though, this is no puffed up ‘ironic ‘80s’ album from a bunch of aging socialist rockers. First single Europa Geht Durch Mich’s delivery is icy and direct, aided masterfully by German film star Nina Hoss who swaps choruses and verses with JD Bradfield. The result is an urgent, militant bilingual exchange over a relentless marching beat that makes Rammstein sound whimsical by comparison. Europa is complemented and perhaps even outshone by the fearsome Let’s Go To War. The darkness of The Holy Bible returns on this rally cry, which conjures up images of goose-stepping Nazis, while clearly is a reaction to the bands’ own occasional dithering deviations. It’s an odd blend of Eno-esque cavernous/claustrophobic synths and multi-tracked vocals – surely a signature of Hansa studio itself. Most importantly though, because it’s a Manics album, these tracks - along with Sex Power and Money and Walk Me To The Bridge - are dressed up as certified stadium rock anthems. The latter of which is pomp at its best. Imagine Livin’ On A Prayer shagging She Sells Sanctuary – only much better.

At its core, Futurology is a complete overhaul by a band approaching middle-age and who are still hungry but keen to put a few past mistakes to bed. Wire’s biting but self-effacing lyrics on The Next Jet To Leave Moscow are a genuine nod to errors of judgement, such as the much maligned concert for Castro; “So you played in Cuba, did you like it brother?/I bet you felt proud you silly little fucker”. Departure is a recurring theme but predominantly the songs are underpinned by a youthful, idealistic future full of possibilities versus the lamentable reality. The View From Stow Hill as a case in point is the tale of two desecrated cities – Newport and Berlin – both of which quickly became gentrified after years of neglect and political mismanagement. Wire’s bitter-sweet observations are carried on through the sublime working class ballad, Between The Clock and The Bed – a perfectly matched duet between Bradfield and Scritti Politti’s Green Gartside. Misguided Missile is the nihilist from Faster all grown up, “I am the strum and drang/I am the Schadenfreude/I can still fill your void.” But it’s the longing Divine Youth that is the real heart of Futurology. This paean to physical change - the truly unavoidable indicator of passing time – humanises this often brutalist work. Only time will tell if Futurology will enjoy the level of plaudits often heaped on past glories like The Holy Bible or Everything Must Go, but the Manics know too well recognition for their victories has long been hard-won. If anything it’s this fact which has ensured they continue to work harder and are quite likely to yet produce their finest album. In the meantime, Futurology will do nicely as wearer of that particular crown.

lEIGh5

Thomas Jaspers interview: 2014

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN 

At 27, Melbourne comedian Thomas Jaspers realises many of his interests are not typical of a guy his age. A self-diagnosed early mid-life crisis has recently bought to the surface his inner ‘little old lady’ - and she has a royal appointment of the highest order. In his new show for the MICF – God, Save The Queen – Jaspers flexes his stiff upper lip and indulges his peculiar obsession with the world’s most iconic little old lady and her renowned dysfunctional family.

“I think the royal family were the first celebrities, as in how we see celebrity today, but also the Queen is a mum and grandma as well as being a fashion icon for lovers of pastel everywhere.” Jaspers admits the two main prompts for his latest show, were the world’s least risqué tattoo and the realisation he just loved little old ladies. “When I was growing up, my parents worked in a nursing home and I spent a lot of time with old ladies, and I know it’s really uncool but, I actually loved talking to them and hearing their war stories. Also as part of my ‘gay mid-life crisis’ I decided to get a tattoo of the Queen and because everybody keeps asking me why I got that, I decided to write a show expanding on my obsession.” 

When Rhonda Met Rhonda

Jaspers, despite his clean-cut appearance and ‘kind to old ladies’ policy, has the heart of a gutter-crawling drag queen. His hilarious drag characterisation of entertainer, Rhonda Burchmore (Ne. Rhonda Butchmore) as a sloppy drunk is widely known among fans – no less than by Rhonda herself. In cross-dressing mode, Jaspers swills beer, belches and staggers about reflecting the much suspected behind closed-doors behaviour of the late Queen mum.

