JOAN JETT & THE BLACKHEARTS
Annandale Hotel, Sydney
Friday, January 7, 2011Words by THE BARMAN and BOB SHORT
Photos by EMMY ETIEShare Let's clear the air on this. There is nothing wrong with nostalgia. Half the world's economies run on remembering the last time things were really tough and the others only exist because they don't want to end up the same way. As for rock and roll, it wouldn't still be standing if it didn't keep looking over its shoulder wondering if that's a bluesman, the devil who bought his soul or, more lately, the Fun Police sneaking up to call "last drinks" or impose another rule. Sometimes the rock and roll nostalgia trip is painfully wistful or a shadow of its former self. Then there are the times when it's fun. This was one of them.
The Aussie rock and roll circuit in summer is one endless sushi train where a biggest portion of the dishes are nostalgic. U2 gives way to Bon Jovi, bumps into Joe Cocker and trips over George Thorogood on the way out. Blondie and the Pretenders. And Joan Jett.
Joan's in Oz for a string of summer festival dates. Making bacon, do doubt. And out of the blue she announces what the Yanks would call a "club date" in the Annandale, one of Sydney's few remaining rock rooms. It legally holds about 350 people. This is A Big Deal. All hell (briefly) breaks out when a ballot system opens and the tickets go in a few minutes. Sydney being a relatively small city,there are more than a few outbreaks of hostility between those who scored tickets and who that missed out.
Gig night: It's 8pm and the line to get inside the 'Dale is snaking down the Parramatta Road footpath like the venue's accidentally advertised free beer. Inside the front bar, the look is mohawks, facial piercings, serious tatts of girlfriends' names and dark singlets - and as a way of life and not an after-thought. Some of the blokes are dressed similarly.
Joan and the Blackhearts are due on at 9.30pm. The door to the band bar is closed until 8.40 with the band sound-checking for an interminably long time. Speculation is that after playing big outdoor shows, they're calibrating for the smaller confines of the Annandale. Opinion seems to be that even if they manage to do so, it'll still be loud as all fuck. When the doors eventually open, a flood of people pour through to stake best places up front. I hang around the halfway point (in line with the mixing desk) to chat with some friends while we all wait.
There's no support, just a DJ pumping out glam rock and punk stuff that matches the mood. They're playing all the hits and so will Joan. The roadies choose to drape the drums in a black sheet, which seems odd. LIke we've never seen a big kit before? SMS messages fly between people who are inside and those unable to make it. Hear that rapturous cheer? That's for the band who are walking onstage about 20 minutes late.
Joan reckoned she was delayed because she had trouble getting her pants on. They were sticky and she hoped the crowd's would end up the same way. Joan obviously hadn't spent enough pre-gig time walking on the Annandale's carpet. It renders the term 'sticky' redundant. It used to be like treacle, now it clings to the soles of your shoes and makes movement impossible. Prisoners of rock and roll. Fuck that, I'd rather drink at the Annandale rather than be stuck to it. Bar sales would soar if most of the punters weren't pinned to the floor.
"Bad Reputation" is one killer opener and it doesn't slacken from there - at least in the opening stanza. "Cherry Bomb" is next and is dropped with maximum impact. LIke a H-bomb, more likely. "Light of Day" is next and gets a welcome from the crowd that belies the fact it was on the soundtrack of a movie so obscure that SBS is sure to run it in prime time when you're not looking. "Do You Want To Touch Me?" nails that glitter stomp beat and raucous guitar edge that is Big Dumb Rock writ large. It's perhaps the ultimate glam anthem. Pity that the mix is flaccid and lacking in bottom end until the last third of the show.
Do you know that word "ageless"? At this point I'm thinking it applies to Joan Jett in a way that not many 50-plus rockers can match. I'm not close enough to catch the finer nuances and for all I know she's gasping like a deep sea diver on a nitrogen bender, but there's enough energy coming off that stage to burn out a small-town power grid. Plus, she plays herself better than Kirsten Stewart.
As for the band, I did expect one of those slick, over-playing, overpowering outfits that you can see in any large city American club on a Monday night. They weren't like that but they didn't let me down on a couple of counts. The cliched gestures (like pretending to spot a familiar face in the crowd) were there. If the Blackhearts and their venerable leader had led one more "hands in the air, let's clap the beat together" charge I might have been driven to do a Bear Grills and drink my own urine (or worse.) But, damn, they could play their stuff.
I thought this was the engine room that does duty with Cheetah Chrome and Sylvain Sylvain in the Batusis but was later told that wasn't the case. Oh well. There are lots of Blackhearts. These ones nailed the big rhythms to the floor, even when the mix let them down. The lead guitarist delivered. Veteran manager/arranger/producer Kenny Laguna on keyboards and percussion was also nowhere in the mix but cut a sharp figure in his Rat Pack Fedora.
The set hits some black ice with the newer stuff. I suppose the Runaways songs like "School Days" and the big hits are what I know best so a rabid fan I am not, by any stretch The contemporary songs don't have the same smart-dumbness or abandon but Joan still carries them off. Other people might have written her most commercially successful tunes but that doesn't mean she can't "own" them. There's an enormous lesson in there for today's would-be rock stars.
