The
ScientistsWORDS and PICTURES:
JOHN McPHARLIN
If Skinnyboy from Stanmore had his knickers in a knot over an old "dude"
like Peter Fenton getting good Friday night gigs around town, I'd hate to imagine
what he made of even older dude Kim Salmon getting the positively ancient Scientists
back together again, especially with his old dude former Beasts Of Bourbon bandmate
Spencer Jones occupying the top support spot.
Not only were the Scientists playing on the following Saturday night as well, but advance sales for both these nights had been so strong that an additional gig on the Sunday was added to the agenda at the last minute. After the announcement of that extra gig I kept an ear cocked for the sound of Skinnyboy's brain, heart, lungs and liver exploding simultaneously out of a combination of frustration and rage, but all I heard was a car backfiring (at least, I think it was a car).
To cap things off, opening act The Expedience featured mainly refugees from the Interstellar Villains (Tony Thewlis' late '80s post-Scientists project), plus the Annandale's booker on bass (conspiracy theorists start your obsessions now!). They kicked their set off with Sam The Sham's "Li'l Red Ridding Hood", then went on to attack a variety of sixties garage classics, some by full frontal assault and others by stealth and ambush.
After the end of his set, there was no doubting that Spencer Jones had earned his position on this or any other bill around town and if there's any justice in the world then he also ought to have shifted a fair number of copies of his new CD on the strength of this performance.
The band were all on stage a good 10 minutes before the advertised start time of their set and what seemed to be a general tuning up slowly but deftly turned into the instrumental "The Spy Who Drugged Me" without any announcement or even acknowledgement that the set had begun. After this rather restrained, almost dreamy, opening the rest of the set consisted mainly of the more "full on" tracks from the new ("Lost Anxiety Tapes") and previous ("Last Gasp") albums, served up together as a single flagon of flavoursome but heavily fortified wine (this is not music for the teetotal or even the moderately sober), with only an occasional word of introduction to interrupt the flow.
In
the case of the "Last Gasp" songs, the big band sound had been stripped
back to its bare essentials, leaving them raw but hypnotic - like the sound
of sins being committed and going unatoned, though not always unpunished. Highlights
of a set which seemed to be almost all highlights were "What's Got Into
Him", "My Week is Better Than Your Year" and the closing, emphatic
"Crackwhore Blues".
After witnessing the "Kim Salmon plays The Scientists" extravaganza to launch the "Blood Red River" compilation here at the Annandale a couple of Decembers ago, I thought then that the songs themselves had passed the test of time with flying colours and that the surviving Scientists should still be able to put on a pretty effective show without the need to resort to the distracting novelty of a pageant of guest performers.
The subsequent Salmon/Sujdovic/Thewlis reunion performance for the Studio 22 programme only served to reinforce that opinion, but nevertheless left me unprepared for the aural onslaught unleashed this evening. It's a great pity that this show wasn't being recorded for posterity as well, as the intensity was way above that captured in the Studio 22 broadcast.
For the faithful, this was a case of all promises kept and a few divine blessings delivered into the bargain. Ostensibly these shows were to promote the new "Human Jukebox 1984-1986" retrospective, which strangely is only just now released "officially" although it's been available direct from the Citadel Records web site for almost four months. However they ended up playing more songs from the previous "Blood Red River" compilation, though "Human Jukebox" was well represented too.
Unlike the shows following their return from England in 1986, this time there were no qualms about playing "Swampland" - in fact they opened with it. The word most often used to describe the Scientists' sound is "primal", which is certainly succinct but seems hardly adequate even if it is well in keeping with the band's oft documented minimalist approach. Yet it fails to do justice to the more melodic, or at least mesmerizingly rhythmic, initial Sydney material like "Swampland" and similar early classics such as "Set It On Fire", "Blood Red River", "This Is My Happy Hour" or "We Had Love" (all of which featured in tonight's set).
It was only when the band got to Europe and started living out its destiny of "fewer chords and more noise" that things really did get primal, with chaos and distortion not just aspects of their musical form but virtually a way of life as the "band chemistry" was swamped by bad chemistry. From the winsome "Braindead" (though not nearly as winsome tonight as it is on record) through the foreboding "Shine" to the thermonuclear apocalypse of "Atom Bomb Baby" and the ultimate anarchy of "Human Jukebox", it was a wild ride for them then and for this audience now.
