THE DICTATORS
CELIBATE RIFLES
THE CASNAOVAS
August 23, 2002
The Metro Theatre, Sydney
Word and Pictures: THE BARMAN
Nearly a quarter-of-a-century after they started laying framework
for the likes of the Ramones and a host of bands that followed, the Dictators
have finally made it to Australia. A decade-and-a-half too late to have caught
the groundswell of their own influence in full bloom - when the likes of the
Hitmen, the Psychotic Turnbuckles et al wedded jutting-jawed, smart-arsed frontmen
to tunes about cars, trash culture and fast food. Still, better late than never.
This is a band whose high-energy music and ability to deliver The Rock with
lashings of self-deprecating humour were (are?) in sharp contrast to self-important
and more commercially successful dross that the music industry inflicts on a
daily basis. (For a greater explanation, refer to R. Meltzer's summation on
the 'Tators web site.) This is a band
to which fans of the sort of music that graces this web zine owe a great deal.
It's four-fifths of the Dictators, rhythm guitarist Top Ten having had to stay
home in New York City and tend to his day job. Still bearing the name "Dictators",
technically this is the same line-up that used to go out as "Manitoba's
Wild Kingdom" in the mid-80s. That unheralded change to the bill posed
some pre-tour doubts to me. One of the most exciting things, to me, from a brief
live taste of 'Tators two years ago, was the spectacular interplay between Top
Ten and lead guitarist Ross the Boss. Fears that this would be "Dictators
Lite" flashed across the mental firmament a couple of weeks out. Tonight
laid those fears to rest - and how - but more on that later.
Tommy Love and Co.
First up, the Casanovas and what a surprise packet. Well, maybe
not such a surprise - the likes of I-94 Bar's Melbourne expat Simon Li raves
about these guys and the Killer Klowns' Darren Trew has good things to say about
a bill they shared in Melbourne a few months ago. On tonight's showing, the
Casanovas walk that fine line between Cock Rock and Cock Rock Pisstake without
a false step. Tommy Love's guitar histrionics and memorable vocals are only
part of the story. They're very, very '70s with chunky chords and great songs.
Hard to believe there's no long-player out yet or that this is their first visit
to Sydney. They have a single "Ten Out of Ten" I'm yet to hear. I
will. We live in hope, for an album and return shows.
Next up, the inestimable, indefatigable Celibate Rifles and the question has
to be asked: Do they ever play a bad show? If so, this isn't going to be one
of them. They rip right in with a set gathered from the most recent and mid-period
albums.
Apparently the night before they lifted the roof off Manly Fishoes with a transcendent
version of "Ocean Shore". It's in evidence tonight and I suppose it
must scale similar heights. "I Shoulda" (from "Midstream of Consciousness")
seems to have a permanent place in the set these days (and a good thing it is,
too) while "Johnny" sounds especially fresh. Two newies bob up ("Welcome
to Buttland" and another whose name I didn't catch) as harbingers of the
album that's due out late 2002 or early '03. ("before Cowboy George blows
us all up", as Mr Lovelock likes to put it.)
Toe soloist reflects on the sonic vengeance he's wrought.
Damien Lovelock and Kent Steedman have always been the critical
focal point of this band, but don't ever sell short the importance of Dave Morris
on guitar. He's truly the glue that binds the Rifles musically and is in great
form tonight. What's more, he at least started the set at a far higher stage
volume than his partner-in-guitar. As for Kent - he might appear to be on autopilot
for much of the time but that's surely a measure of the guy's ability as a player.
What he peels off his fretboard is effortlessly distinctive and peerless. He
periodically explodes into whirling dances of hair and high notes as he rips
into another tightly-wound solo. Tonight, we're treated to the usual guitar-behind-the-head
and teethpicking-with-a-six-string extravaganzas, with the rare delight of a
solo played with his big toe. One up on ya on that score, Jimi...
