NEWBEATS

NEWBEATS

Royal Court of China-Lions And Ghosts-Walk The Moon-The Bolshoi-Tail Gators

ONSTAGE DYNASTY

Yep, they’re from Nashville...but don’t call ’em country. Don’t even bring it up in conversation around the Royal Court Of China; one of their foremost goals is to escape the marginally hickish image that’s been tacked to most of the major label bands that have emerged from Music City, U.S.A. Cowpunkers like Jason & The Scorchers and Walk The West, not to mention a ten-gallon hatful of local/unsigned country-rockers, aren’t exactly who these boys want to be lumped in with, and—bolo ties and spurs aside—the Royal Court Of China is refreshingly non-country. Any group who’s had the balls to ask Jimmy Page to produce their first record can’t be all twang bars and fiddles. “We only asked Jimmy Page because he had the best drugs," laughs drummer Chris Mekow. “Well, actually,” adds singer Joe Blanton, “we asked him because he knew how to find women on the road—just like Jim Bakker.” In either case, Page declined due to the ever-present “previous commitments.” Ah, c’est la vie, c’est la guerre.

The nucleus of the RCC started out about two years ago as a thrash ’n’ bash combo called the Enemy. After bruising genteel Nashville ears for a year or so with hardcore gems like “Jesus Rides A UFO,” Joe and Chris decided it was about time to grow up and, without any warning, changed personnel and began calling themselves the Royal Court Of China (a name chosen because of its mystical reference to nothing in particular—you figure). Anyway, Robert Logue came aboard as the band’s new bassist, and being an ex-college English major and a published poet, added to the Royal Court’s tendency to get a bit, shall we say, literary. Oscar Rice, Robert’s high school chum (and the grandson of a Tennessee state fiddling champ to boot), joined the group as their lead guitarist. Then the guys started doing things like uprooting fake palm trees and smashing them onstage and opening for the Kinks. “Right before we went on one night,” recalls Chris, “Dave Davies just stared at me for no apparent reason for about 30 seconds. That was the longest 30 seconds of my life.”

The band spent most of 1986 recording and performing songs from their first EP, Off The Beat’n Path. To their surprise, the disc became a college radio fave and began popping up on playlists as far away as Boston and L.A. “We thought it was just gonna get played here in Nashville,” says Joe, “but it got on playlists in, like, Montana and Alaska.” Consequently, the major labels got all sweaty, with A&M snatching them up a year to the day after they had formed. And nowadays, everything’s groovy, right? “Well, I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining or anything,” says Chris, “but why did every major band in the world that hasn’t released records in years all of a sudden decide to put out a record at the same time we did? I mean, Boston, Aerosmith, Pink Floyd, Michael Jackson, Fleetwood Mac— how are we supposed to compete with that?”

Things could be worse. At least they’ve made a good, solid record. They’ve been called a cross between Led Zeppelin, the Byrds and the Buzzcocks. Their record company bio calls them “a guitar band.” Yeah, guess so, since there isn’t so much as one ivory tickled on their whole LP. “Nobody knows how to play keyboards, and it was too much trouble to learn,” explains Joe in his lazy Southern drawl. Joe is a guy who is possessed by a force which makes him write lyrics like “.. .all the boys are going out/And all I date is staple holes” and “.. .there’s something about a worn-out orange peel/That makes my heart pound with awesome glee.” Special. He’s also got a resonant, gravelly, Morrison-ish voice that’s instant relief from the high-pitched wailings currently ruling the airwaves, not to mention the ethereal, undecipherable mumblings of countless “alternative” groups (a few even hailing from the ol’ South themselves, by golly, ahem). And the boys would like you to know that they recorded and mixed the whole snebang in only 11 days. “Bad Company did theirs in 10, so I guess we didn’t quite beat the record,” notes Chris.