“I’m a big fan of the Queen mum – she was the biggest fag-hag in Britain for employing only gay men to work for her.” He laughs, “There is a lot of material for comedy within the royal family, but this (show) isn’t some anti-monarchy rant. Of course I talk about the sort of failings of Prince Phillip, whose main role seems to be to just walk two paces behind the Queen, making him the most pussy-whipped man in the world. But it’s mostly just an affectionate but honest look at the good and bad sides of the royals from a queen’s perspective.” But Thom’s affection for the Queen extends beyond regular fandom, he reveals. Not that she would have remotely suspected during their brief encounter on her 2012 visit to Melbourne - “It was like a religious experience” - but he had already long been planning for her majesty’s eventual passing.
 

“Since I was about 10, I’ve had a separate savings account that’s got about two grand in it specifically for when she dies so I can fly straight to England and attend the funeral.” He adds, “I even have a clause in my work contract for my day job that states if the Queen dies I automatically get two weeks off for bereavement-leave!” With the breaking news that Prime Minister Abbott is planning a return to ‘ye olde worlde’ titles in parliament – Knighthoods, Damehoods etc.. – Jaspers has been handed a steaming hot topic, teaming nicely with his theme. “It’s given me about ten extra minutes of material, actually.” He laughs, “But I think I might be the only person who’s actually really into this idea.” He adds, nominating himself, “I think it’d be nice to be Australia’s first Knight AND Dame all at once. I could be Knight Jaspers and Dame Rhonda Butchmore. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

lEIGh5

Peter Murphy (Bauhaus) interview: 2013

HAUS MUSIC

Robert Smith, Nick Cave, Trent Reznor, even David Bowie all owe a debt to Peter Murphy and his haunted outpourings as leader of goth-rockers, Bauhaus. According to Murphy himself, that is. It’s a big claim for a man who stumbled into music, only learning of his abilities as he went along. Perhaps his early lack of self-perception afforded him a fearless, unstudied approach to creating music, but Murphy has returned 35 years on to stake his belated claim as unsung genius.

“There is no ‘back in the day’ for me when I talk about the music I made with Bauhaus.” He says of the Northampton-based band he fronted from 1978. “My music did not suddenly grow old and die when we split up.” In 1983, Murphy left Bauhaus after tensions arose from his increasing stardom over and above that of his band mates. This was perhaps illustrated best by his heavily stylised appearance - as himself - in the film The Hunger. Seen performing one of the first songs he ever wrote – Bella Lugosi’s Dead – Murphy’s status as ‘goth icon’ was cemented in those 4 minutes. The film that followed was a modern vampire tale complete with David Bowie in the lead role. On set, Murphy proudly recalls Bowie’s surprising admittance to him.

“He whispered into my ear, ‘I wish we had done Ziggy (Stardust) like you did it.’” He grins. “Almost nobody, including the band, wanted me to do it so when Bowie tells me he likes my version better than his own, it really made think I should just trust my instincts.” The Bowie cover remains Murphy’s biggest hit to this day, but at that stage Bauhaus were already over bar the shouting. While the rest of the band went on to form sleaze-rock group, Love & Rockets, Murphy ramped up the vamp on several solo albums before finding birds of a similar feather (Nine Inch Nails) to hang with.

“Trent (Reznor) was an unashamed Bauhaus fan. When I met him he was just this young guy with one album out – Pretty Hate Machine – and you could hear our influence all over that. We ended up recording a few covers together, which somebody has leaked but they were never officially released.” It was a match made in goth-rock heaven, but the increasing popularity Bauhaus’ music had gained in their absence prompted a return in 2005 and further demise in ’08. “The band I’ve got now, I’ve been working with for quite a few years and, with respect to the other lads in Bauhaus, I can play our music just fine without them there, you know.” He adds, “I learned to play Dan (Ash – Bauhaus guitarist)’s parts years ago and people have long been asking me to Bauhaus songs in my shows, so I thought ‘fuck it’ why not do it. Why not tour just Bauhaus’ songs as Peter Murphy? They are mostly my songs, after all.”

