The Maths of Rock

London Fields # 93
First published Inpress (Issue # 1180), Melbourne on 29 June 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1066), Sydney on 28 June 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

My first thought upon seeing that Jesus Jones and The Wonder Stuff (or Miles Hunt and friends play the songs of the Stuffies) were embarking on a joint Australian tour was of the great bands of that era that have never played in Australia, particularly James and The Blue Aeroplanes. Following a six year hiatus, James reformed in 2007 (with the classic line-up that had recorded their career best album Laid) and while most attention was focused on the Glastonbury Festival at Worthy Farm over the last weekend, in London James played a giant show in Hyde Park supporting The Killers.

It was at Glastonbury in 1992 that I saw art-rockers The Blue Aeroplanes amass a dozen guitarists on stage for their traditional closing cover of Breaking In My Heart. There’s been two constants throughout The Blue Aeroplanes’ history: frontman Gerard Langley and a multitude of guitars. Like The Fall, the non-playing vocalist has been the constant in myriad line-ups, and over 40 musicians have been members of the band at some point. But unlike the tyranny Mark E Smith exerts, The ‘planes are more like a collective, a team where members come on and off the bench according to need and availability. To celebrate the release of their new album Anti-Gravity, they played a one-off show at The Borderline in central London the other week. Here the football analogy was even stronger as around eleven players went off and off stage according to the demands of the songs. Gerard hardly seems to have changed over the years; although his hair is now dyed and he carries a book of lyrics as an aide-mémoire, under stage lights in his ever-present dark glasses he looks almost identical to 21 years ago. It’s hard to explain how joyous it all is, but much like how dancer Wojtek Dmochowski weaves around the small stage, trying not to trip in guitar leads in the process, so the different melody lines of each guitar intertwine as they ring true and clear. Tonight sees Angelo Bruschini (now usually in Massive Attack) return for a rare appearance, and while I miss the Rickenbacker chime of Rodney Allen, when all these guitars mesh, as on Warhol’s 15 tonight, it truly is a thing of beauty.

Before the show, I spotted Marty Willson-Piper of The Church in the audience, and troubled him to ask if there was any chance of seeing the 30^th anniversary show that recently toured Australia. At The Church’s last London show a few years back, Steve Kilbey said it was likely to be the last time we’d see them play in London. Marty was kind enough to give me a long and detailed description of just what the costs and difficulties are in organising a tour, and then talked in refreshingly candid terms about the size of crowd the band can expect to pull in London these days. All in all it painted a fairly bleak picture for bands playing medium sized venues.

Last Thursday I ventured into the wilds of South Wimbledon to see Colchester veterans Modern English playing in London for the first time since the eighties, in an expanded line-up with all but one of the original members. These days they’re now mostly known for that song - Melt With You - which was kept back to the end of their set. What is best about this show is that there’s no feeling as though it’s to prove anything, but they’re playing merely just because they want to do it. The music is both naïve and organic, as one intro explains “this was before we knew about bridges and choruses - we just called them sections”. But these sections slot together in a way that current acts trying to recreate this period miss altogether. In their heyday they were a key act on 4AD and were an essential part of the This Mortal Coil project. For me the highlight comes in the encore with 16 Days, one of their songs that also was on the first TMC album.

Having spent this weekend doing an ‘Armchair Glastonbury‘ via the BBC‘s coverage, I kept thinking what a poor reflection the televised version was of the music being played on smaller stages throughout the UK. I also recalled how every time I’ve chatted to David Gedge he’s asked if I know an Australian promoter who might want to bring The Wedding Present out. You see, some English bands from the late eighties and early nineties are still making music worth hearing; perhaps one day you’ll get to discover this live in your town.

© James McGalliard 2011

Inpress: Published on page 46
Drum: Published on page 52

Decalogue

London Fields # 63
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 1 April 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

There used to be simple rules of gig etiquette that everyone knew and understood. Recently these seem to have slipped by the wayside, and so the experience of being part of a large number of people crammed into a very small and poorly ventilated space is often an ordeal rather than any kind of pleasure. Now some of these codes of conduct have changed, or no longer apply. The conceit of never wearing a t-shirt of the band you are seeing seems to have passed into obsolescence. The smoking ban has relegated several others, but at outdoor events and guerrilla gigs erratic dancing can still result in cigarette burns in a neighbour’s clothing, or worse still, on their skin. While you may now come home from a gig without reeking of stale tobacco, the absence of smoke has revealed other odours that used to lie hidden in the haze. Principally is the seemingly new phenomenon of gig farters. We’ve probably all been quaffing away happily for many years – the difference is now you can smell it, and it can be overpowering. Indie gigs seem to be the worst – notable recent eye-watering instances have occurred at gigs by The Wedding Present, Wavves and The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. Although you can’t really suggest Thou shalt not fart, the relentless onslaught throughout the performance sometimes makes me fear for the gastrointestinal health of those around me. I know I’ve written about gig talkers before, but they really are the bane of all but the loudest gigs. Put simply, they just show a complete lack of respect for both the performer and everyone else who has paid to hear the artist. There are other verbal annoyances, like the moron who yells out for a particular song after every song. Nick Cave has the best riposte to this “Yes, we’ll play anything you yell out. As long as it’s on that list (points to setlist). And in that order”. Yet some talk is good – like asking Excuse Me, rather than roughly barging a way through, But don’t use excuse me so that someone makes a space for you to squeeze through, only to stand in the space that was made for you as a temporary concession. Neither should you expect to find an easy road to the front if you arrive at the last minute. And if you want to be right against the stage, you may have to forego some other things. If you need to make six trips to the bar in ninety minutes then perhaps you should stand nearer the bar, so you don’t have to disturb people twelve times on your travels? Once you get to the bar, show some good grace. We’ve all had to queue for drinks, and we’re all missing something as we wait to be served. But when people push in, it just leads to aggro. At the front respect the rules of the mosh pit. If someone goes down, you stop and get them up, and out, if needed. Don’t go running full pelt into the periphery. We’re here to hear music, not to get into argy-bargy with someone spoiling for a rumble. Speaking of space invaders - take off your bloody backpack! You have no idea how many drinks you’re spilling, and people you’re bumping. If you must have your bag with you, then take it off your shoulder and put it on the floor. Or at least wear it on your front so you can see where it’s swinging. The final one shouldn’t even need to be stated, but sadly it does. Don’t steal - from other punters, or the venue, or the band. Piney Gir, in a recent MySpace posting, made a list of all the things that she’s had nicked from off stage in recent gigs, and it paints a pretty horrible picture of the state of play. Now I’m not for rigorous adherence to rules per se, and have probably broken many of them at some point (except the last). At one gig I was bailed up for talking. When I challenged this, he said that he couldn’t actually hear my commentary himself, but the microphone with which he was bootlegging the gig could. Another time a friend complained that the couple in front kept canoodling, and each time their heads pressed together, it blocked his view of the stage. Easy - you just move. Drink plays a factor in all of this, and there’s nothing worse that someone who’s drunk and obnoxious (unless they’re leery as well). But the loss of these abiding principals seems in some way to reflect a growing contempt of other people. So rather than a list of commandments, let’s keep it simple: don’t make your enjoyment of the gig result in ruining someone else’s. It’s simple - the tall bastard will stand in front of you just before the band come on, some idiot will spill your drink, or spill his over you, someone will yell out inanities, and someone else will treat you like crap. Yet sometimes the experience transcends all of this, and it is for these magic moments that we persevere. But if your pleasure is at the cost of someone else’s enjoyment, something’s gonna break. © James McGalliard 2009