The Royal Court Of China’s first trek around the country was on a package cleverly titled the “Four Play” tour. The RCC played on the same bill as London’s Hurrah, Los Angeles’s Will & The Kill and Toronto’s Northern Pikes. “Since we’re kind of unknown outside of the South,” says Joe, “they thought it would be a good idea to put us on the road with three other new acts.” I ask if there’s not a teensy element of competition there. Joe laughs. “At least the audience wasn’t screaming for the headliner, ’cause there was no headliner. Hell, it wouldn’t matter to me if we were opening for God.”

Kath Hansen

LIONS & TIGERS & BEARS, OH MY!

Singer Rick Parker, drummer Michael Murphy, bassist Todd Hoffman and guitarist Michael Lockwood sit around a table at some fancy-ass nouvelle Italian eatery, looking out the window and contemplating that overblown fashion ’n’ food hub of trendoid Los Angeles: Melrose Avenue. The waiter has already produced Polaroids taken of Mick Jagger and David Bowie eating in this heavy stylee cucina and assumes that these four members of Lions And Ghosts, bedecked in pseudo-Edwardian satorial splendor, are obviously prince heirs to the rock ’n’ roll gentry.

Such splendor, however, is not a given here. Parker & Co. are not completely accustomed to eating in such A-list spots: if Parker knows Melrose, it’s because he worked (and got fired) from more than one place on the street, all the while pursuing his own musical muse.

They may look like babes in the woods, but these ghostly lions have been slugging it out on the L.A. circuit for close to six years now, having progressed from a good Modflavored band called Banner to their current incarnation as a musically adept crew of artful dodgers. At one point, the Ghosts even hightailed it over to England (in ’83) to play 15 dates (10 which fell through) finding suitable lodgings on the sidewalks. This year they returned to England to record, scamming their way into clubs by telling people they were Bon Jovi. With legendary producer Tony Visconti coming in one day to help out with the string arrangements, the lads turned out a solid debut for EMI/Capitol, Velvet Kiss, Lick Of The Lime, a canny hardpop songfest combining vintage English atmospherics and a solid L.A. backbeat. Fame and fortune at last? Well, hardly— Parker still sleeps in a closet. The wages of glamour!

Still, the Ghosts don’t care if they play to five people or sell out this week’s hot spot. They’re firmly committed to their music either way, they claim—and, they add, it’s the music, not the clothes, that matters.

"The image is nothing to take seriously,” notes Parker. “We wear these things out on the street—anything’s OK as long as we don’t look ridiculous. We all used to work at clothing shops but we take the music way more seriously than the image of the group. If we were from Georgia or some small town, we could be real sincere wearing jeans with holes and cowboy hats, but we’re from Hollywood. I don’t think it’s pretentious to dress outrageously—that’s what being from Hollywood is about.”

The wild cards in a scene that’s currently dominated by neo-metal long-haired bad boys, Lions And Ghosts have shared stages with the likes of current hard rock hot-shots like Jane’s Addiction and Guns N’ Roses, but their fanciful verse and somewhat phantasmagoric imagery place them in a category of their own.

"We used to play on bills with all these hard rock bands,” recalls Parker. “What separated us from that was the psychedelic element, the mysterious, fantasy side. Our songs were based on that. We were always a bit left of what was going on. We try to stay away from trends. I firmly believe you can say things 10 times more positively through imagery than literal resuscitation of old cliches. I don’t want to rate myself in terms of other people, but I feel that music should have melody, insightful lyrics, some kind of inspiring quality to it.”

Some might say that Lions And Ghosts are a bit escapist and hippy-dippy about it all, but Parker insists that even if the band has a wonderland quality, he’s not living in a fairy tale.

“It’s just a kind of romantic element I have,” Parker explains. “But all the songs on the record are about real things, real events, feelings in our lives. I don’t want to say it’s a drug-related way of looking at things, it’s just imaginative, being out, having good times in the summertime in California. I always felt that Hollywood had this magical, fantasy way about it. You drive around in a convertible in the summertime, going to clubs, and it’s so much fun it almost transcends reality.”

Definitely a different approach than, let’s say, a band like X, who always sing about the misery of L.A. and living in the gutter.

Parker has a different take on that: “When I’m in the gutter it reminds me of a Dickens novel!”