Now assured of his legacy in music, Murphy scarcely sees the point in unraveling the ‘enigmatic genius’ tag he has been awarded by, either his musical peers - or more brazenly, himself depending on how real or not the bravado all is. It’s only in the final few seconds before his deep, arresting voice is replaced by a dial tone does he throw me a clue. “I don’t mind doing press actually, but journalists don’t get the real me. You can only get in as far as I want you to. I hate to be a buzz kill, darling but when you’re the ‘grandfather of goth’, you have to keep at least partway in the shadows.”

lEIGh5

Mark Hamilton (Ash) interview: 2013

'1977' - DON'T LOOK BACK

You couldn't, quite frankly, invent a band like Ash. This group of teenage Star Wars-obsessed Black Sabbath-fanatics’ endless bubble-gum punk anthems stopped everything Britpop in its tracks - at least for a moment - in the mid-‘90s. Their very specific obsessions culminated in acclaimed debut album 1977, which legend has it, was partly funded by stolen cash and, depending on what you believe, the lads’ double lives as rent boys. But whatever the truth of the matter, Ash bassist Mark Hamilton proves to be little help in sorting fact from fiction. His blurred memory defeats him at most every turn as he trawls the past in search of answers to what happened in order to land Ash in the ‘rock legends’ basket.

“I don’t remember, honestly, a lot about that time (recording 1977).” He offers after a prolonged pause. “All I know is we were desperate to get out of school and make something of ourselves in order to get out of having the drudgery of work/life balance - whatever that is supposed to mean!” Speaking to me ahead of the Australian leg of their 1977 ‘don’t look back’ shows, Hamilton finds himself a last minute stand in for vocalist Tim Wheeler who has disappeared somewhere within the band’s hotel. One ‘fun’ past-time Ash have never tired of is checking in under assumed names, making it impossible for journalists and crazed fans alike to track their movements. “Our thing is to check in under the names of our road crew, and they use our names… It just means we can get a bit more privacy.” He laughs, “The guys (crew) don’t mind. They filter our calls… it’s all part of the service!”

Mark’s notorious cheeky side is still well intact, but his memory lacks the same prowess. Perhaps even more than the other two, Hamilton famously wiped himself out in grand style, long before Russell Brand made such activities into a full-time career. His memory of Australia however is simple. “I always think of Australia as being very clean and plus we have a lot of friends there, so I associate it with the people I know. It feels very familiar now, because we have been touring there since our first album came out.” In 1996, Ash toured internationally for the first time. They had yet to complete year 12 but instead found themselves learning what it meant to be ‘stars’ on a global scale. “We had no concept of society outside of Ireland. Not even outside of our own backyards really. What made it so great was everywhere we went we found the people who were most into us were just kids like us. We weren’t playing to older audiences really and now, our fans have grown up with us and even bring their own teenage kids to our gigs. So in some ways it feels like that aspect to playing live has stayed the same.”

The topic of Oasis rears its head, as 1977’s producer, Owen Morris had recently completed a successful session on Liam and Noel’s monstrous (What’s The Story) Morning Glory album before ‘taking a chance’ on the little known Irish combo. “Owen was still pretty young at the time, and he was all about creating a certain vibe in order to capture the mood on record. That would often mean taking drugs, drinks or being in drag in the studio.” He laughs, “It was all about keeping it on the edge and capturing that spontaneous magic.” The vibe at the sessions was, it turned out, ideal for Ash. “To be honest, it didn’t take much prompting from Owen. He was really curious about us and he heard something in our music – even in the early days before Oasis got really big – and we were probably a greater risk to him as a producer, which seemed to motivate him.” 1977 has often been cited as a ‘tribute’ album of sorts to the Ash’s heroes, such as Star Wars creator, George Lucas, actor Jackie Chan and bands like Black Sabbath and The Ramones. Mark recalls.

