Photos - David YoudellThem Crooked Vultures comes with the backstory to end all backstories, even if it's a short story, so far.
Apart from anything else, this is the supergroup that turned down Macca. Well, sorta. When Paul McCartney got wind of Dave Grohl's longheld ambition to team-up with mate, Josh Homme, ubercool guitarist from Queens Of The Stone Age, he asked, in a way which sounds like a nod to a famous Abbott & Costello sketch, 'who's on bass?', only to suffer the ignominy and embarrassment of Grohl's reluctant reply, 'John Paul Jones' (Led Zep's multi-instrumentalist). Still, the former moptop seems to have a sense of humour about it, since he's the one that's put it about. So now you know the stellar lineup that is TCV; along with Alain Johannes (Moschulski), the Chilean-born blues guitarist par excellence, well-known with the Queens, from Lollapalooza, who tags along, on guitar, for touring purposes.
But is the band any good? Well, YEAH!
But before we go there, a word about the support, Fangs. (Not to be confused with fellow Melbourne bands Fangs Of A TV Evangelist, Satanic Soccer Mum, The Fang, or eponymous Glaswegian glam-indies; what's with the apparent preponderance of Victorian vampires?) A meritorious punk-thrash outfit that benefited from a better mix than the headliners, save for the try-hard, hang-tough pseudo-attitude of their loudmouthed lead singer, who lacks the convincing theatricality of Iggy, or even Johnny, they commend themselves for closer inspection. He did, however, more than redeem himself with raucous, full-tilt vocals and lead guitar brilliance; even hinting at the calibre and colour of Hendrix. I only wish I could find some reference to them, to that end, on the worldwide interweb. Suffice to say, they play with conviction, commitment & vitality, and are robust players, attuned to the anarchic element that must inform and suffuse their chosen genre.
TCV' driving force, is JPJ' rumbling bass, backed by Grohl's relentless pounding, with Homme's prodigious guitar work providing much of the colour. He's a fine singer, too; not that I could make out a single word, that I recall, thanks to grossly distorted sound (a pox on sound engineers). Not even my accommodating ears could acclimate quickly or well enough to compensate. We know it was horribly bent out of shape, because even Jones' solo piano sounded more like a catfight than one of the most sublimely expressive instruments ever dreamed-up. If this is the price to be paid for the growling, bullnosed blues sound that is there, I'm not sure the price is worth paying.
They're such ripper riffers, there isn't much need for anything else. Yet there's more besides, including an engaging sense of self-deprecating humour, not necessarily always found in egomaniacal rockstars. This is evident in song titles, for starters: Nobody Loves Me & Neither Do I; the indisputably loveless set-opener. 'I told I was rich; She asked could I use a dirty bitch'. And with this cheery chorus: 'Cutting her loose, I'm ready to go; People in the world, your gonna lose control; Cut me a noose, I'm ready to go; People in the world, your gonna lose control'. Mere cyncism, or a poignantly empathic pointer to dangerously low-self-esteem? You ok, Josh? Given his wisecracking bravado onstage, I think so. He's not Oscar Wilde, but manages to be mischievously engaging. He's looking a little Rubenesque, however, in sharp relief to the buff Grohl, and surprisingly ageless Jones.
Songs like New Fang feature even more frustratingly inscrutable and cryptic lyrics, but it doesn't seem to matter much. New Fang is raunchy and concedes no musical compromise to chart-topability, yet is contagious in the way of, say, Powderfinger. Nobody is reminiscent of former neo-rockers, Living Color, but TCV has a dirty brutality, where the former had a clean, sharp edge. In a way, surely that's the acid test of rock authenticity: you need to feel used and soiled after hearing a song.
