I wrote this review for a now long-defunct music and movie review site. This was the only gig that I got into for free as press, and the only VIP pass I've ever had. I got there early and interviewed Deckard backstage (tragically that interview appears to have been lost to the digital ether) and then went to the show.
Out of respect to my 25 year old self, I present this review un-edited or polished. Consider it a postcard from the past.
Enjoy.
This is a story of
irritations and setbacks, and a tale of triumph over adversity. In
the teeth of some moderately serious idiocy, we, the gig going
public, were treated to a fantastic display of vibrant British rock
by some of its finest proponents.
The idiocy begins with
the gig taking place on a Wednesday - Wednesday night at The Astoria,
for heavens sake? - and is compounded by the fact that, for reasons
best known to the venue controllers, the band start times are moved
forwards at the last minute. Which means that, with doors opening at
7, DECKARD take the stage a mere 20 minutes later, with the
predictable result that less than half the audience has even turned
up yet. It’d be a shabby way to treat any support band, but when
you’re dealing with musicians with the ability, stage presence,
talent and professionalism of Deckard, it borders on the criminal.
They take it totally in
their stride, naturally, because they ARE bloody professionals, and
they let rip with opener ‘Conversation’ as though they were
playing a sold out home gig in a stadium. Which, frankly, with song
writing this good, they should be. Conversation is a superb tale of
the heart pounding moment of first contact with someone you’re
attracted to, and it’s delivered with serious gusto. Lead singer
Chris Gordon has a superb range, and hits the highs with real
confidence and power. It’s a treat, and when they segue straight
into the punky, angry ‘She’s In Pain’ (lead track from the
second Baby Chaos Album ‘Love Your Self-Abuse’), it’s a really
thrilling moment. The song is dispatched with real energy, and when
it closes, the audience responds warmly and vocally.
‘What Reason’
follows, a gentler, more reflective song, that nonetheless builds
really impressively (with a midsection that has faint echoes of
Queens ‘Under Pressure’). The band’s impressive dynamic range,
on both this and the next track ‘When Picking Fights’ is somehow
even more exciting in the live arena, and some of these chorus rushes
really leave you feeling transported. Again, the vocal delivery is
passionate, and everyone looks really into it - Grant McFarland
(guitars) nods and sways, and Bobby Dunn (bass) looks like he’s
fighting off some particularly aggressive swarms of insects with only
limited success. Their tightness as a unit is also undeniable, and
they manage to make it look, if not totally effortless, then
certainly a total blast.
Midway, through ‘To
Your Soul’ (a standout track from the excellent ‘Dreams of
Dynamite and Divinity’ album) it strikes me that Chris reminds me
of Thom York without all that obnoxious pretension, and as the song
builds again to the falsetto chorus conclusion and then pounds on
into the mid section, you find yourself pondering just how much
longer a band this gifted and strong can possibly remain largely
unnoticed. As if to underline the point, they launch into ‘Sperm’,
a gloriously angsty pop-punk blast of total genius that just leaves
me breathless. I find myself worrying that someone might do
themselves an injury with the passion they bring to playing this. Two
things really impress: one is that they can play a song they first
wrote 10 years ago with such obvious joy, and secondly, just how
little the song has aged. New Found Glory would sell their souls to
be able to write something with this much heart, guts, and menace,
and they still wouldn’t be able to make it sound this good. A 3
minute masterpiece. This performance also provides the missing link
between the two incarnations, and by the time set closer ‘We’re
Aching’ has blown us away, there is no Baby Chaos, and Deckard.
There is only Deckard, a fantastic, livewire, superbly passionate and
dangerously skilful band. It is utterly unthinkable that they will
remain in relative obscurity for much longer - my firm advice is to
get on board now. You will not regret it.
15 out of 10
After a short break,
the Astoria crowd is visited by CARDIACS, and things get mighty
strange. In fact, they get f**king mental. Cardiacs have managed to
provide a unique challenge for this reviewer: These guys are so very
far off the map, I suspect them of inhabiting a parallel universe,
where the rules of music as we understand them have been distorted
almost beyond recognition. Consequently, I have almost no frame of
reference for what they do, making it kind of hard to describe.
