DJ Psyche |
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Setlists:
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Bella Morte ‘The Deathrock invasion continues!’ yells the slogan on the flyer for tonight’s gig. Hang on - I wasn’t aware the deathrock invasion had even started. Did I miss something? Was I in the bathroom when it happened? It’s true enough that there’s currently an upsurge of interest in all things deathrock in the UK - at a time when our scene looks in danger of getting as stale as a three month old fairy cake, many people are looking for something different, something with a bit of the old guts and fire and colour and craziness to it, and deathrock fits the bill. But I don’t know if I’d go so far as to describe this growing interest in such dramatic terms as an invasion. If anything, deathrock is creeping into the UK scene like a rumour. I suspect that what we have here is really a case of good old fashioned hype - after all, none of the three bands on the bill tonight actually describe themselves as deathrock. But what the hell. There’s certainly a good crowd in for the show, enticed along by reports of Bella Morte’s barnstorming performance at the Beyond The Veil festival in Leeds a few days ago. Here in the more compact surroundings of The Verge, we’re surely in for a night of concentrated, boisterous rock ‘n’ roll, and that’s a good prospect whatever the brand name on the package. To a certain extent, unfortunately, this looks like one of those gigs where the bands have to fight it out with the venue.The Verge isn’t just compact - it’s also one of London’s most bizarrely laid out and frustratingly under-equipped performance spaces. The stage is a squashed L-shape, squeezed between the main entrance and the bar. Drummers, who are forced to occupy the far end of the L, are thus invisible to most of the audience. The PA stacks are cunningly arranged in such a way that the sound fires directly into the crowd, making everything muffled and bass-heavy. Human bodies create an excellent sound baffle, and it only takes a few people down the front to mop up the mid and top frequencies pretty effectively. Oh, and there are two stage lights. Count ‘em, two. And they’re both red. This means that all tonight’s bands are forced to perform under the kind of dim red glow which would be ideal for anyone wishing to develop their own holiday snaps, but is a bit bloody useless for lighting up a live set. The bands, to their credit, take all this in their stride, but I can’t help feeling a little embarrassed that the shortcomings of the London live music circuit have been so glaringly revealed - especially as various members of The Deep Eynde are here tonight to see the show. They’re probably making a note never to play any UK gigs, if this is typical of our venues! Devilish Presley certainly aren’t about to allow themselves to be troubled by the lack of rock star facilities. If anything, they use the basic surroundings to fuel their fire. Their set is short, but packs a punch. They rampage their way through a set of their trademark blues-punk tunes, the guitars clashing, the drum-program pounding. Johnny Navarro takes time out from thrashing his guitar to make some pithy remarks about the venue’s gear: ‘Look, we’ve got two lights - and they’re either on...or they’re off! In the twenty-first century I just think it’s incredible that we can do this!’ The duo stomp and clatter to a conclusion, and by way of a grand finale Johnny tips over a monitor, grabs the beer crates it was balanced on, and claps them together over his head, very nearly reducing The Verge’s entire lighting rig to shattered fragments. You’ve got to love this band: loud guitars, sarky comments, and a healthy disrespect for the hardware. All the rock ‘n’ roll essentials present and correct in one brief set. Which brings us neatly to Zombina And the Skeletones, who are currently being hailed in certain quarters as the greatest rock ‘n’ roll phenomenon since Little Richard’s hairstyle. And, in theory, they do indeed seem an enticing prospect. A female-fronted bunch of rockers, with a knockabout trash-kitsch aesthetic and some corny-but-crazy 50s pastiche songs about mad professors and prom nights, high schools and sci-fi - hey, they should be rockin’ cool, right? Alas, not for the first time, I fear I must cast myself as the spectre at the feast, because quite frankly I can’t see what all the fuss is about. The band chug their way through a set of fairly innocuous pop-rock numbers which, apart from their deliberately kitsch titles and cornball lyrics, don’t seem to have anything much to do with their supposed vintage rock leitmotiv. There’s a brief acapella interlude, in which the boys in the band gather round a mic and go all doo-wop for a while, but this comes across like a token nod to the band’s alleged 50s style rather than a natural extension of their overall theme. Most of the Skeletones’ music sounds like workaday alternorock to me - with, bizarrely enough, a side order of heavy metal. Yes, those