And with that the waiter comes, the little dickens are served and another band is on its way to fulfilling great expectations. Hooray for Hollywood.

Craig Lee

WALK THIS WAY

South America and the U.S.S.R. may not seem like the most likely birthplaces for a pop/rock duo eager to make their mark in the United States, but that doesn’t matter to Walk The Moon. When Russian-born Natasha Shneider met Chilean native Alain Johannes in Los Angeles three years ago, both had enjoyed a limited amount of success with other groups; Natasha had recorded one album with Black Russian, a band she formed with her brother soon after moving to America in 1978, while Alain was still a member of What Is This, an eclectic, L.A.-based rock outfit he had started with some friends as a teenager, and whose EP and album had garnered plenty of critical respect locally.

From the day they met, the two began “hanging out together intensely,” and Natasha (who had been trained as a classical pianist in Russia) eventually became the keyboard player for What Is This. They recognized a special chemistry developing between them both personally and professionally, and when What Is This splintered during the recording of their second album, Walk The Moon was born.

Ironically, Alain and Natasha both spent their formative years studying the prevalent musical styles of their respective homelands. While she seemed destined to perform the best of Prokofiev in stuffy Russian halls, he took up Spanish guitar at an early age after his family relocated to Mexico. In fact, Walk The Moon would never have existed had both young musicians not been magnetically drawn to the United States by an irresistable lure most of us take for granted—good old Western rock ’n’ roll.

“I started playing piano when I was three years old,” Natasha recalls, her articulate English still slightly colored with a Russian accent. “By the time I was five, I played Bach, Mozart, sonatas... then, at about the age of 10,1 heard Western music, and that changed everything.”

Does she remember exactly which group first drew her attentions to the hedonistic evils of rock?

“Yeah,” she grins mischievously, “Led Zeppelin. I was really blown away. Nothing like that had I heard before. It was just classical music and Russian pop, which was nauseatingly bad. From then on,” she laughs, “I decided that I would leave the country and become a rock star.”

Meanwhile, half a world away, Alain was discovering the same liberating sounds. “I lived in Mexico City, where I started playing guitar around the age of six,” he remembers. “I played in a flamenco style, but there was a station there that played nothing but Beatles and Creedence Clearwater Revival and Led Zeppelin and all that stuff, and I got my first taste of that.”

When the two finally met, it seemed only natural that they team up. The result of this pairing is an infectious, self-titled debut album with dance-conscious rock tunes that sometimes belie the thoughtful songwriting hidden within. The record boasts a curious mix of styles and influences, from the powerhouse funk of “Happy Train” and the album’s lead-off single, “Daddy’s Coming Home,” to atmospheric ballads like “On Your Lap” and “Victim Of Love.” While the disc has one eye firmly focused on the Top 40, it contains elements reminiscent of everything from T. Rex to Prince, plus a sense of spontaneous energy not commonly associated with mainstream pop.

“We like not to be very polished,” Natasha says, “because the albums that are very polished for some reason you don’t want to listen to over and over again. Even if it’s a little bit off here and there, the moment has to be captured.”

Not that the couple has tossed off a livein-the-studio platter. But it’s quite a bit more forceful than the latest by, say, Michael Jackson or Depeche Mode.

“It’s more musical than What Is This was, and more crazy at the same time,” Alain suggests. “We love song structures and lyrics and communicating what rock music is. Rock is the best because you can do anything you want under the umbrella of rock music.”

“It’s easy for people to label things,” Natasha adds, “but then again, it’s all rock music. That’s how we perceive it, and that’s why you can find all kinds of different elements on the album.”

Walk The Moon finished recording their debut over a year ago and are currently waiting to embark on their first tour. In the meantime, they’ve been spending a lot of time in the studio, writing songs for other musicians as well as for their second album. Since they are together virtually every moment of their lives, one wonders about the possibility of wedding bells in their future.

“Marriage really doesn’t mean anything,” Natasha says. “When two people love each other and they live together, it’s great. What more can one ask for? To pay your respect to the institution, the ritual of marriage would be nice for your grandparents, probably, to be proud of you, but to me it doesn’t make any difference.”

