"TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS"
"DAVEY TAYLOR'S BIG NIGHT OUT"
LIPSTICK KILLERS
KLONDIKE'S DOGS OF THE APOCALYPSE
DAMIEN LOVELOCK (Spoken word)
SHEEK THE SHAYK
Bridge Hotel, Rozelle, Sydney
May 11, 2001
By JOHN McPHARLIN
I tend to shy away from reunion shows, simply because too many bands
that reform for one or two shows years after their original breakup
often turn out to be unable to play their old songs any better than
your average cover band; sometimes not even that well. However this
was for a good cause (a benefit for former drummer David Taylor, but
you already knew that from the Mark Taylor interview last issue) and
the venue wasn't too far from home, so I figured what the heck...
Blimey, I thought Paris Green brought 'em all out of the woodwork, but that was nothing compared to the primeval throng forming a log jam in the ticket foyer as long lost friends and acquaintances belatedly recognised each other across a chasm of decades. "G'day mate, haven't seen you for years... Hey, wait a minute! Didn't I go to your funeral a couple of years ago?". The guy at the counter stamped my ticket and handed it back to me as a ready made souvenir, although plenty of other souvenirs were on sale as well. I settled for the special, supposedly limited edition CD which turned out to be a standard home computer TDK CDR with a cover featuring a tracklist put together by someone who literally could not count to ten without getting wrong (or was that meant as a subtle drummer joke?). Still, it was supposed to be a fund raiser, so who can blame them for keeping the extravagances down to a minimum.
Inside it looked even more like rock'n'roll resurrection day as the clash of zimmer frames threatened to drown out the well chosen selection of songs coming over the PA, while old stagers rubbed shoulders with current and former members of the hot bands of their youth (or in the case of Jim Dickson, rubbed shoulders with elbows and lower torso).
According to advice posted on the Divine Rites newsgroup by Sheek the Shayk's Steve Lorkin, that band was scheduled to start at dead on 8pm, so he can't have been too happy when the Sydney Morning Herald gig guide showed the starting time as 8:30! I was there at 8:01 and there was already a good size crowd loitering in the darkness towards the back of the room, but the band were still in the throes of setting up. After several more minutes delay, during which the crowd continued to swell like the week old corpse of a drowning victim, the band started with a brief instrumental that provided a soundtrack for the Sheik's grand entrance. However, given the lack of a dressing room or backstage area, the Sheik was forced to emerge from the toilet at the side of the stage - hardly the most auspicious of openings, but the Sheik appeared to take it all in his stride.
Thereafter we were treated to a comprehensive workout of the Sheek the Shayk repertoire, both musical and theatrical, which included the bulk of their "Enters the Sandstorm" EP and sundry other features of their regular stage act, but not their cover of the Lipstick Killers' "Liquor Fit" (which was a pity, as it would turn out that the Lipstick Killers had no intention of playing it either). While I find it difficult to take their music seriously (and with lyrics like "Mary Lee/Got the face of a camel/But I La La Love her/Bammalammel", I find it just as difficult to believe that they take their music completely seriously either), they nevertheless played an entertaining garage-y set that contained several guitar-based gems behind the distracting wrestle-o-mania melodrama.
Damien Lovelock had been billed as performing "with friends", but he had to confess that unfortunately he didn't seem to have any. What we got instead was an entertaining and perceptive reminiscence of his misspent youth, complete with fast buck slacker mates, high school truancy, get rich quick schemes, dead end jobs (including cooking pancakes in Sydney's first gay coffee bar), incessant malingering and absenteeism, hash deals with Lebanese gangsters gone wrong and the ins and outs of race fixing at the Gosford dog track..
Clearly many of the nuances of the monologue were lost on the younger members of the crowd (e.g. those still only in their thirties), but its social observation and evocation of a more innocent time, when drugs relaxed the disaffected youth of this great nation of ours instead of sending them spinning out of control, reminded me of Dylan's - the poet, not the folkie - "Under Milkwood" (not that there's nearly as much dope dealing in that fictional Welsh town). While what we heard would make an excellent chapter in a book, it's a pity that there's no obvious avenue for him to refine/expand it while keeping it as a performance piece, or even comic drama for multiple voices a la "Under Milkwood", because it would surely lose some of its richness and texture without his own sardonic delivery...
Klondike's Dogs of the Apocalypse were a real surprise after the ambivalent report of their harbour cruise not so long ago. They blasted into action with "Electrophonic Tonic" then followed it with covers of "Burn My Eye" and "Rock'n'Roll Soldiers" that were right on the money. I don't know anything about the rhythm section but, in keeping with the tenor of the evening, they looked like they had a few miles on the clock and they certainly had the power and presence that derives from plenty of first hand experience in the trenches (plus the composure to cope with the fact that Mr Masuak was almost the sole focus of attention, while they were only ever going to come to notice if they fucked up badly - which, by the way, they did not at any stage look like doing).
