The Pop Group at the Garage

"It was good to be reminded of how singular and beautifully abrasive the Pop Group could be, and how dreadfully conservative most rock music since sounds in comparison." - Sean O'Hagan in the Guardian



ONE OF THE SETLISTS:

We Are All Prostitutes
Words Disobey me
Colour Blind
Thief of Fire
Trap
She’s Beyond Good and Evil
Sense
KISS THE BOOK *****
Forces of Opposition
We Are Time

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I'm a little tardy with this, but here we go...my friend Daisy flew over to London to catch the recent Pop Group shows at the Garage in London, and was kind enough to file this report. Take it away Daisy:

I’ve yet to talk to anyone who didn’t go home from The Garage on the weekend to marmite on toast and gallons of something rehydrating thinking, "Oh shit, will I ever get my hearing back?” I was waiting for my full English this morning with the French tourists and I couldn’t hear “pass the marmalade.” MAN they were fierce. I’m talking about The Pop Group.

The Pop Group had 5 dates on this (hopefully warm up) tour. 6th September they played Le Moulin de Rouge in Paris. Then to Italy where they played after Patti Smith, and then on to London UK. With no dates in New York, I had to fly. I HAD too.

I got tickets for both nights. And booked a B&B in Kings Cross close to the Cathedral that is St Pancreas station. Back in the day that place was a spooky goth hall that video-makers got for a discount. Costa coffee and a swanky upscale restaurant I couldn’t care less about because I was taking the tube, like a magic carpet, one stop to Highbury.

I thought I was going to relive being 17 again. I thought I was going to be blasted with memories that I had forgotten but it didn’t happen like that. The closer it got to show time, the more my heart was bouncing up and down.

I have to admit that I did see Bruce Smith drumming for PiL in New York’s Terminal 5 in May. When Johnny Rotten asked us to “clap along because I need help keeping time” it was like a dart flew out of my head and pointed at Smith. THAT’S WHY YOU HAVE BRUCE SMITH. He plays like he's riding 3 horses at once, and I left that gig so super happy I can’t tell you. Suddenly all the records in my minds record collection, all the boys sofas I sat on Saturday afternoon after trekking round record shops, all the Tuesdays tuning in to the Top Twenty on Radio one, all the bunking off school on Wednesdays to go to the Kings Road to get the NME to find out who was playing - it all made sense. When Johnny was singing “Anger is an energy” I was swaying in the crowd full of Love. I hate to say it. Love. Yes. Like a hippy. I LOVED HIM. I loved him. I loved Bruce. I loved the guitarist with the pointy nose. I loved the bass player wearing a kilt and a PiL t-shirt. All my punk past made me ME.

My friend Kath came with me to the show on September 11th, 2010. A Bristol gal with good recall, her Bristol of the late 1970’s was going out as often as she could to any pub or club she could - when every night was band night. And going to parties when Gareth Sager and Mark Stewart would turn up wearing paper bags on their heads with faces drawn on them a-la Saul Steinberg. And it was, you know, “oh – there’s Gareth. He’s in a band. He’s being arty.”

She went to school with Bruce Smith’s sister and told me his was a wild and beautiful Bristol home with a room of African masks and bohemian parents. An American painter father. He was an artist painter not a house painter. His mother offered you cigarettes and coffee.

And Mark Stewart’s bedroom floor back then, when you stopped in, was covered in photographs he’d ripped from books – photos of Artaud and Rimbaud and Nazis and evil men and poets and Patti Smith. You had to watch how you crossed the room that you didn’t slip on the glossy pages. And lots of singles and a portable record player. And American singles with no centers to them. Imports.

There was always a thirst with this band. An interest in the word. In the world. In that noise. That slap. That bang. That tap. An interest in things political and visual. A reverence for Patti Smith holding up a book of Blake, holding up a mirror, picking up your jacket. Mixing it all up. You didn’t walk down the street listening to your mix on your iPod blocking out the world. You blended with it. And Bristol bands were doing that. There was funk. There were white boys playing it. There was Rock against Racism. There was black and white together. And we opened the door from the mini bar into the main room at The Garage – there it was – that old familiar reggae. I almost turned round to ask Vivien Goldman what it was.

The venue holds 600 people and I believe it was sold out on Saturday. With no starter band we were going to get a pure experience.