Caligulove fuses that sludgy, headlong nosedive into a peat bog 70s aesthetic, with the dark, threatening posture of coldhearted 80s bands from England, while Mind Eraser, No Chaser is like a bolt of electricity of sufficient voltage to recharge even the mildest-mannered listener. Elephants, too, is the quintessential lifeblood of all that's deliciously bad (as in fully sick) about rock. Scumbag Blues showcases the fact Homme would've been quite at home in Deep Purple; the idea underscored by some funky clavinet from Jones. Stylistically and structurally, Reptiles puts me quite readily in mind of Led Zep. Gunman owes more to the discordant auditory challenges so characteristic of early-to-vintage Sabbath, perhaps. Interlude With Ludes has a not dissimilarly compelling weirdness, while Warsaw is a heavy plod, alleviated and leavened by an intriguingly frivolous Beatlesqueness. Spinning In Daffodils has the hypnotic potential of Mr Pop's primal Lust For Life. Without taking it any further, there are more textures, homages and concepts here than you poke a stick at; plenty to sink your teeth into.
There's an undertow of Zeppelin, even if the songs, if anything, sound more Stone Age. But, while there are references, witting or unwitting, to Nirvana, for example, as well as a toolbox and trickbag of 70s ideas in evidence, the whole is much more than the some of its parts and influences. It's not just a cynical quick-buck exercise exploiting pre-existing celebrity, there's real heart here.
I went along, primarily on the strength of the nostalgic aura that envelops Jones, as seemed to be the widespread case at the Pavlova, given the crowd reaction. I'd heard precious little of TCV' album, and was labouring under the misapprehension it leaned toward the heavy rock end of the spectrum, something very much to my taste. The band does and has that, but there are many strings to the TCV bow. There was even one song that, for mine, could've been passed off as a John Lennon composition, for its haunting, enchanting, psychedelic strangeness. (Since there were few announcements, I'm not sure I can help identify it, however.)
Spiritually, if you will, while DG may be the founder, Homme seems to be the leader, live. (He is the man, after all.) His other line from the aforementioned Nobody Loves Me, 'I know how to burn with passion', seems to be indicative of his devil-may-care, caution-to-the wind, 'I don't care who knows it' spontaneity, and determination to explore, experiment, diversify, inspire, invigorate and energise. It seems to be what has driven his lauded Desert Sessions, as well.
Certain of the critics' circle have baulked at the propensity for solos but, given the quality of the players involved, I welcome them. Homme's playing can be blistering and is certainly as brash and visceral as his in-your-face persona. Jones (whose real name, by way of incidental rock trivia, is John Baldwin) seems to have a penchant for continual, if not contiguous, innovation and improvisation: for example, the first song saw him playing slide bass! What that little tv-screen is on his bass has piqued my curiosity, to boot. As well as piano & other keys, (programmed) keytar and countless other guitars, one of the highlights of the night was JB's virtuosic mandolin motif.
All seemed to be having the time of their lives, albeit with tongues in cheeks, perhaps moreso (save for notable examples) than the surprisingly stiff, contained audience. Nonetheless, it was a full house, that seemed to be quietly mesmerised, 'though it was difficult to discern whether they were there as ardent fans of this new music, or simply to genuflect to rock divinity.
It's good to see the Hordern making a comeback, but I was again reminded of the down side of biggish gigs: the physical remoteness which constantly threatens to sever the connection between band and audience; the inexplicable, unjustifiable and unforgivable tendency toward careless or downright incompetent mixing and reproduction; the relative discomfort; fans so busy posturing, or talking, they seem to forget the purpose of their presence. How good would TCV be at, for argument's sake, The Factory Theatre, if only that were manageable, and viable? While I'm into it, and there was plenty of meat and potatoes, in terms of a memorable experience, despite the magical luminousness of the likes of Jones & Grohl, I can't rate it as up there. I am, however, anxious to get my hands on the debut, and forthcoming follow-up. And a live DVD might fill the gap. As it stands, this concert served as a pointer, more than anything, to the intrinsic value of what the trio (plus one) are doing with their downtime, rather than a night to remember, and rave about.
THEM CROOKED VULTURES
Brisbane
Riverstage
Mon January 25
Ticketmaster 136 100 or www.ticketmaster.com.au
Sydney
Hordern Pavilion
Tue January 26 & Wed January 27, 2010
Ticketek 132 849 or www.ticketek.com.au
Web: www.themcrookedvultures.com