The set turned out to be all covers with "The Party Starts Now" (by Manitoba's Wild Kingdom) being the highlight for me. The announcement that Johnny Kannis, rumoured to be a special guest for the evening, would not in fact be appearing seemed to draw a mixed reaction from the crowd, but a willing recruit was soon drafted from the audience to provide assistance on an energetic rendition on the Hitmen single "I Don't Mind". In fact only on the closing cover of "Aloha Steve and Danno" did the presentation falter at all, with the vocals failing to do justice to the original, but overall it was a performance worthy of the admission price on its own, so it is to be hoped that this wasn't just a one off gig and that we'll get to see more shows by this band in the not too distant future!
As the Lipstick Killers began to get organised for their set there was a perceptible surge forward by the crowd, many of whom were armed with photographic equipment of alarming range and sophistication (even I94 Bar record reviewer Simon Li turned out to have a camera in his pocket). The band's recorded legacy consists of two singles (only one of which was released during the band's existence), a live tape from Adelaide in 1979 and the "Mesmerizer" album, taken from another live tape of a show during their unsuccessful and ultimately fatal foray to Los (or perhaps more appropriately Lost) Angeles, but not issued until after the band had broken up; it's now long out of print and has never been reissued on CD.
Despite (or perhaps because of) this they retain a colossal cachet amongst fans of vintage Sydney rawk (and vintage Sydney rawk fans), so expectations were up and the fever was high. Let's be clear: it was not as it was twenty years ago, it never is, but it was still pretty damn good. As the band ripped through a select set of songs, some dating all the way back to the Psychosurgeons, outrageous front man Peter Tillman (now a respected author of legal reference books) needed very little time to get back into the swing after the years off stage. On a night like this everyone has a favourite they'd like to hear and while it was no surprise that the show culminated in "Hindu Gods of Love" (with "Tame" and "Head Off" offered up for the encores), there were calls from the faithful for plenty of others.
Personally I would have liked to hear "Dying Boy's Crawl" get a run, but I was just as happy with the posthumous single "(I Wanna Be Your) Sockman". Someone near me kept yelling out for "I've Got Levitation", but all such requests were initially ignored or later politely rejected with "No, we're not doing any of those songs". Those who persisted were told that the band had only rehearsed a certain number of songs and that they were going to do them all, but no more. The audience didn't get to choose because, as he pointed out to one persistent requestor, "We're doing this for free".
However on a night like this two encores were never going to be enough, though both band and audience then ran up against the repertoire rehearsal limitation, so the audience was told to collectively pick one of the songs they'd already played and they'd play it again. As you might expect, this led to a stunning example of why participatory democracy only works in very small numbers (or when you've got a lot of time for reflection and informed debate - none of which were evident as the clocked ticked relentlessly on). Eventually the band took things into their own hands and gave us a reprise of "Hindu Gods of Love" (though what else could they have chosen?).
Bridge Hotel regulars The Hippos were scheduled to play a set after midnight, but like most of the other punters I couldn't help seeing the end of the Lipstick Killers set as the end of the night and staggered out into dark and off home. Given their lack of tangible legacy, I sure hope someone got this one on tape.
1/2
ON TO MORE PICTURES FROM THE PIT
"I'VE GOT LEVITATION"By THE BARMAN
Lethal things come in small doses: That truism sums up the short set (10 songs or so) delivered by the reformed Lipstick Killers at a once-only show in Sydney on a crisp autumn night. Loud, fast and scientific, in a raw fashion. But first to set the scene...
If you missed our recent interview with Lipstick Killers guitarist Mark Taylor, you need to know that this star-studded event was a benefit for the band's original drummer, Dave Taylor. Badly injured in a car accident, he'll never work again and the show was one result of a group of friends turning entrepenuers. You can find out what else is on here but suffice to say that this was a special event in more ways than one.
The Lipstick Killers hadn't played since a short reformation tour in 1989. They were, if you didn't know, one of the must-see attractions on the burgeoning live scene that was Sydney a decade before that. Radio Birdman Glee Club alumni, their forerunners, the Psycho Surgeons, were regular Birdie supports at the Oxford Funhouse.
In post-Birdman days, the Lipstick Killers attracted much the same crowd as the Radios with an energetic brand of glittery-punk. Their first single, the Deniz Tek-produced "Hindu Gods of Love", remains an essential artefact.
Me and the Lipstick Killers didn't cross paths often enough when I was an apprentice Barman, a callow youth just learning to crawl in those self-same live music pubs, but what recollections come to mind are good (if somewhat sketchy). Of course, times have moved on - and not just for the band members.
It's only early in the night but there are more leather jackets per square metre than Oxford Street on a Saturday night (with just as many shocks of greying or receeding hair). It seems the entire Detroit-cum-punk scene of the late '70s/ early '80s have been beamed up by Scotty and transponded into this smallish room (which holds 400-500 tops).