However this was not the Trade Union Club, circa 1986. Nor was it just any throwaway Friday night out and about the traps in the new millennium. This was a band that was far ahead of its time then, being celebrated by an audience who had finally caught up now. The sense of occasion was palpable, with those too young to have seen the band in its prime rubbing shoulders with those who fondly remembered the band from as far back as its first shows, fresh from Perth (and in some cases obviously nursed a deep seated desperation to relive what had been a significant highlight of their youth). You can add to them a herd of curious rank-and-file punters and the odd sad trendoid, forty plus with a pierced eyebrow and probably a nipple or knob ring as well (though of course the ladies don't have the second option available to them) and equally desperate to be seen to be hip, regardless of who the band was or what they sounded like.
So, what about me (and a big thank you to the Minogues for playing that song at the Rifles' Boxing Day show; the f#$%in' thing has been popping in and out of my head ever since), you may well ask? I was there in my Fletcher Jones slacks and a cheap Pelaco shirt; probably exactly what I was wearing two decades ago (albeit a couple of sizes larger). Never the height of fashion, nor even vaguely in step, I console myself that at least my ensemble is no more unfashionable now than it was then.
And
the band? They were still the real deal. At the time these songs were written
and recorded the band was embarked on a heroic quest fueled by alcohol, handfuls
of chemicals and an unshakable belief in a musical vision. Even if they weren't
as completely out of control 15 years on, history had vindicated their musical
vision and it was more than just an afterglow of the spent passion of youth
that could be detected burning in amongst the triumph and euphoria of tonight's
show. There was also a justifiable sense of righteousness to it all.
Sure it was just a one off thing (or really three off; make that five off counting
the planned shows in Melbourne) and what was once a defiant and uncompromising
expedition to break boundaries and stake out the uncharted territory beyond
was now more of a guided tour round a revered feature of the established musical
landscape (though they're still nowhere near palatable enough for commercial
radio), but it doesn't hurt a bunch of true musical pioneers to receive a little
reverence from an audience once in a while. If nothing else, it balances out
the aggression of that angry and uncomprehending mob hurling bottles at the
stage during the brief but infamous Parramatta Leagues Club gig supporting the
Angels.
Older and wiser maybe, the Scientists were still prepared to run recklessly
straight at the wall, musically speaking, when the opportunity presented itself;
whether it was to the primordial psychobilly of "Nitro" and "When
Fate Deals Its Mortal Blow", the headlong roar of "Revhead",
the bleak yet savage desolation of "Burnout", the eternal torment
of "Solid Gold Hell" or the slow mounting discord and cacophony of
"Backwards Man". Compared with these live performances, the recorded
versions are little more than dim shadows cast on a distant wall by a flickering
candle.
There had to be an encore and with it came a real surprise in the form of Leanne Chock making a return to drummer's seat for the first time since the mid-80s. Settling down with a nervous look on her face, suggestive of someone being pushed into a lifeboat after being told that there's a hole in the bottom and both the oars are broken, she nevertheless kept the band on an even keel as they wailed through "Demolition Derby", "Lead Foot" and "If It's The Last Thing I Do" (usually just referred to as "Travis").
Midnight
is the Annandale's official curfew, but it seems that the bands often have been
persuaded by the management to wind things up by about 10 to; this allows a
clear 10 minutes for the bulk of the punters to swill down the last of their
beers and start stumbling towards the door. Generally that's also when the management
starts looking nervous if the music is still going on. By this time it was eight
to. Add to that the fact that we'd now had the surprise guest/big finale and
I wasn't anticipating anything further.
On the other hand, there were still some songs they hadn't played and until the lights come up and the recorded music starts flooding out over the PA, there's always the slight chance of a little something extra. So while some of the audience gave up too easily and started easing themselves towards the exit, I was one of the many die hards loitering in front of the stage, admittedly more in faint hope than firm expectation.
As it turned out we were not to be disappointed, because the band did return for a second encore: their brooding and portentous cover of "You Only Live Twice" followed by a grinding, unrepentant "Murderess In A Purple Dress". After that, there was definitely no more time left and nothing more an audience could decently demand.
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