new music reviews
Matthew Wright

Neither the name, the look, nor the recorded sound of Perfume Genius (*****) seems like the thing to set about a packed Royal Festival Hall with shock and awe, though there was plenty of both in last night’s show. The Seattle singer, known to his mum as Mike Hadreas, has developed a cult following for his ability to combine fragility and scorching power in lyrics of intelligence and versatility. Live, he displayed extraordinary vistas of emotional and techncial breadth.

Thomas H. Green

What Wes Orshoski’s new documentary points out, above everything, is how much pop success relies on an ordered narrative and an easily understood package. First-wave British punk band The Damned, on the other hand, wrote as many great songs as their peers, but their career has been a mess of random creativity, changing line-ups and dreadful business decisions. There is a telling moment where Rat Scabies, the original drummer, weeps as he recalls the one occasion the band had all their ducks in a line. With a major label deal, solid American management, and 1985’s chart-friendly Phantasmagoria album under their belt, they had returned to a plush studio to record the follow-up. “But we didn’t have the will to play,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes. It is almost as if chaos is what they thrived on.

Orshoski’s previous documentary was the likeable and subtly revealing Lemmy, about Motorhead’s perma-rock’n’roll frontman. With Don’t You Wish That We Were Dead he has taken on a much more convoluted tale, riddled with interweaving details and alternate versions that must have been nigh-on-impossible to marshal. He acquits himself admirably. Not least, there’s the fact that Rat Scabies, kicked out in 1995, and Captain Sensible, who remains in the band, have bitterly fallen out, something both return to uncomfortably throughout, especially a scene in which the former, wandering through an open market, falls into a bitter, vitriolic ramble, marinated in self-pity.

The Damned’s original line-up coalesced around the guitar skills and songwriting of Brian James. They were the first UK punk band to release a single (“New Rose”, October 1976), the first to have an album out (Damned Damned Damned, February 1977) and the first to tour the US (giving birth to the West Coast's version of punk). What’s made clear, however, is that while the Sex Pistols and The Clash were busy defining themselves to the wider public, The Damned were on one long juvenile bender, crawling along hotel balcony ledges to shit in each other’s beds, and the like. This line-up was the first of many to implode but a host of talking heads, from minor punk figures such as TV Smith (The Adverts) and Charlie Harper (UK Subs) to bigger fish, such as Duff McKagan (Guns’n’Roses) and Chrissie Hynde (The Pretenders), make clear that The Damned offered jokey levity at a time when all was nihilism and year zero militancy. The film zings with their snappy, irrevererent humour, especially Sensible's. “You’re never going to have a good political discussion with Jerry Lee Lewis,” is the comparison Dead Kennedys singer Jello Biafra uses to explain their appeal.

It’s a convoluted biography, grounded in old footage alongside film of the band performing around the world in recent years, from Tokyo to Reading, eating endless pizzas backstage. Sensible comes over as a sharply intelligent, naïf mischief-maker while singer Dave Vanian is an enigma, very private, dryly humorous and intriguingly unknowable. Both of them look far younger than they have any right to. Their music blossomed in the late Seventies and early Eighties, exploring psychedelia – more on their Syd Barrett/LSD obsession would have been interesting. They even had proper chart hits, but the film gives a sense that everyone involved in The Damned is awaiting recognition, as well as financial recompense for an ongoing career full of great music. In that sense this is an unfinished story, made just as The Damned’s 40th anniversary approaches. Where many music documentaries have a similar dynamic arc – rise, fall, rise again – Don’t You Wish That We Were Dead is a fascinating, rambling saga that emanates a rich, sometimes morose, sense of what it's really like to have a whole life defined by the oh-so-brief explosion that was punk rock.

Overleaf: Watch the trailer for The Damned: Don't You Wish That We Were Dead

Kieron Tyler


The Mothmen Pay Attention!The Mothmen: Pay Attention!

Tim Cumming

The fifth Songlines Encounters Festival at Kings Place brought together artists from around the world, offerering a powerful cultural kick-back against all manner of extremist positions. The opening Thursday featured young Portuguese Fado singer Gisela João, with Cypriot trio Monsieur Doumani, and the closing Saturday paired the Shikor Bangladesh All Stars with the Anglo-Bangladeshi Afrobeat Latin grooves of Lokkhi Terra.

Matthew Wright

You might think that the carefree, gleeful melodies of sunny Californian surf-rock giants The Beach Boys would render them immune to the kind of egotistical wedge-driving that sunders most rock groups eventually. You would, of course, be wrong. Shortly after the band’s 50th-anniversary world tour in 2012, Mike Love, who owns the band’s name, took it away for his own version of the Beach Boys, leaving founder (and widely acknowledged musical genius) Brian Wilson and Al Jardine behind.

Thomas Rees

Though they're separated by thousands of miles, Cuba and Mali share a common musical connection. Right at the heart of Cuban music lie rhythms from sub-saharan African and last night the two traditions were united once again when Havana-born piano virtuoso Roberto Fonseca (of Buena Vista Social Club fame) took the stage with Fatoumata Diawara, a Malian singer and guitarist who is fast becoming a giant of the world music scene.

Tim Cumming

Merle and Willie – these kind of senior country summits can either be a bit of a coaster, all well and good underneath your tumbler of Bourbon, or actually something to write home about. Keep this one away from the liquor.

Kieron Tyler

 

Marvin Gaye 1961–1965Marvin Gaye: Marvin Gaye 1961–1965

Lisa-Marie Ferla

It seems a peculiar conceit to pack up a full symphony orchestra and choir and take them the length of the UK solely to perform suites of music from a popular television show – and I say this as a fan of the show in question. Yet I left the Doctor Who Symphonic Spectacular with a newfound appreciation for both the soundtrack as an art form in general, and for the work of Murray Gold – the composer responsible for the show’s music since its return in 2005 – in particular.

Jasper Rees

A long time ago I went out into the field to research a feature about the three ages of obsessive fandom. At the entry level was a bog-standard legion of young teenage girls who simply hung around outside the mansion block in Maida Vale where one or possibly both of the Gosses (of Bros) lived. I also met three young women who had access to Jason Donovan’s diary and were traipsing around town in the hope of glimpse. Donovan’s star had waned but they hadn’t moved on.