By: Ilya Ratner
In the ‘50s we would have revolted them. We’d hide their albums from our kids and accuse them of being spawns of Satan! In the ‘60s they would’ve been regaled. We’d gather in small circles at an outdoor festival, smoke purple haze, drop orange sunshine and listen to them play. In the ‘70s one of them would have died—probably the lead singer—and they would have been forever etched into rock and roll’s memorial. And so on.
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Wolfmother - Photo from http://www.myspace.com/wolfmother
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Sappy and trite, yet these were the sentiments streaming through my head during the Wolfmother show. Is this trio of Aussies aided by such notions? A crowd speckled with quadragenerions says yes. The Led Zeppelin T-shirts say yes. Even their music—a sort of ‘60s and ‘70s sedimentary rock—says yes. It’s almost as if these boys stole Robert Plant’s nose, David Bowie’s hip, Noel Redding’s elbow and Ian Anderson’s thumb, took the mass and stuck it together with Hendrix’s chewing gum. WAMO! A fantastic revivalist band is born.
Wolfmother was sort of like a cover band playing songs you’d never heard before. And all the songs were good. A strange nostalgia filled my heart. A nostalgia for the ‘60s and ‘70s—decades foreign to me. I didn’t even think that was possible, but there it was. Perhaps it was just the idea that good rock and roll still had a place on this earth. You know—something that doesn’t sound like Puddle of Mudd or Nickelback, something beyond a power chord and a pretty Fender.
This pop band jammed. This pop band could play a guitar or organ solo over four measures long. This pop band surprised you in ways other than strategic wardrobe malfunctions and publicity stunts. This band made you smile.
From punk-rockish staccato to lilting melody, Andrew Stockdale, Chris Ross and Myles Heskett had The Myth pulsating with their mystical sound. A legion of would-be groupies danced about the place, ogling their future husbands and gushing with chaste adoration. Boomers strummed air guitars without coordination. Devil horns, fingers and fists flashed through the smoke-filled nightclub. A jubilant audience was treated to a night of solid rock, Zeppelin cover and all (“Communication Breakdown”).
I loved the show. From the rolling organ fills to the gritty guitar solos, it was great from start to finish. And I love the fact that they were signed by a major record label. But will they be ruined by the business and degenerate into another cookie-cutter cock-up of a band? Or will more bands with personality join their ranks in pop land? To me, pop rock has become a car wreck. The car keeps rolling over and debris keeps flying off. The car looks less and less like a car, less and less like rock and roll. But maybe this band is truly revivalist? They may have the entire English Channel to swim before becoming Led Zeppelin, but they sure as hell have the breaststroke down and with enough practice and ingenuity they have a shot to do something grand. Let’s all hope they aren’t just a flash in the pan.
Location Info:
Myth Nightclub
Artist Info: Wolfmother
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