New Bonds Hit The Pubs (And The Charts)

LETTER FROM BRITAIN

Jonh Inghom

New Bonds Hit The Pubs (And The Charts)

"It's 1975, okay, and all across London town, hey hey," or something like that. It's not so much a case of no fun as a search for a new band that can do more than sustain one's interest and excitement beyond a couple of encounters. Given that most of the new talent is working a pub circuit it's quite an easy proposition, and even fun, to search out new bands purely on the strength of their name secure in the knowledge that admission is free and one's primary purpose is getting drunk.

From a distance the London rock scene no doubt looks as vital as myth has it was eleven years ago. Understandable, of course - a year or so ago the sons of Britannia were frothing over the rosiness and vitality of New York's suddenly emergent scene. Even the knowledge that most of them were-are merely ordinary doesn't lessen the mystique of the few. More than one rock fan disguised as an a&r man has contemplated a flight to Gotham to see Television, and there are many who would lay at the feet of Patti Smith.

Well, kids, Sturgeon's law is equally valid here. Of the third generation of pub bands that have appeared in the past six months, the Michigan Flyers, featuring a J. Geils lineup and obscure but great r 'n' b material, are the only band I would rate as turning into something worth watching. Their proficiency leaves a lot to be desired, especially the harp player, but they succeed in building quite tangible energy throughout a set. Of the others, the ten member, two month old, soul oriented FBI is gaining a quick reputation. Amusingly, the two best members, the pianist and guitarist, are virtually the only white members, and the girl singer is a dead ringer for Rick Wakeman (nice pipes, tho).

The Kursaal Flyers are also doing nicely for themselves, though they appear to be the definitive ZigZag band, dedicated to the proposition that the West is the best. They are unique in having a pedal steel guitarist, but his licks are derived from Poco, Mike Nesmith and Mannassas records, and that consciousness resides throughout the band. Their saving grace is a great cool jazz version of "Route 66," and in their vocalist they have the archetypal failed nightclub singer, his caterpillar moustache and oversize sport coat (pink carnation, natch) making him look a right dago.

But these bands just keep on coming. The Funkees, The Blue Diamonds, Left Hand Drive. What do Chrome sound like, I wonder? None of these bands has been in existence longer than two months, and it's great game going to see them on the strength of their John Hancock; half the time Jonathan King, the master of the name game (lOcc, Hedgehoppers Anonymous) is there for the same reason. The tradition extends from the earliest days: Charlie and the Wideboys, Chilli Willi and the Red Hot Peppers, Kilburn and the High Roads, Dr. Feelgood, Kokomo. Good names to get drunk to.

It was Brinsley Schwarz that started the whole thing. In early 1972 they convinced a pub in Kentish Town, a conveniently central suburb, to allow them the use of a perfect sized room once a week. By the third week over 300 people were crowding themselves in, and it wasn't long before other pubs saw the profit to be made from that many solidly drinking customers and the boom was on. That autumn the music papers picked up on it, there was a brief fad that threatened to kill the

scene, the trendies pronounced it dead just in time, and now things are progressing once more.

The initial buzz was that this was a return to the heyday of the Marquee, Flamingo, and Eel Pie Island, and the obituaries appeared when this initial promise wasn't immediately recognized. What everyone had neglected to realise was that of the first wave of bands the Brinsleys and Ducks Deluxe were almost the only groups whose median age was less than 25, and all of them operated from a very traditional stance, so that even the original numbers tended to either sound like or euloguise the rockabilly, c & w, black-reggae, and '64 Stones-Beatles that made up the rest of their material. Hardly the thing to zap a 13 year old who was hearing a different version of the same era on Top of the Pops.

(Funnily enough, though the bands are now getting younger all the time, the material is still mined from the same veins. For some reason, that kind of music is the best to get pissed to, and the odd heavy metal band that has wandered into a pub has always died the death.)

The bands that caused the initial furor still play the pubs, but are examining ways to branch out. Ducks Deluxe, The Winkies, G.T. Moore and his Reggae Guitars (great concept, but two guitars??), the Wideboys, Bees Make Honey, and Byrds soundalike Starry Eyed and Laughing all have record contracts. The amazing Dr. Feelgood, Chilli Willi and Kokomo are all signed to different companies but have just initiated the first package tour in god knows how many years, each band headlining a different night. Playing to medium sized halls and colleges, they have expanded their audience considerably. Of them all, Ace is the only band that has actually had a hit record. Sounding like white Motown band, "How Long," which read like an end of romance paen but was about the attempts of another band to grab Ace's bassist, made it to the mid-20s and attracted the services of Yes manager Brian Lane. Ace is also the only band apart from the Ducks to have their record released in the US, though it should be mentioned that Kokomo are being handled by Floyd manager Steve O'Rourke who just Signed them to CBS for about $100,000, a deal that also involved the Floyd.

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Of these bands you can expect to hear from Ace, Kokomo (with a deal like that you better believe it), Dr. Feelgood (more on them next month), the Ducks, and the amazing Kilburn and the High Roads.

The Kilburns are something else entirely. Lead singer Ian Drury looks as though he were chopped from granite with a blunt butter knife, dresses in black down to his gloves and has a gimp leg. The bass player is barely bigger than his instrument. The drummer is a cripple. The guitarist looks like Anthony Perkins at his most twitching, and the saxist must be taking five from a trad band just around the corner. Their material ranges in titles from "Mumble Rumble (and the Cocktail Rock)" to "Rough Kids" to an incredibly obscene reggae number whose name escapes me. Drury's voice matches the image exactly, his fractured phrasing frequently rising to a castrated screech in vain search of falsetto, and he likes to dedicate the more primitive numbers to "all the gurls rahn the toilets."

It was their rather incredible appearance that first made them the rage of London (and they are a particularly London band) but lately their music has increased in sophistication to the point where even a bit of Albert Ayler sneaks in, and the recent addition of a Noel Coward lookalike on piano has really improved them no end. The only trouble is, at a time when the music and image make them one of England's prime hotcha combos the only record company that would sign them after their first one collapsed was Pye, which is like being in steerage on the Titanic.