 
“When it started out we didn’t have too much of a game plan to be honest. We wrote what we thought of as a bunch of singles and a few extra songs to finish the album off.  I mean there are obviously influences in there… I don’t really know what to say… I can’t remember what we were doing and if we had a plan or not!” He laughs, and begins to suffer amnesia. “I think songs like Lose Control had a lot of Sonic Youth influences, and…” he pauses again, “Ask me about a song on that album, and I can tell you about where what influenced it.” Considering Ash’s run of short, sharp pop punk singles – Kung Fu, Girl From Mars, Angel Interceptor – was broken by slow burning, almost goth-rock ballad Goldfinger, I choose this one to question Mark about. “Goldfinger …?” He says sighing. “This was us trying to show that there was maybe more to Ash as a band.” He decides. “Tim (Wheeler) had this James Bond-like guitar sequence already written, and he kept playing it at rehearsals. I didn’t see what the appeal was at first but Owen kept on at us to do something with it. I didn’t think of it as a potential single, but it ended up going Top 5 in the UK and I am kind of glad about that because I think we were in danger of being seen as one-trick pony’s.”
 

At this stage in their career, the former teen punks are still on an ‘onward and upward’ trajectory in many respects. While the current tour is all ‘blast from the past’, never have they been more prolific in turning out new music. The recent A-Z series saw the band record and release a new song every two weeks over a twelve month period as a nod towards more contemporary music-buying trends. “It was so liberating to that. It was much more of outlet than what recording an album is because no two songs had any relation to each other and we weren’t restricted to making songs that would work as a collection of tracks with a running order and all that… It isn’t something we could ever re-create either,” He pauses, “much like recording another 1977. We could never expect to have another number one album.” 

 
“The days of having ‘massive albums’ are behind us because we don’t have the huge label machine working for us, you know. For the last 7 or 8 years that’s how we’ve been working. We tour our ‘major label hit album’ in cycles and record and release music as an independent band, so it’s a bit of double life we’re leading in a way.” As Ash’s debut album is allegedly to be ‘played in full’ on this tour, the closing track on the album – Sick Party - raises a serious question. Is the track - a tape recording of Hamilton vomiting violently while Wheeler and drummer Rick McMurray cackle insanely in the background - worthy of a live recreation? “I just wanna say that, it’s never planned but sometimes it just happens. Let’s face it, we are the kind of band people expect to see passing out in a pool of sick, but you’ll have to wait and see.”

lEIGh5
 

Manic Street Preachers: live in Melbourne, 2013

Venue: Festival Hall
Date: 28/06
 
The Manic Street Preachers have evolved beautifully over the years into a band comfortable with what they are. The early cockiness, the time of uncertainty and the wilderness years are all behind them and despite having no new material to promote or even having been on tour at all, they display a refreshing, well-earned confidence tonight at Festival Hall. Having refined their strengths and shed a few old ghosts, they stand today as the very picture of ‘triumph against the odds’. The current set list alone represents a ‘chop off the slack’ approach to fulfilling what they themselves see as a ‘dream Manics set’, and while there will always be a few who go away disappointed, for the vast majority who attended tonight’s gig, it was pure heaven.

The fact that the band are here at all is a pleasant surprise to their multitude of devotees, making this one-off show all the more delicious. A tie-in with the British and Irish Lions rugby match in Australia was the given reason for a fly-in fly-out visit, while back home in Cardiff, the band were up to now putting the final touches on the follow up to 2010’s Postcards From A Young Man. The buzz about new music from the band has yet to really take hold, so focus tonight is on a no bullshit straight-up greatest hits package, with a few surprises thrown in for good measure.
 

The biggest surprise however is not band-related so much, as their audience tonight. Whereas the Manics dial has most often been tuned somewhere between glittery glamour and muscular rock n’ roll, tonight the switch has been given a hefty shove towards the latter. The Manics found their inner brute in an effort perhaps to appeal more readily to the present boof-head contingent. This is after all a show designed to bring together the many rugby loving ex-pats in Melbourne as well as appease the already converted. But then it’s just like the Manics to pull a mob of beer-soaked lads and wags only to lead them in a cheery sing-a-long about tackling an anxiety disorder (Send Away The Tigers) or the evils of consumerism (Motorcycle Emptiness).