In appearance, they
look weirdly formal - they all wear suits and ties, and have burgundy
sashes over their shoulders. They are all shaven headed except for
one guitarist, who has a mop of dark hair that might charitably be
referred to as unkempt, and who resembles Tim Burton. Which seems
appropriate, because the music starts to resemble the soundtrack to a
movie of his that was wisely abandoned before filming commenced. It’s
- here’s that word again - MENTAL.. For instance, they do a song
that seems to change key every 4 bars or so, cycling through at least
4 keys. Every single time, without fail, that the listener manages to
tune in on either a riff, or a rhythm, they change it. Every single
time. This has to be deliberate, and what it means it that you spend
the entire gig feeling like you’re having the rug pulled out from
under you. Also, the sheer number of different musical styles that
any one song bounces through makes listening an oddly exhausting
experience, because your attention is constantly being assaulted by
some new, jarring change. The vocalist (and I assume lyricist) has a
stylistic approach that put me in mind of what might happen if Suggs
from Madness was force-fed PCP for several months while locked in a
pitch black room. Whereas most of the rest of the musical world might
view Frank Zappa as a unique visionary, these guys seem to have taken
his existence as a personal challenge to be even weirder and less
accessible. And boy, do they go at it with gusto!
I should mention at
this point that they are breathtakingly tight together - the songs
are constantly changing,, stopping, violently shifting tempos and
styles, some times apparently at random (the second song in the set
is constantly either slowing down or speeding up throughout, creating
a feeling I can only describe as aural sea sickness), but of course
it never is random, and pulling off music this complex is only
possible with serious skill and cohesion. Cardiacs have both in
spades, and they really seemed to buzz off watching the consternation
and confusion amongst the Wildhearts’ fans (Ginger, who loves them,
must have been pissing himself backstage). This confusion is only
compounded by the fact that there is a sizable Cardiac contingent in
the crowd, who follow every mind-melting twist and jaw-dropping
flurry with a downright eerie level of attention. None of the
confusion is abated by the one monologue from the singer (which
followed the only song of the set that one might loosely term
‘normal’ and which featured a guitar solo section that gave me
goosebumps). Instead of a moment of clarity, we are told solemnly
about bones, and how his bones kept him awake last night by talking
to him. Then into more musical insanity.
To say reaction was
mixed is an understatement - Bill Hicks once spoke of people ‘looking
like a dog being shown a card trick’ which probably describes me
for most of the show, and I wasn’t alone - and I wouldn’t like to
predict how the rest of the tour is going to go. But I have to admit
to being utterly transfixed for the whole show, and came away
impressed enough to buy a CD, if utterly baffled. I give them between
3 and 9 out of 10, depending on your own capacity for bare assed
lunacy, but they score several thousand out of ten for originality.
Ginger in a recent
interview referred to THE WILDHEARTS as the cockroaches of rock
(“they just can’t kill us.”), and this whole tour seems to be
made up of survivors. Deckard first toured with The Wildhearts 10
years ago as Baby Chaos, and Cardiacs have been going since 1989, all
three bands having been through a great deal in those years, and if
that fact that none have experienced the massive commercial success
they clearly deserve could cause one to question the existence of
natural justice, the fact that they are all still able to turn up and
kick ass on a Wednesday night in London is surely testament to a
certain amount of grit and never-say-die attitude. Which is handy,
because, as ever with The Wildhearts, nothing seems capable of going
100% smoothly.