You know the biggie she was saving. "I Love Rock And Roll" is dropped near the end and it's lovingly delivered and embraced. With some acts the signature song is like a millstone and it's begrudgingly spat out. No way with Ms Jett. She means every word. "Crimson and Clover" is in there too.
Was this a life-changing, lightning bolt of a gig that's going to change lives forever? Mostly not, but maybe so in the case of some of the younger fans who must have been an itch in their fathers' pants when the biggest of these songs were hits. For the most part, it was big-time fun and undoubtedly will go own as one of the best of 2011. Nostalgic in a way worth reflecting on. - THE BARMAN
Joan Jett is cool. The emphasis in that sentence should clearly be placed on the word "is". Pull out your picture dictionary and there she is right next to cool. And she's winking. Joan winks a lot. During the course of her performance, she makes sure she shoots an individual wink at each and every member of the audience. She smiles and flirts but it doesn't look like a scam because she just plain radiates cool. And now, here in the relatively small confines of the Annandale Hotel, we get to see her up close and personal. We get a whole lot more winks for our bucks.
You had to go into a lottery to get tickets. If you were lucky enough to win one, you had to bear the brunt of your friends' abuse (or feigned disinterest) for weeks. Asking me if it was any good is ridiculous. Despite the incredible inflation of expectation a punter would have about an event like this, Joan was going to pull it off. She's a star in the old time sense of the word. A professional who has been doing this job for 35 years. She's forgotten more stagecraft than you'll ever know, kid. And she's cool. Cooler than me and cooler than you.
Criticism is pointless. We are talking about the genuine rock star item here. Does it matter that the new songs wouldn't pass muster as a b-side? No. Even with inferior material, Joan Jett cruises through on sheer force of personality. She always has. Even back in the day when an LP was two sides of five songs a piece, her albums maintained a pretty unappetising clunker to hit ratio. Hey. I bought them. I listen to them. I keep on buying them. Even crap Joan Jett is better than ninety nine point nine percent of the world's recorded output.
After all, she is an icon. It's not just that she's the chick who gave chicks rock and roll (and, let's face it, she was.) More than that, she personifies the '70s kid who just wanted to play rock and roll and then went out and did it. Punk attitude. She heard Suzi Quatro, the Sweet and all that English glam and decided she could do that. Maybe it was just luck that she got it that tiny bit wrong in translation but if she didn't actually invent that punk chug rhythm style of guitar playing, she is the most obvious bridge between Johnny Thunders and Steve Jones. Maybe no one has said it out loud. She is one of the most significant cultural figures of the latter part of the 20th century. When history whittles away the also rans, whatever is left, she'll be there.
The set opens full throttle in grand Glam rock style; simple riffs and football chants piled over mountainous meat and potato drumming. Boom. Thump. Boom. Thump. Massive roll on the snare. (Repeat from go to whoa.) "Bad Reputation", "Cherry Bomb" and Gary Glitter's "Do you want to touch" are fired off in quick succession. Joan then introduces the theme song from "that movie she was in" and the crowd goes wild in anticipation. I'm guessing only half a dozen people in the audience have actually seen "Light of Day" and the rest think she's talking about "The Runaways" movie. There is a curious blur in reality about her. It is not so much that she has had a movie made about her. It is almost as if she has taken on the role of legend because of the movie. Certainly, there are kids here who weren't even born when Joan last graced the hit parade. It is a sure sign of the power of that movie when you see those kids feel such ownership of the performer. Another blessing the biopic provides is that it gives her the opportunity to reclaim a few songs from "her first band" and, as the night progresses we get a chance to see her run through "School Days" and "Drive Me Wild". I didn't hear anyone complain.
Does it matter that she noticeably flags towards the end of the hour long set? No, it just adds to her charm. It makes her seem that little bit more human. (Cool is a marvellous thing, isn't it? It forgives all faults). Besides, if you still have a bag of tricks including "I Love Rock and Roll", "Crimson and Clover" and "I Hate Myself For Loving You" to close on, the momentum of the set is going to carry you through. And let's not forget that she's a trooper. She constantly maintains a smile for the audience even when she's forced to use the guitar and drum breaks to turn and catch her breath. She can also flash the most withering stare you have ever seen in your life at any band member who dares to miss a cue. In about a second she can smile at the audience, turn, glare at her guitarist, turn and smile at the audience again. Woe be tide he who invokes the goddesses' wrath. You won't get close enough in a stadium to see that.
Essentially, however, Joan Jett is one of those people who you cannot help but fall totally in love with at first sight. I think that is because she really does love rock and roll as much as the song says. She loves her audience and she loves the fact that she has triumphed in an industry geared to spit people out. It is written all over her face from the night's opening chord to the closing crash of the encore cover of Sly and the Family Stone's "Everyday People". She's still standing, loud and proud. I say this most sincerely, if there was any kind of licensing system introduced before you were allowed to put yourself up on to a stage it should surely involve going to see a Joan Jett gig. Perfection (warts and all). - BOB SHORT
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