It may all have been a little ironic, but not in such a way as to spoil the glory of their performance. James Dean Bradfield – looking fiercely fit – commanded our attention in that remarkable voice of his, and remained the undisputed ringleader throughout. His spirits are notably up as he jokes and banters with the crowd and his band-mates, loving every minute of the gig and perhaps riding high on the knowledge that there’s no nerve-rattling 50-date tour penned in this time round. Nicky Wire, always the elegant, if not mouthy one, is however short on words and even shorter on his usual drag tonight. That is to say, we didn’t get a much anticipated sighting of those marvelous legs dangling down from beneath a netball skirt or some such, and had to make do with a mere sparkly unicorn decal on each cheek as compensation. Despite such setbacks, he still has the power to get a large number of fans swooning, and remains one rock’s most beautiful creatures.

In light of the band’s more recent overseas shows to promote their singles collection National Treasures, there is a somewhat retro feel about the song selection. There are a number of fans here who weren't born when Generation Terrorists came out, but it is the early tracks (You Love Us, Motown Junk) that get the biggest response. A now long tradition in Manics gigs is the acoustic interlude where James belts out The Everlasting - with full-crowd backing – only tonight we get the added bonus of some classic Bacharach in the form of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You. The surprise cover delights us all and sets up nicely a grand finale in the form of Little Baby Nothing – which featured a rather goofy looking Jamie Roberts of the British Lions as surprise guest on acoustic guitar – Tsunami, Motown Junk and If You Tolerate This bring the set to a blinding close. But as tradition dictates, there’s no encore despite James’ teasing us with the possibility.

The show was a full body saturation of the Manics power as a live band and even a somewhat sad reminder of how many genius songs they have in their canon which have been largely overlooked. For the devoted here though it was just not enough. The knowledge that it may be several years before they come back hangs heavy at the conclusion. Talking to fans outside the venue in the cold night air, there is a mix of elation and gloom. This was after all only the bands third visit to Australia in their 26 year career. Love for the Manics is so strong among those who invest in their songs and it’s the kind of devotion many bands could dream of. The reason being, they are a band you can care about and they mean something to people which – like their peerless stage presence witnessed tonight at Festival Hall – is something worth celebrating.

lEIGh5

 

meeting Nicky Wire

FESTIVAL HALL SET-LIST (28/06/13)

 Motorcycle Emptiness
Your Love Alone Is Not Enough
You Stole The Sun From My Heart
Ocean Spray
Australia
Suicide Is Painless
It's Not War (Just The End Of Love)
La Tristessa Durera (Scream To A Sigh)
Revol
Everything Must Go
Send Away The Tigers
A Design For Life
The Everlasting
Can't Take My Eyes Off You
You Love Us
Little Baby Nothing
Tsunami
Motown Junk
If You Tolerate This

 

The Stone Roses: live in Melbourne, 2013

Venue: Festival Hall
Date: 07/03/2013

For their sideshow in the 'Manchester of Australia' – as Mani once lovingly dubbed Melbourne - Stone Roses demonstrated that when they're good, they are very fucking good indeed. It's widely known that the lads have a patchy past in terms of pulling off great live shows, but that along with their music in general seems to be a thing of the past. It isn't terribly surprising that there is no new music from the band tonight, but at one stage during his almost flawless performance, Ian Brown hints at a future for the Stone Roses beyond the current reunion gigs.

