Pop music
Whistle while you rock
Marcus Berkmann
Aperk of this pop punditry nonsense is that I now get to see as many live bands as I wish to, which luckily for my ears isn't that many. A journalist I know spent most of the Seventies being blasted into submis- sion by the mystical powers of amplifica- tion, and now can hear nothing but his own loud and booming voice. Still, danger is my middle name, so not surprisingly I found it hard to resist the lure of Aztec Camera when earlier this month they played the Town and Country Club in Kentish Town.
The rock venues of London are often to be found in the city's less glamorous boroughs. Wembley Arena, Hammersmith Odeon, Deptford Albany and even the Mean Fiddler in downtown Harlesden are all situated far from standard taxi routes. The Town and Country nestles close to one of Kentish Town's less decorative traffic junctions and next to another, rather smal- ler venue, the Bull and Gate. Once a cinema, the T and C is now decked out in the obligatory black, with black trimmings. Nevertheless, the atmosphere there is quite relaxed (in other words, you don't feel as though you are going to be beaten up because of the shoes you're wearing). It's an excellent showcase for bands who would have problems filling, for example, the Hammersmith Odeon.
A modest stage, then, for Aztec Camera to make their first live appearance in the capital since 1984. But for all the attention Roddy Frame has had over the years, he has never sold that many records. Love, his third album, seems barely to have troubled the scorers since its release last autumn: a great pity, in my opinion. It's a fine, intelligent album, which shows off to great advantage Frame's idiosyncratic songwrit- ingtalent. But the singles, 'Deep and Wide and Tall' and 'How Men Are', are clearly not banal enough for Radio 1, and as it is about four years since his last hit everyone has forgotten about him. Even so, I was fascinated to see how he would attempt to reproduce the precision of his studio sound on a smallish stage in the depths of North London. If it was possible, that is.
Well, it was a good try, but in the end it didn't • quite work. Frame had hired a highly professional band, but despite energetic leadership there was the same vulgarisation of sometimes fragile material that afflicted Sting's performance at Wembley in December. The synthesiser player tried frequently to duplicate the dynamics of a full horn section, with the curious result that his obviously expensive equipment sounded like something bought in a Dixons sale (final reductions). The two percussionists were not given a lot to do, and Roddy didn't seem much interested anyway. He even shouted 'Hello, London' at one point, almost certainly without irony. To my surprise, then, I felt little disappointment when the band trooped off after the regulation 60 minutes. There were just the encores to get through now.
While waiting for my hot dog, I reflected on the changing customs of live perform- ance. 'Gigs', as we must call them, are curiously traditional occasions: some rules change, but all must be enforced. For example, the encores. What an idea! When Aztec Camera fled after the allotted hour, everyone knew they would return for at least two encores. (We eventually had three.) But before they tramped back on again, the audience had to go through paroxysms of excitement which they had never come close to during the actual performance. First we jumped up and down, then we shouted and whistled, then we jumped up and down again. Eventually the band returned, but after one song off they sped again and the whole process was repeated. Why? Then there are the conventions of the concert itself: the two black girlie backing singers — obligatory now at any non-heavy metal concert; the acoustic bit in the middle, when the band goes off for a beer or two, while Roddy sings a couple of songs with his guitar; and the part when, in the middle of a song, he suddenly inter- poses a verse or two of someone else's more famous song — a trick pioneered by Elvis Costello a while ago and now copied by everyone. But the audience itself is the most conventional component of the concert ritual. Consider the damage to your ears, for example. Serious enough noise levels emanate from the speakers, but too often this is nothing compared to the idiot right behind you who whistles between songs, during songs and in between the various encores. You can't help but admire his talent. This person may have no job, no friends and an execrable dress sense, but he has a black belt in whistling. Perhaps it would be too much to invoice him for the medical assistance you'll need after 45 minutes of high-pitched tones trained directly at your inner ear. Or perhaps it wouldn't.
No, Aztec Camera are best caught on record, and their best record is the aforementioned Love (WEA). Meanwhile, I'll see you at the Town and Country some time. As long as you don't whistle.
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