Crowd:

Beardy blokes, some grey hair, some young boys with young girlfriends hanging on their arms checking their msgs & Apps. A young lad in a suit who I asked “what brings you here?” And he told me he’d got a naughty download but he’d also bought a Pop Group record and liked it. I saw Viv and Tessa from The Slits but not for long as Viv headed straight to the front to start the dancing. There were some laser looks of love as you scanned the room. I recognized a glint in the eye here and there. If not the face.

9:15PM: The violin strings of “Somewhere my love” – is that the theme to Dr Zhivago? Bruce Smith was first on the stage in his white jacket. My hero, as you’ve gathered.

There was a third young lad on guitar I didn’t recognize. No Underwood. No Waddington. And we got no introductions or name checks from the stage. [Is it true Simon Underwood is playing with Lily Allen these days?] Dan Castis followed Bruce on - now tough and muscley in his red Warhol t-shirt.

There was a guitar tech with blonde dreads against the wall on the far side. He tuned and paused with a guitar for Gareth Sager who headed straight to an electric piano and started playing it like a man sweeping dust off it left from last century. Then Sager took his guitar. And then he put the needle in the grove and caused friction. Out flashed the beginning riff to "We Are All Prostitutes," and Mark Stewart flew into the mic with the lyric. They were here with that familiar haunted house yell and roller coaster clatter.

The set went from LOUD to LOUDER – I don’t know if there are even knobs on the board these days but whatever he was doing, Tony the Soundman got it right. It might hurt, but their sound was tunneling through rubble from the past 30 years and brought them to the surface FAST maaaaan. Fierce, exciting, measured. After a while you’re not sure if the music is inside or outside your head. You have to let go. The Pop Group rattles you. You can’t be afraid.

Highlights:

In the powerful version of Saturday’s "Thief Of Fire" Mr Stewart took the mic away from his mouth and stood with his mouth open allowing the dub vocal to make it appear that his words were still rolling out. Kath saw an old angry landlord. I had a flashback to a painting by Francis Bacon of a Pope having a tantrum.

"FORCES OF OPPRESSION" - Gareth stole the Pere Ubu clarinet and strangled till it squeeled to be let go and back to his guitar. Sager often played like his strings were too hot and or like he was trying to set them on fire by rubbing his strings and his plectrum together. Yeah, he looked a little older, but old is the new Alive, isn’t it. That’s premium gallons of rhythm and action in the man. He often appeared to fly to the front of the stage but in the manner of a caged bird, and he’d be pulling his strings at us rather than pull his hair to pull out. Sometimes he turned his back while Mark was pacing or bouncing or boxing or bending double screaming or (Sunday) singing straight into an audience CCTV cameras.

Bruce's coat came off soon into the set. He looked like he was enjoying himself so much. I can't tell you what a joy it is to watch him. Such a joyful catch-you-out pay-attention drumming style. It’s well rehearsed and it’s in control but then an odd parra-diddle smack won’t throw you off exactly, it’ll just wiggle you sideways. The last song I was dancing from the inside out. He makes it look like he’s going to play til he can’t do it any more. And he sings too.

Half way through the show the lad in the suit got me and shook me by the shoulders "YOU ASKED ME WHY I’M HERE! IT’S THIS! YOU DON'T HEAR MUSIC LIKE THIS ANYWHERE EVER!" He was very excited. Or maybe we were dancing. Kiss The Book.

The finish line was 10:30.

On Saturday I managed to grab the young guitarist who was first onto the dance floor from the dressing room at the end of the show to ask his name. Jason, he told me. I asked him "How are you feeling?" He was in a sort of ecstasy. He said, “I’m playing with legends. They are legends in their own time.” And you’re playing along side them.

The Pop Group is a band that rattles you. You feel in danger. You tense up. That won’t help you.

Saturday the room was packed. The crowd expectant. The band totally present. And the encore was transcendant. Bruce and Dan together on drum and bass – adding Jason, adding Gareth, crowned by Stewart. Giddy making. Sunday – Mark cajoled the crowd. I would say the crowd was boozier and there were more CCTV cameras - every time they were held aloft, Stewart would sing RIGHT INTO THEM. Sunday my highlight was KISS THE BOOK when Stewart became full of visuals for me again. I don’t know how that happens. Suddenly he was an Angry Catholic Dad, or an evil maniac scientist. I can’t help mentioning here that the Pope is supposed to visit London this upcoming weekend. KISS THE BOOK.


Mark Stewart (Pop Group) and Dick O'Dell (Y Records founder and current manager of Bat For Lashes, pic courtesy of Daisy)

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Thank you so much, Daisy! I wish I could've been there with you, Martin, Gary, Dick & the others. Here's a playlist of several videos from the shows: