INXS...IN HELL?

Friends, we’ve got trouble. Trouble right here in the U.S.A. that rhymes with “well?”and sounds like HELL. Thirty years ago, we were warned by God-fearing people that rock was the devil’s music. Lately, we’ve been reminded—thank God!—that rock still is the devil’s music. I therefore consider it my duty as a Christian to forewarn the hapless naive publicfriends!—against any and all rock bands congressing with Satan and his works.

With nothing more or less than salvation of souls paramount in my brain, I met INXS’s lead singer,

Michael Hutchence, sort of a gangly Little Lord Fauntleroy/enfant terrible. Right off, I could tell he was a child of the Lord, notwithstanding his tight black leather trousers and gauzy oversized white blouson, topped with a floppy black velvet jacket. And despite the fact Mr. Hutchence has been compared to an awesome composite of Mick Jagger, Jim Morrison (“The Liz” to his close friends) and Morrissey of the Smiths, he could not have been a more sincere, helpful representative of the Australian Rock Renaissance. In fact, he very charmingly reminded me of my favorite William Blake poem,

“The Angel”:

I asked a thief to steal me a peach:

He turn’d up his eyes.

I asked a lithe lady to lie her down: Holy and meek she cries.

As soon as I went an angel came:

He wink’d at the thief And smiled at the dame,

And without one word spoke Had a peach from the tree,

And ’twixt earnest and joke Enjoy’d the Lady.

eyes. Behind a veil of Vantage smoke and reddish-brown, long curly dreadlocks (sort of), Michael Hutchence didn’t seem to me as though a shred of Satan dwelled therein. INXS’s latest Atlantic release, Listen Like Thieves, contains lyrics of a moral bent and mentions the universal power which, I gather, must be God (“This is the power/Since time began...Shine like it does/into every heart...”). True, some of the rhythms are almost sinful in their danceability, yet—there is a benevolent presence there. Also, I was positive Michael Hutchence’s momma never darned socks in hell. (She probably drove a Porsche convertible and feasted on pheasant and caviar and had maids to clean the house and bring her bon bons, though, as MH hails from a wellto-do family. He admitted this, and also that he was prone to “slumming” amongst the denizens of the demimonde—that is, before seeing the light...) JUST THE FACTS, PLEASE INXS is pronounced “In Excess”*

and they’re an Australian band who’ve

been around for nine years. Starting out in Sydney as the Farriss Brothers, all six members have remained the same since the INXS inception: Andrew Farriss, keyboards & guitar; Tim Farriss, guitars and synthesizer; Jon Farriss, drums; Garry Gary Beers, bass; Kirk Pengilly, guitar, saxes, and vocals; and Michael Hutchence, name they

Australia, and played hundreds of gigs, put out three albums on local labels until getting picked up by Atco and Atlantic on these shores in early 1983. Listen Like Thieves is their fifth album, produced by Chris Thomas of Roxy Music and Pretenders fame. With plentiful U.S. airplay and at least two hit singles (“This Time” and “What You Need”) regularly played on MTV, Listen Like Thieves is a hit album. From day one, Michael Hutchence has been their focal and most vocal member—from a Tom Jones-like growl

on early material like “The Loved One,” (a cover, but most INXS material is original) to an Eric Burdonesque angst on most numbers. He is the most interviewed INXS-er, described by some as having the “love of trouble” and the “ego and the self-consciousness” necessary for stardom and the maintenance of the band’s public profile. I dunno...my impressions weren’t so much of a R&R bad boy, but of an exhausted, overworked, highly professional young man (INXS started right after he finished high school) who kept his wits about him and his negative thoughts to himself. If those thoughts were of God or the Antichrist, we’ll never know... (*note: conversations in italics are

pure journalistic Christian license.)

pure journalistic Christian license.)

THE INTERVIEW

“And will you lead us not into temptation, and never play the music of Satan?”

“Trust me.” A high-pitched, unearthly laugh reverberated along the olive file-cabinetted walls of the record company dungeon at Atlantic Records, in its deepest arcane recesses.

“Help!” We both screamed as the publicity person sashayed away, the words, “Call me if you need anything” trailing in her Marlboro wake. I could have died. Perhaps l did die and l await resurrection, sitting that afternoon in the molded chair in that godforsaken windowless pit with the sort of guy mommas go gray over. And I’m sure the tea was drugged. I know it. I KNOW ITU BUT CAN THEY CUT IT LIVE?

Omigod GET DOWN, darlins, are you in for a treat! In concert, these INXS-ers are cookin’—complete with totally cool go-go dancer-girl dressed all in black with black bangs and a long black fall a la Ronnie Ronette, ponying like Faye Rezillo. The bulk of INXS’s audience? Hip teenaged girls (not crazed like teenyboppers) who sway and squeal discriminatingly, so’s not to appear too uncool. In fact, sorta like R.E.M.’s audience, only more clean-cut. Excitement in the air not unlike the huge INXS sign dropped behind stage at leak points during the show— like, towards the end.

TURN TO PAGE 55

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 39

By the way, have you noticed a similarity, between the letters INXS and the banner that hung over Christ on the cross—INRI? A truly unnerving coincidence...

IN THE FINAL ANALYSIS

Aside from motorcycles, Michael has no time for hobbies, except for doing interviews, writing songs on the road and reading. (Garry’s an amateur ornithologist; Tim’s a big-game fisherman; Andrew collects model trains; Kirk’s a shopper.)

“At the moment, I’m reading two books. One of them is called...The Bible,” he uttered, eyes aflame.

“Lord be praised! The Bible! Brother Michael, you have been saved! By the way, did you read anywhere perchance what the letters INRI mean?

‘‘Umm... Jesus Christ, King of the Jews?”

“...One of them is called In The Mind’s I. In fact, I’m still trying to figure out what the hell it’s about. It’s sort of like six different scientists’s theses on what the T is—the self. It’s about the id, ego, things like that— genetic factors. The other book is by the one who wrote Atlas Shrugged.”

“Ayn Rand?”

“It’s a book on epistemology.”

“Is that stuff easy to get into when you’re leading a hectic life on the road? Why not something lighter, like a Fletch book?”

“I know; it’s just that when you have to involve yourself so much—it’s good distraction. At heart, aside from being on a stage, I’d like to study something. I love design and architecture. Anything from that to anthropology. I’d love to do a documentary...”

Confluent pity and fear immersed my heart. The ambition! The gall! Kind of reminds me of...

SPINAL TAP’S AUSTRALIAN NIGHTMARE

Finally, I asked MH what he thought of that scene in Spinal Tap where the manager accuses the singer’s girlfriend of dressing like a “Blahddy Orstrellian Noightmare.”

‘‘Blasphemy. They will pay for their insolence, and we Down Under shall reign supreme!” Michael intoned.

‘‘Amen,” said I.