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Fangbase
- Reviews
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Bluebird Theatre, Denver, CO
7th October 2001
Andrew Rothbard introduces his sucker-foiling three-piece known as Pleasure Forever by informing us of their SF origins. This lanky Rothbard fellow stands behind the keyboard closely positioned to David Clifford’s center staged drum kit. Clifford, incidentally, spent approximately a half hour lovingly fine-tuning his skins for reasons, which shall shortly become apparent. The non-traditional configuration and tight grouping with guitarist Joshua Hughes on the flank suit the band’s unusual delivery. Initially emitting a high-energy dark British pop sound, Pleasure moves from Pulp styles into Zeppelin psychedelic blues workings. The song structures are malleable and often loungy explorations that locals will equate to Czars and Velveteen Monster. Rothbard’s vocal emphasis is on Yorkish balladry. Meanwhile the keys range from creepy Carnival Of Souls church organ to clanging waltzes. Clifford assaults his precious drums with a booming ferocity despite the fact that he’s wearing shit-kickers. The nearly emotionless Mr. Hughes appears as though he isn’t mentally present. He’s merely acting on his guitar instinctively and has left us for other pastures. Without the slightest indication of a cliched fuck-face, he undulates with his instrument. Ebbing and flowing with the building intensity while sweat falls from his face onto his scrubbing hand. Whether Rothbard leads this crew or some nether forces, he shoots some Svengali glances at the boys during a Doorsy slowdown. Clifford’s pompadour deluxe has fallen over his face in a fitting Misfits style as his tom-bashing power increases. At one point he rises to his feet for more percussion leverage. The extended orgasmic pumping and grinding gives a hypnotic Swans dynamic. The heavy sonic precision often comes off as uncontrolled. Specifically by Hughes and Clifford. It’s as if any second the music may get away from them. As soon as he smacks down his last beat, the drummer is dramatically up and out with the applause chasing after him. This maneuver is strikingly impressive. Exit, stage left even. I think he was overcome by the possessive experience, but he may have had to take a whiz real bad.
It’s apparent that many in the crowd laid out their cash to see The Swingin’ Utters. If not because they know all the words and scream, “We paid to see YOU!” Than that they are willing to stage-dive and intentionally upset folks’ beers and get thrown out before the headliners. The Utters put out lively punk rock with heavy doses of flavor. Mixing in the energy of Guttermouth with Dropkick Murphy’s folk elements. Johnny Bonnel gives plenty of goofy Gas Huffer dance moves while he barks out street punk anthems. The pit agrees and pumps their fists. Bonnel carelessly wraps the cord round his reddened face to great effect. Spitting out words to the point that he is literally drooling. (Barely missed that shot.) The frantic supporters surprisingly do not return spitfire. Guitarist Max Huber is relatively motionless, cranking away at his strings and looking generally mellow and contented. Spike Slawson seems to have some say in the proceedings, adding emotional vocals and plenty of smirks between deep bass runs. For a couple numbers, Darius Koski lays down the bass to, “strap on his flesh-colored device” which turns out to be an accordion. Not so much a novelty in this context as an integral part of the songs. And when Koski dons the acoustic and the band leaves him onstage with Bonnel, the cry goes out for Filthy Thieving Bastards’ “Red Roses.” Koski responds in true Nick Cave style, “Wrong band.” The Braggish number they proceed with is a barren folk-punk piece that would make Gordon Gano jealous. Bonnel brings the same energy to the slowed down songs that he offers the barnburners. The rest of the band returns and gets the kids riled up enough to get kicked out some more.
Dave Vanian and I are both damn liars. Dave insists on touting this populist theory that punk died in 1977. Then with Captain Sensible back onboard he delivers a brand spanking new record, which disproves the whole thing. I won’t get into the whole undead zombie of punk thing, so don’t try it. I, on the other hand, tell the wife things like, “How do I know if that guy’s sexy, I can’t tell.” Well I can tell you that Vanian is a sexy, sexy man swinging like the King and flamenco dancing in his gauchos. Being 43 and looking that young, he must be undead. He’s always been the fantastic showman, but this time I couldn’t take my eyes off him, as the real person I saw became the icon. Maybe the shock of seeing his luscious missus Patricia Morrison up there wore off the last time.
It’s no surprise that the first new album in years gets the spotlight, as “Democracy?” and “Beauty Of The Beast” blend perfectly with the historic punk single, ”New Rose” Someone expresses shock that it comes in so early, but I still have plenty of essentials to come. The good Captain wearing the leopard pajamas I had as a youth provides a frenetic silliness that infects keyboardist/jester Monty Oxy Moron and Vanian. I’m also vindicated in my fervent claim that Vanian is part vampire, part Elvis and part evangelist, when he plays up the TV preacher angle. Gesturing assuredly with his patented non-leather gloves, he dances through most the material from Grave Disorder. His confident voice has stayed with him, as his onstage antics have gotten better.
On drums, Pinch has big shoes to fill, but his talents as an English Dog are put to good use in this band. His pink hair occasionally bobs up from behind the ringing cymbals. During “Amen” it occurs to me Morrison should have had some more speaking parts in these proceedings. Hell, we all know what she can do, and Poison Ivy gets to sing more than she does. Sensible viciously extols the virtues of St Lennon to introduce “Would You Be So Hot (If You Weren't Dead?)” the best Beatle song since “One Down Three To Go.” Oh, come on, get a sense of humor you hippies! They also take on the (other) gloved vampire in “Neverland.” Now there’s pith and vinegar all over the stage and a smirk all over Vanian. With all the color his keys add, Monty serves double duty as The Damned’s own tie-dyed merry prankster, hopping and shaking his clownish mane. I distinctly recall hearing “Thrill Kill” and the tribute to that most mysterious of liqueurs “Absinthe” from the new record. In dispute is whether they played “I Feel Alright” I enjoyed a version that may well have been all in my head. I was surprised by the crowd-pleaser “Eloise” when they have so much better to choose from. Everyone goes nuts during “Neat Neat Neat”; even the unfortunate whom Vanian chooses to offer the mike to. Vanian points at him indignantly to indicate the poor guy didn’t know the words. The next guy has his back. This is one of the rare occasions when an encore is actually warranted by both the performance and the audience response.
Naturally I have taken my last frame and got no photos of Sensible in his pink tutu and matching wig. “Love Song” is a particularly screaming version, seeing how everyone is re-energized by the break and in their ballet outfits with fresh drugs on. A would-be stage diver gets the strong-arm by stage manager Tim, who still hasn’t caught on that injuries to equipment, audience, stage-diver and the singer who comes to stage-diver’s defense are greatly increased when you attempt to struggle with him. He’s already going offstage, people, just let nature take its course. Someone accents the Cap’n with a furry pink jacket, which I don’t think he returned.
“This is a song by The Offspring,” Vanian jokes. Between “Smash It Up” parts 1 & 2 Vanian throws in a taste of Iggy’s “1969” and some Elvis that I can’t quite recall. Some pit dwellers start gobbing at Sensible, which draws Tim back down to reprimand them. This time I’m on his side. But the Captain is on his other side, and we all know by now you shouldn’t turn your back to the Cap. Tim receives the dry humping of his life. The gobbers seem satisfied with enjoying his dilemma, situation diffused. The grand finale comes with my beloved “Disco Man” Nothing else could have topped it, Vanian leaping from the drum riser and Travolting around while they put out all the energy they’ve held back. There’s easily enough applause for a second encore, but as stated, how can you top that?
~Ewan
Wadharmi
of Hybrid Magazine