“We see this as something we want to be definitely everlasting, and to continue growing,” Alain says, referring to the music as well as his relationship with Natasha. “And it’s just been getting better all the time.”

Steve Peters

THEY MIGHT BE TUTUS!

It s really difficult to figure out the dynamics of certain bands; how they manage to work, live and co-exist without killing each other. And so it is with the Boldhoi, a fourpiece hailing from Merrie Old whose music depends upon a loose swirl of guitar, synths and somewhat cynical lyrics—and who have about as much in common with the Russian ballet troupe whose name they nicked as one might imagine. Which is to say, nothing. At first glance they have that kind of relationship with each other as well.

Lead singer/guitarist Trevor Tanner and drummer Jan Kalicki are upbeat and outspoken, argue the way only buddies since childhood do and have about as healthy a glow as a Brit rocker can. Bassist Nick Chown, on the other hand, is somewhat reserved and apparently bemused by the whole idea of the band’s success. And while Jan and Trevor claim to eschew the parties and other perks of being in a Successful Rock Band, preferring instead to ride bicycles and pub-hop anonymously, Chown thrives on it. The balance in the group seems to lie with keyboardist Paul Clark, added in 1986 as much, one might imagine, for his stabilizing influence as his keyboard prowess.

“For diversion on the road,” says Trevor, “we’ll discuss social issues. Loudly.”

Remarkably, the Bolshoi sound terrific. Their latest album, Lindy’s Party, manages the neat trick of being slightly reminiscent of everyone from the Pet Shop Boys to Kraftwerk while sounding like nobody else.

And as if talent wasn’t enough, boy, are they prolific. Since their American debut— 1986’s nifty EP,"Giants—the band has released two albums (1986’s Friends and Lindy’s Party) and changed record companies. Along the way they also acquired enough local fame to drive the band members out of their hometown pubs.This was something they hadn’t bargained on. But there’s been a lot of surprises.

"People do get jealous and give you a hard time just for being successful,’’ says Kalicki, a black cowboy hat clamped firmly on his head. “But I never realized exactly what was involved in being a successful band. When we started out, we always knew we would be successful, but you never think about how you’re going to get there. Or what that will be like. The bits in between—recording and touring—we never thought about that. We sort of thought, ‘we’ll start a band, and bam! it will be successful one day.’ It’s like that,” he adds with a laugh, “if you read enough comics. It’s funny when you watch Spinal Tap and everybody else says, ‘isn’t that funny’ and you just sit there—because it isn’t funny, it’s true.”

Not that the Bolshoi are complaining (“Everytime I get kind of depressed,” admits Clark, “I think, ‘You’re getting to do what you love, get on with it!’ ”). After only a year-and-a-half with a record deal (OK, two record deals—there was a slight debate about publishing with their first company so they left. No bad will on either side.) they’ve garnered a serious following cemented by the first single off Lindy’s Party, “Please,” and they’re major league heroes in Brazil. Honestly.

“We didn’t really expect it,” smiles Trevor, looking quite natty in leather trousers and an RCA baseball cap (must be something in the band regulations about hats). “But it was really nice. We arrived and expected some crummy old bus to pick us up; instead there were limousines and mob scenes. We’re really popular in Spain, so maybe they picked up on the language thing. And there haven’t been a lot of bands over there before. It was,” muses Trevor, “really nice.”

No kidding: in South America the band played to packed stadiums; in the rest of the world they’re still earning their wings. Currently they’re in the midst of a lengthy world tour of 1500-seaters. The plan is to immediately follow the tour with a return to the studio and get a record out within six months. Didn’t anybody ever tell them that the idea of becoming a rock star is to lounge around, lead the good life?

“I love to sit around and do nothing. I think that’s great,” says Trevor. “But we have a few of the songs done, and it’s something we want to do. We have to do. It’s a bit like going to the toilet,” he adds with a smirk. “It’s just something you have to do.You’ve got to get it out. And then you get on with it.”