Things start off well
enough, as the band attack ‘Loveshit’ with gusto, and the Astoria
predictably erupts. Ginger is simply one of the best song writers in
the business, with his uniquely dark-but-humorous lyrical approach
and amazing ability to marry riff and melody, and as the set rolls
on, you realise just how many fantastic songs these guys have
produced over the years (second track ‘Red Light/Green Light’
providing a superb example). And they play with such spirit! The
energy on the stage really seems to match the heat and insanity of
the pit, and it’s a pleasure to see a band so tuned into their
audience. Newer song ‘Top Of The World’ bounces along well with
the older material, killing off any suggestions that The Wildhearts
have become their own tribute band, and Vanilla Radio then completes
the burial, to an enthusiastic crowd response. It sadly also marks
the first appearance of a guitar tech on stage, a sight with becomes
more common as the gig rolls on, to Ginger’s obvious frustration.
After a frankly
sublime, ‘Nina Nitro’, Ginger talks to the crowd for the first
time tonight. Explaining that time is tight and that the band is just
going to keep playing without encores ‘until they pull the plug
halfway through a song or something’ (!) he goes on to announce
that the set-list for tonight was picked by fans voting for what they
wanted to hear through the website (‘So if you don’t like it,
blame yourselves!’). This produces a large cheer, which builds to a
roar as the intro to ‘Sick of Drugs’ rings out, and we’re off
again. ‘I Wanna Go Where The People Go’ and the epic
‘Schitzophonic’ kick off magnificently, building to ’Everlone’,
which even in a night of uniform brilliance managed to excel.
Unfortunately, after enduring some ‘friendly fire’ in the form of
half full beer cans flung at the stage that proves too annoying to
endure in silence, when the song ends we are treated to a withering
tirade from Ginger of the subject of wasting beer (‘Have you not
seen how much they charge for it, fer f**ks sake?!? Well, next time,
don’t bloody turn up - you’ll not be missed!’). On paper, it
looks a little petulant, but Ginger, is, well ,Ginger, and instead of
boos his remarks draw warm laughter and a roar of approval. Having
gotten that off his chest, we’re treated to a real blast from the
past in the form of ‘Weekend’. How this song can possibly sound
as fresh as it does is simply beyond me, but the crowd laps it up,
and even being laughed at by Ginger for sounding like a Bon Jovi
audience doesn’t stop us singing along full throated. Glorious.
Following ‘So into
You‘, we‘re admonished to go and buy Deckard’s album from the
merchandising stand (in a moment of rare understatement Ginger refers
to it as ‘F**king brilliant‘), and we’re also asked how we
liked Cardiacs, which produces the funniest moment of the night, as
various crowd members cheer, boo, and yell ‘They were MENTAL!!!’.
The Theme tune from Cheers provokes further gratuitous audience
participation.
After the song, a minor
disaster strikes: both guitars need attention, but, as Ginger
ruefully explains ‘the label is so tight we’ve only got one
guitar tech!’. Given Ginger’s reputation for volatility, it’s a
nervous moment, but he clearly decided to settle for an impassioned
rant of the subject of professionalism and ‘rock on a budget’.
It’s a further tribute to his charisma and the goodwill of the
crowd that this came off like a stand-up routine rather than a
petulant whinge, and we sympathetically filled the temporary gap with
a rousing rendition of ‘Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me’. The band
gradually joined in as instruments were returned to them, and what
could have become an ugly scene instead became a magic live
experience.
Suitably cheered, they
close the set out with a flurry of newer material, before closing
with an insanely brilliant, majestic rendition of ‘Caprice’. Then
with little fanfare, the band leaves the stage, the lights come up,
AC/DC pour out of the PA Speakers, and the inevitable boos of
disappointment roll out from the crowd before we all shuffle out to
queue for several hours for our coats. But no-one is grumpy, and the
buzz in the queue is massive. Everyone is chatting about the gig,
sharing favourite moments, trying to commit it all to memory. For The
Wildhearts, it was just another typically averagely brilliant
performance - just another Saturday night. Except, of course, they
pulled it off on a Wednesday. This short tour boasts an outstanding
bill, and a real showcase of awesome, outstanding British talent. I
implore you to get your asses out there and see these shows. You owe
it to yourselves.
Wildhearts - 11 out of
10. Overall gig score: 30/10.
Magic.