guitars do get quite alarmingly heavy at times, riffing away as if the lads harbour a secret desire to be Black Sabbath. Zombina herself simply stands diffidently at the mic throughout. Now, call me Mister Demanding if you will, but from the way so much praise has been heaped upon this band, I thought I was going to be swept away by a sassy, bubblegum blowin’, bra-strap twangin’, high heel stompin’ cross between Betty Boop and Bettie Page. What I get is a rather shy-looking girl next door who looks like she’s fronting the college rock society’s pick-up band at the end of term party. Oh, I suppose Zombina And The Skeletones provide a certain lightweight fun, and I think lightweight fun is all a large chunk of the goth scene wants these days, which is probably why the band are receiving so many plaudits. But I really think Zombina and her chums should go out and buy some albums by The Cramps and the B52s, and learn from the real experts at this stuff. The obstreperous punk gang that is Bella Morte crowds onto the stage. But they don’t leap into their set right away. There’s a lengthy delay, in which arcane things are done with (or perhaps to) a laptop. There’s an irony there: even in their new, rocked-up, drumkit-and-everything guise, Bella Morte still need technology to help them make their racket. Dear me, how on earth did bands manage before computers were invented? Eventually, they get everything working. Our promoter tonight, the mysterious DJ Psyche, announces the band. Punters crowd to the front and place themselves in the ‘to be rocked’ position. And then we all get comprehensively rocked. Bella Morte hurl themselves into their music like a wrecking crew. Songs are set up and gleefully whacked down again, as if the band are wielding demolition balls rather than guitars. The small stage means that the band can’t leap and lurch about in quite the same unbridled manner as they did in Leeds - here, the visual side of the performance is carried by vocalist Andy Deane, who busts his moves in the small pool of red light at the front of the stage like he’s a graduate of the Henry Rollins Frontman Academy. It’s loud and rough, with more than a hint of a ‘let’s do the show right here!’ attitude. Bella Morte don’t seem concerned about their less than lavishly equipped surroundings. They’re here to make some noise and have a good time, and by crikey they’ll do just that. It occurs to me that this band would probably be happy to play a gig in a cardboard box - and they’d put on a good show, too. They rock and rumble and bellow through their songs, and then, right at the end of the set, they pull an unexpected contrast out of their musical bag. It’s an endearingly faithful cover of The Penguins’ 1954 hit, ‘Earth Angel’, a fine old tune from the days when R ‘n’ B meant something more than a bland soundtrack to a lifestyle of conspicuous consumption. Bella Morte deliver the song with an affectionate respect, adopting, it must be said, a rather more convincingly vintage band-persona for this one number than Zombina And The Skeletones were able to muster for their whole set. They leave the stage to a warm and enthusiastic reaction, and London is hereby added to Bella Morte’s list of conquests. Yep, that was a good gig, notwithstanding the fact that Zombina didn’t exactly sweep me off my feet. Hey, two out of three ain’t bad, and in any case it’s good to see two new-to-London bands getting an opportunity to do their stuff. Bella Morte certainly went head-on at the limitations of the venue and won: their high-energy punk show dovetails very neatly with the take no shit, take no prisoners London attitude, and it all worked very well tonight. Barns were definitely stormed. But let me point a thought at you before we go. Bella Morte’s musical journey from trad-goths to synthpoppers to ramalama punks does beg a pertinent question. Where will the band go from here? Does their musical master plan envisage the band mutating into fully paid-up denizens of the nu-punk scene? They’re already coming on like a cross between Green Day and Black Flag, to the point where their continued presence in goth circles is starting to look rather illogical. Surely Bella Morte’s natural territory, looking and sounding as they do these days, would be as tour support to The Offspring, AFI, or someone of that ilk, playing their amiably boisterous punker anthems to the mohawks ‘n’ keychains crowd? OK, I’m throwing rhetorical questions around here. But, as Bella Morte continue their headlong dash down the punk path, those questions are getting less rhetorical all the time. One day, I suspect we’ll all wake up to discover that Bella Morte have become the new Blink 182 - and will we think that’s a good thing or not? see all the photos from this concert here Bella Morte: http://www.bellamorte.com Zombina And The Skeletones: http://www.zombina.com Devilish Presley: http://www.devilishpresley.com DJ Psyche, promoter of the gig: http://www.viciouslondon.com/psyche Reviewed by Uncle Nemesis: http://www.nemesis.to |