Which would make four records in a little over two years. If they don’t drive each other crazy first. But then, maybe not.

“We stay sane,” states Jan, losing the battle to stifle a laugh, “because we’re all so frighteningly intelligent.”

OK, right.

Sharon Liveten

JUKE-JOINT JAMBALAYA

I imagine you re sick and tired of reading about Austin, Texas by now, but there are three more things that I feel should be said about it. It’s one of the few places in the civilized world where the concept of “breakfast tacos” is taken seriously; it’s the only place on Earth where this writer has been accosted by a wild-eyed vagrant yelling, “Viva Hitler!”; and it’s the home of the Tail Gators.

The Tail Gators—singer/guitarist Don Leady, bass player Keith Ferguson, and drummer Gary “Mudcat” Smith—are veterans of Austin’s music scene who came together three or four years ago to play a steamy blend of Texas rock ’n’ roll and traditional Cajun music. The Cajun influence gives the rock ’n’ roll stuff some swing, and the rock ’n’ roll makes the Cajun stuff kick ass. It’s a boffo sound, to be sure. The Gators have three records out on Wrestler Records: an EP entitled Rock ’n’ Roll Til The Cows Come Home, and two LPs: Swamp Rock and Mumbo Jumbo. And no, I have no idea what a “mudcat” is.

The Gators were preparing to leave for a gig in Vancouver when I called up Don with the usual bunch of nosy questions. The first was about his interest in Cajun music. “I got a fiddle when I was about 11 or 12, and when I started learnin’ the fiddle I started learnin’ that Cajun stuff,” says Don. “It’s kind of what I liked. I had a friend who was a record collector when I was a kid and he had all kinds of stuff, but I ended up likin’ the Cajun records and learnin’ the fiddle stuff on ’em.”

So how does this Cajun/rock ’n’ roll hybrid go over when they play down in the real Bayou country? “Oh, they like us. We do really good in New Orleans and Lafayette, sometimes we play Baton Rouge, too. But yeah, we do real good there, usually.”

Mumbo Jumbo has done alright, too. This latest Gators LP features seven originals, two cover tunes, and a cool back-cover photo of a bunch of souvenir-stand junk the guys have acquired over the years—a Mexican voodoo mask, a lucite-mounted snake, an alligator water pistol, etc. Since the label neglected to send me my complimentary copy of the album, I ask Don how it compares with the guitar grunge-fest of Swamp Rock. “It has much better production. (Swamp Rock) was recorded mostly in one day; yeah, we mixed it and did the overdubs and stuff the next two days. I think we worked on this one a couple days longer.”

An album of Swamp Rock outtakes, slated to be called Tore Up, is on the way out and the Gators are less than thrilled at the prospect. Making matters worse, Don says some overdubs have been added to the tapes over which the band had no control. “I guess we’re lucky they didn’t put the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on there,” he says.

I mention that I’ve seen all manner of crowds at Tail Gators shows, from beerdrunk collegiates to middle-aged women with beehive hairdos, to homicidal-looking bikers. What accounts for this, I wonder. “I think it depends on what kind of bands you want to compare, because there’s bands like Clifton Chenier and some of these other bands in Louisiana that draw a pretty wide audience, too. I think it’s mostly because newer bands are kinda like revival-type bands and they get a real definite audience. I think we get a wider audience. I tried to get a beat that would be a good dance beat, one that wasn’t too fast and one that wasn’t draggin’ along, either. I do songs at different rhythms and stuff but there’s kinda limits to when something’s really rocking and when something’s completely frantic. Maybe people just identify with certain songs, too. They think, ‘Oh wow, they’re doin’ that one song, that’s my favorite song, it’s the only reason I like ’em!’ ”

But with this kind of across-the-board appeal, can the big time be far behind? What does a Tail Gator want from the material world anyway? “I just hope whatever we do keeps everybody in the band happy,” says Don. “I guess you make it a lot nicer for yourself touring and stuff when you’re getting a little success. For years we’ve been stayin’ at Motel 6s or something, y’know?”

Thomas Anderson