Re-emerging in late 2011 to tour was a great move considering how closely guarded a secret it was that the band were even on speaking terms again, but Ian mentioning possible new songs without presenting any comes off as a bit of a bluff. Not that anybody could complain about the almost 20 year-old setlist which ignores most of The Second Coming in favour of that album. As debuts go, The Stone Roses simply could not be beaten. Not even by The Stones Roses themselves in fact. What is interesting though is how each song from the album performed is so very different to anything that did not make the cut. Early singles like Sally Cinnamon and several of the b-side tracks performed are all distinct in that they don't quite have the same magic as the material off the album. Of course there is one colossal exception to this rule. Nobody here at Festy tonight could argue that Fools Gold – a song they initially threw away as a freakin' b-side – was not the absolute highlight.

Fools Gold the song is of course great and was the band's most successful track, but live in concert, it is a whole other level of genius. It begins with Reni teasing us with a few pitchy cymbal smacks while Mani plucks out a slightly menacing, fat bass line which he maintains for the entire 13 minutes. Then, when John Squire begins the hook that kicked off Madchester and the whole rave-rock shebang, the crowd completely lose it. Why this song works so well live is because of the  combo of Mani and Reni as a rhythm section, but there's also much to love about Squire's unpredictable guitar playing and the soft echo of Brown's voice, surfacing occasionally in the mix. It's a cliché, but this really was Stone Roses at their most untouchable. So they serve up their 'it's funk Jim, but not as we know it' monster half way though the set tonight, leaving many here wondering just what they must be planning for an encore. But then, the answer could be found all along written on the back of The Stone Roses album sleeve.

Opening the show with I Wanna Be Adored – just as the debut album began – sets up a kind of 'running order' formula they only occasionally divert from. Ten Storey Love Song from The Second Coming is the first real shift, and while it isn't a bad tune, it's no Love Spreads. The strongest cut from the 'difficult second album' heralds one hell of a hit-fest. She Bangs The Drums – a song that too often fails in a live setting, emerges as one of the strongest tonight as it leaps out at us with every gun blazing and is rewarded with the biggest sing-a-long moment. This Is The One stands out as the  'one that really should have been a hit', and Brown is completely loving the all arms raised crowd response. It should be noted that a lot goes on around Ian during the gig and he makes for fascinating viewing. The expression 'calm like a bomb' comes to mind as he does his famous monkey shuffle dance, elbows stuck out horizontally as he bobs his head and glares out into the crowd. One moment he is almost whispering a trance-like mantra, the next he's inaudibly blasting a sound tech or hurling a full rubbish bin off stage at a security bloke for getting too physical with one of the fans.


Meanwhile, Mani – usually the mouthy one – remains the very picture of blissed out concentration, while Squire refuses to even look up from his shoes. Drummer Reni on the other hand is starring in his own movie up there behind his kit, which is adorned in 'Roses-esque lemon slices. It's quite telling how the band members' each seem so lost in their own worlds during the show. Their tense interpersonal relations have surely healed over time, but perhaps not entirely. There is a definite sense of 'we're back together because of the music', which they show absolute solidarity in.

Tonight, it was a very different Stone Roses to the band who were booed off stage at Reading in 1996 and quickly dissolved in a whimper. The reunion shows have clearly been a chance for the Roses to not only bury a few hatchets but also to change the history book entry on a band that seemed so vital before success ultimately dug them an early grave. But here at one of the most unlikely reunion concerts ever, Stone Roses conclude their set with a song almost perfectly designed for such an occasion - I Am the Resurrection. It is a triumph and it, along with nearly every song that preceded it, proves that they had never really lost 'it'. There is no encore as the work had all been done by the finish of Resurrection. Instead they close the show with group hug, a bow and a shower of praise for all who'd stuck by them. For us fans it's been a long and unlikely wait for tonight, but nobody who turned up to Festy Hall could claim it wasn't all worth it.

lEIGh5
 

FESTIVAL HALL SET-LIST (07/03/13)

I Wanna Be Adored
Mersey Paradise
Sugar Spun Sister
Sally Cinnamon
Ten Storey Love Song
Where Angels Play
Shoot You Down
Fools Gold
Waterfall
Don't Stop
Made Of Stone
This Is The One
Love Spreads
She Bangs The Drums
I Am The Resurrection
 

Meeting John Squire!