Psychedelic Furs - Nashville Sept '79

The fleshy moat around the Nashville is a graphic indication of the Psychedelic Furs' rapidly growing audience. a multi-hued crowd come to bear witness to perhaps the most uniquely exciting band to emerge during this year.

There was a combo playing under P.Furs some two years ago down in the depths of the Roxy, although they bear little resemblence to the troupe of today, who solidified in November '78 and have evolved into quite possibly the most important crooners to surface in these six months past.

A pristine punk mutation - wholly distinctive, totally absorbing. Two numbers in and it becomes evident they are possessed of a fresh, irratating confidence. The playing immaculate, the material rich.

'Fall' sees them effortlessly into their stride; just one of a whole bunch of songs that could be 'the classic debut single'. Brilliantly concieved with its driving, insistent beat proclaiming icy lyrics. This drifts into the evocative 'Sister Europe' with the magnetic sax of Duncan Kilburn taking prominence. here lies the nearest reference point: obscure hints of the Velvet Underground, yet hardly enough tp pronounce as an influence. Vocalist Richard Butler slouches round the mike, an intense, compelling frontman.

Suddenly a jarring change in mood as they explode into a vicious, definitive 'We Love You'. The scathing guitars of John Ashton and Roger Morris operate with surgical efficiency. A striking example of their lyrical prowess, a sarcastic, biting critique - take a listen, bud.

And while you're still reeling from this you recieve a hefty clout from a monolithic 'Pulse'. an abrasive anthem carefully structured for sledgehammer attack, nimbly supported by Tim Butler's bass line.

The Furs' set is a catalogue of light and shade, each number complements and contrasts. A wall of sound that varies in texture and tone.

A magnificent 'Imitation of Christ' follows; an observation endowed with memorable chorus and climatic, surging melody. Richard's fluid vocals to the fore urged on by a tide of sax and bass. This is the most vibrant performance I've yet seen the band give. Sparking demi-gods here to rescue you from the retrogression of Secret Affair and the mechanisation of Gary Numan.

The final fling is a high powered 'Flowers', a maelestrom of energy. Richard lurches and the mike stand falls to bits in his grasp. He glares at his comrades who stand motionless around him, the disintergrating instrument crashes to the floor and he stalks off and the band disperse, until only John Ashton is left staring as he whacks out numbing chords. Then he too leaves. The haze of electric fury passes and the people begin to erupt.

But it's Sunday night and the plugs have been pulled. The final flavour is one of frustration as everyone wants more and the band are helpless to oblige.

An impressive display of their awesome potential. The Psychedelic Furs are something very special indeed.

Steve May [Sounds 15/9/79]

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