Here Comes The Flood

London Fields # 42
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 8 August 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

While no one thinks of England as a warm, bright, sunny country, this non-summer is getting beyond a joke. Already the days are getting shorter, and each week presents another cloud-filled long-range weather forecast. On the few days the sun has shone, the pollen count has been sky-high, which has been great news for manufacturers of antihistamines, and other allergy relief, but awful for the rest of us.

I’m sure the flooded areas of this country will fail to see any humour in a poorly timed release of a film where Steve Carrell has to build a second ark. People have died; families lost their homes. The Truck Festival was washed out, and will now take place in September. Lodestar was cancelled, and the site of the Reading Festival is under inches of water.

But is this lack of a summer making folks gruff and moody? I don’t know if it’s sun depravation, pollen allergies, irritation at the smoking ban, or just something in the water, but I keep witnessing scenes of unprovoked sheer bloody-minded behaviour. Like the mindlessly aggressive bloke at the recent Grinderman gig – although he could have just been drunk.

Grinderman have grown and progressed from their live debut at All Tomorrows Parties back in April, and you shouldn’t miss the chance to see them when they tour Australian in October. What they do is dark and primal, but it’s the palpable menace that makes it so good. Live they are the house band from the Titty Twister of From Dusk Till Dawn – a band for which cage dancers would seem right and just! While Get It On and No Pussy Blues are obvious standouts, the opening Grinderman instantly sets the mood, the maracas sounding like a rattlesnake preparing to strike.

For Go Tell The Women, Nick Cave struts along the front of the stage, holding his guitar like an assault rifle, picking out the three note riff as though he was an axe god. This is visceral, energetic and vital. This is about living dreams – during the encore Cave momentarily becomes the vocalist of Suicide. While Marty Casey’s bass is the glue that binds it all together, this is the sound of a unified purpose, but not one lacking in humour. Yep, they were so good that even an aggressive idiot who made me disappear to another part of the venue couldn’t detract from the evening.

Meanwhile, at a recent show at the Barfly, I came across the worst audiences I’ve experienced gig-going this year. Like the woman who pinched inside armpits as he drilled her way though, followed by an ‘excuse me’ over her shoulder. Or the coiffeured idiots talking really loudly during the quiet support act. Oh, hang on – those insensitive chatterers are the headliners – Palladium. There’s always a risk in seeing a band blind. Now Palladium have already had coverage in national papers, even before their first single is released. Even though the band is on a major label, this first single is a limited run of 500 on 7” vinyl only. This technique in generating hype was spearheaded by The Bravery, and makes your first release rare even before it’s released, and hence worthy of attention.

But that precedent should have been warning enough. A mate who regularly attends gigs with me bailed by their third song. Hoping for a glimmer of light, I resolutely stayed until the end. It’s a great idea to mine the path of the big rock of the late ‘70’s and early ‘80’s – think Supertramp, think the theme from Cagney & Lacey. But while this could be so good, the band has forgotten to write any tunes. What you’re left with is rock - Alan Partridge style! Yet they already have a devoted following and maybe a great producer will even manage to find a seam of gold amongst the quartz (though they’re going to have to be bloody lucky).

However this month both the biggest disappointment and the greatest joy came while seeing The Blue Nile close the Manchester International Festival. At times this was heartbreaking, like watching a prize racehorse run lame. Maybe after some perfect shows previously, my expectations were too high? But the live mix was bass heavy, with the vocals and guitars mixed down, and the drums way too high in the mix. Which only served to emphasise some unnecessary business by the man behind the kit, which distracted and detracted from the whole. There’s an old joke that runs “the difference between a drummer and a drum machine is that you only have to punch the beats into a drum machine once!” Maybe they needed to punch a bit harder? Still, it was a joy to hear Stay, and the rendition of Family Life, with Paul Buchanan’s outstanding voice complimented by a simple piano accompaniment, was an emotional and musical highpoint, and easily my gig highlight of the year so far.

© James McGalliard 2007