It's an occasion-and-a-half and the opening act, Sheek the Shayk, doesn't let us down. The room's already half-full when they jump into their traditional instrumental intro and The Golden One enters, stage right, wearing Arab headress and bearing what looks like a ceremonial owl, which occupies a place in the middle of the dance floor for the rest of the set. Then it's "I Am the Shayk" from the "Enters the Sandstorm" mini-album, loud and hard and rockin'. If you've heard it, you'll know what the rest of the set was like. If you haven't, shame on you.
Well-honed veterans, Sheek the Shayk are truly the bastard sons of the Lipstick Killers with a similar mix of schtick and crunch. By the time the Sheek has done a progressive striptease (headress giving way to Mexican wrestling mask and kaftan for a pair of wrestling tights) and the set's over, the growing crowd is well pleased.
Damien Lovelock's up next and apologises for the lack of band (a Kent Steedman-less Celibate Rifles aka the Popguns had been advertised, but drummer Paul Larsen apparently had a full dance card), and is a pretty able spoken word exponent. Starting nervously despite having done this before though building momentum, Damien gives us an insight into his teenage years as a smalltime drug-dealing associate of Kings Cross identity Willy the Pimp. Willy's been immortalised in a Rifles song and makes equally entertaining fare for a monologue. The act's well received.
So too is the return to pub stages of Chris "Klondike" Masuak, last seen publicly as drummer in fab surf combo The Raouls. Tonight, back where he belongs on guitar, he heads Klondike's Dogs of the Apocalypse, who are essentially the last line-up of the Juke Savages (Gordon "Sundance" Presland on drums and Red Porter on bass).
A lack of guitar in the mix is quickly corrected and the Dogs are off the leash, burning through a set of choice covers like Sonics Rendezvous Band's "Electrophonic Tonic", Birdman's "Burn My Eye", Wayne Kramer's "Dangerous Madness" and Manitoba's Wild Kingdom's "The Party Starts Now". "Aloha Steve and Danno" even gets a run.
Klondike's old Hitman-in-arms, Johnny Kannis, was rumoured to be jetting in from the Gold Coast but fails to materialise, but a shaven-headed clone of Zeus (who I'm sure is his younger cousin who used to front a band called the D.A.s, but I'm later reliably informed by the Mazaphonicmeister himself is a long-time fan called Joe who must have seen every Hitmen show ever played) jumps up for the Hitmen chestnut "I Don't Mind". Klondike leads his Dogs through Blue Oyster Cult's "Red and the Black" and, contrary to his warning, it holds together well. A great set from a band that came across as a Detroit jukebox but has a lot more to offer, judging from the scads of recorded tracks that have slipped out of the archives so far. Let's hope they play out in non-cover band mode soon.
Finally, the moment arrives that the entire room has been waiting for and the Lipstick Killers take centre stage. Lead singer Peter Tillman eschews the glitter look, resembling a coffee shop owner in black polo neck skivvy and matching jeans. There's a bit of James Morrison (the Australian trumpet player, not the dead Door) about him and his considerably more economical haircut as he rallies the troops and they storm into "Horizontal Action".
It sounds monstrous, all shredding guitar and a fast, no frills beat. Drummer Michael Charles is from the latter-day "rock" line-up of the band, but either through limited rehearsal time or design, he keeps it simple and frentetic. Maybe it was nerves. Whatever, but it's very much in the style of David Taylor, an untutuored timekeeper whose influence was at the stylistic heart of the band. Guitarist Mark Taylor is ageless as he leans over his instrument and carves out a whirring, buzzsaw noise.
The band went into this with a declared intention of reeling off a rehearsed set of a dozen songs in a way that approximated what they were doing 25 years ago. It's a big call and it's all much happening without a safety net and with a huge amount of energy being expended. No wonder Tillman is visbly flagging towards the back stretch.
This is extreme stuff with "Human Crush" a killer, with "Sockman" and "Hindu Gods" not far behind. Tillman is in great voice and remains an engaging frontman, telling the crowd to "get down and beg" for an encore (for which he snatches up the Sheek's wrestling mask before climbing into "Tame" and "Head Off"). Midway through, he's off the stage and into the crowd, and needs to enlist some help from the punters (the Barman included) to be hoisted back onto the stage. "Head Off" shudders to a halt and it's over.
Almost. The band is summoned back for one more song. "I've Got Levitation" is the overwhelming request, but it's not been exercised in the rehearsal room so a reprised "Hindu Gods" is the offering. It's good enough for me, and most of the assembled throng, most of which shuffles out with big smiles on their faces before the start of the last advertised band, the blues-boogie styled Hippos. Reunions don;t always work. You Can't Wrap Your Arms Around a Memory and all that, but there are exceptions to all rules. We've seen something special tonight, the likes of which we won't see again.