Damien exits the stage with a exhortation that "you'll soon be in the presence
of greatness". Who in this eclectic and, it must be said, very old crowd
will doubt it? A bit of people-spotting reveals a mixed crew on hand. There's
the usual faces from the Sydney 1980s Inner-City Returned Services League, as
well as a sprinkling of heavy metal fans (one Manowar T-shirt looks in mint
condition, even if its wearer isn't) but precious few punks. One mob's even
brought their dad, who looks closer to 60 than the half-century mark but is
no slouch in the drink-shouting and moshing departments. There's the Bearded
Circle Dancer from Annandale Hotel (what party would be complete without him?)
and members of more current bands than you can poke a tuning fork at. There's
also a small core of worse for wear suburban boys who are right up front from
the get-go, most prominent of whom wears the word C_NT in marker pen on his
forehead. We'll get to him in a moment. Suffice to say the moon was full and
so was this prick.
Who WILL save Rock and Roll? HDM and Ross!
"I Stand Tall" is the intro tape and the members of
the Dictators file on, Handsome Dick Manitoba last and resplendent in New York
Yankees baseball shirt, beanie and wraparounds. A spiel about being "from
the best city on the world" is a natural way into "New York, New York".
"Haircut and an Attitude" follows (from the Manitoba's Wild Kingdom
album "And You?") and the house is in Hard Rock Heaven.
Not so well placed is Bill Gibson (an ex-New Christ, current Pyramidiacs and
ex-Lemonheads bass player and formerly of the late, great The Eastern Dark).
Now, Bill's a Dictators fanatic and has grabbed a prime place against the crash
barrier - but it's a spot that the aforementioned self-described C_UNT covets.
He's bouncing off the formidable Billy, myself and a couple of others like a
crazed pinball. (I thought the absent John McPharlin usually attracted pricks
like this - why the fuck isn't this cock off with him, watching the Chevelles
at the Vic on the Park?) You could say Billy's between The Rock and a Hard Place.
He's simply too nice a bloke (or too smart) to belt this sap. Me, I don't blue
well at the best of times, but my pugilistic skills are even less in evidence
when I'm carrying a digital camera. The fucker with C_NT on his head stays,
hard against the crash barrier and directly below The Handsome One, 'till he
notices Manitoba's Star of David on his beanie. C_NT launches into a tirade
of anti-Semitic abuse, cops a pointed boot up the arse from a nearby Killer
Klown and ends up being carted outside by the bouncers, never to be seen again.
Rough justice but well deserved.
Andy and Ross ham it up.
Back to the music and it's the sort of set only a band with the
back catalogue of the Dictators can put together. "DFFD" songs are
prominent ("It's Alright", "Burn Baby Burn") but it's the
older tunes like "Master Race Rock" (haven't heard THAT one since
Roddy Ray'da was doing the live rounds with a home-made Bo Diddley guitar),
"Stay With Me" and a scorching "Minnesota Strip" that elicit
the biggest reaction. Of the newer songs, "Who Will Save Rock and Roll?"
and "I Am Right" both appear to score well for recognition, the latter
springboarding HDM into a monologue I'd read/heard before about wrestling his
grandmother for the hamburger spatula while mush-mouthed on Quaaludes ("Mandies"
would have translated better for an Australian audience.) It's a cool story
and a showstopper of a song, even with one guitar.
Ross gives The Handsome One a cue.
What a guitar or, more correctly, guitarist. Ross the Boss is
a bona fide Guitar Hero. He hams it up with the best of them but doesn't waste
a note, managing to radiate a massively fat wall of guitar sound with nary a
pedal or effects box in sight. And don't we need more Guitar Heroes? Don't we
need more bands like the Dictators? And more cars and girls? And hamburgers
and sleeping till the weekend?
And more frontmen like The Handsome One, though there's a moment for concern
when the Man Amongst Men crashes/dives into the drum riser and comes off second
best, cutting both arms. Quick as can be, he makes the most of it by telling
us: "I bleed for my audience - you don't even get that from Iggy any more"
before calling down the Gods of Rock Action and leading New York's Fabbest Four
into another 14-carat classic.
Handsome Dick enjoys his work.
It's over too soon, but not before a thundering "Sonic Reducer"
and a cover of "Blitzkrieg Bop", dedicated to "Joey in Rock 'n'
Roll Heaven". The final encore is "Two Tub Man" (what else?)
with an extended intro workout by The Boss, borrowing heavily from AC/DC and
Black Sabbath.
If all of us didn't go into the night happy after this, we never will be. If
you missed it, kick yourself now.
(and heaps
more)
The pause that refreshes.
