Glasvegas Live - The Past, Present and Future of Rock and Roll

On Tuesday, April 7, I had the fortunate opportunity to experience what could only be considered pure magic. I confess I was more excited to see Glasvegas at Minneapolis’ Varsity Theater than any concert I have attended in years. From the first time I heard the single, “Daddy’s Gone” seeing the powerful, atmospheric video for “Flowers and Football Tops” on an extra-caffeinated morning, I’ve been hooked. The few You Tube videos of Glasvegas live, including a blistering performance of “Geraldine,” showcase a band capable of almost indescribable emotion. It is the kind of feeling that makes you play a song over and over again, each time feeling something new inside yourself. The last time I recall a similar feeling was seeing Travis and Stereophonics in 2000, who were breaking the United States on the surge of the second wave of Britpop.

I have been to at least seventy concerts but this was the first time I bought a ticket by myself. I didn’t care if anyone went with me to see Glasvegas – I was jazzed just to have my golden ticket. My erstwhile, energetic wife decided a few weeks later to accompany me, probably after hearing incessant playing of the band on our computer. Playing Glasvegas for the past two months must have stuck something inside her as well. I told her I absolutely wanted to meet the band after the show. I did not care how long it took or if we drove home at the crack of dawn. I had to tell James Allan, Rab Allan, Paul Donoghue and Caroline McKay and tell them how much their music has moved me.

As I’ve gotten older, I noticed how few people I know continue to embrace new music and find something different in their lives. Many seem content to play songs from their youth or listen to their too obvious successors (reality check: Nickelback is Butt Rock part II – different butts, same crappy rock). Glasvegas is the most passionate band since the Libertines and possibly even Nirvana. Hefty praise, I know, but in an era of cookie-cutter, niche-ridden music, hearing a band making music on their own terms takes me back to my teenage years, listening the Clash and Sex Pistols for the first time. Glasvegas took this feeling one step further, incorporating the doo-wop and surf which was a staple of my mother’s record collection. James Allan seemed to be playing my jukebox and as we entered the Varsity Theater that Tuesday night, I felt like the ten-year-old kid who went to his first concert with his mom to see the Everly Brothers 25 years ago.

After we entered the Varsity, my wife, Andrea snagged a Glasvegas poster from a stairway and secured us a spot at the front of the stage. She was generous enough to loan her too-excited husband cash for a t-shirt, as in his excitement for the show he forgot there would be a merchandise table. I was able to see the set list beneath Paul’s microphone and supply of Stella and bottled water. Usually, it is exciting for the audience to be surprised at the song order, but seeing gave me more anticipation for what was to come. As Glasvegas took the stage amidst fog and the echo of doo-wop from the PA, the all too common army of cell phones and cameras raised in the air like lighters from an era long since passed. The opening notes of “Geraldine” sounded and as the full band joined in, I jumped like I was eighteen years old in the chaos of the early Lollapaloozas. Music has a way of transcending age and time; an ethereal experience which brings you outside yourself and into a world unlike any other. The fog was thick, Glasvegas was rocking and I knew at that moment, they would be the next big thing.

What followed was almost a blur; like how you feel on an amusement park ride you hope will never end. Glasvegas’ showmanship rivals Bruce Springsteen’s, bringing your emotions up and down, making you move and then dance slow. Like Springsteen, the live performance eclipses the record because of the raw feeling and belief emitting from the band. James Allan is in total command of the moment, sucked into the surreal world of impending fame. The concept of “Spectorism” (after famed yet now convicted genius Phil Spector) performed live is something rarely, if ever attempted. Yet the songs “Go Square Go”, “It’s My Own Cheating Heart that Makes Me Cry” and especially “Flowers and Football Tops” conjure a “wall of sound” that honestly is very hard to describe unless you experience it firsthand. As Glasvegas began their final song, the gut-wrenching “Daddy’s Gone”, Paul Donoghue’s amplified opening bass notes filled the Varsity. As James began singing, some in the audience knew the words, many didn’t but as the song creschendoed into it’s final chorus (as many Spector songs do) the entire Varsity Theater was mesmerized.

A friend of mine once told me of how he felt seeing Springsteen at the old Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis thirty years ago. Although “Born to Run” may not have much in common with “Daddy’s Gone” on the surface, both are anthems to a generation looking for identity and a voice. As Springsteen gave a voice to those disenfranchised from the Vietnam War and peace movement, James Allan is the voice of a new time and era: lives filled with heartbreak and hope but not the in idealization of “suicide machines” and “dirty arcades.” Instead, Allan conjures the sadness and aspirations inside our souls, challenging us to celebrate social workers and abhor mindless violence; recognize the love and loss in everyday lives without the grandeur of past glory days. As “Daddy’s Gone” ended, James kissed the girls and shook hands with the boys. In an age of despair and cynicism, it is the heart of the romantic that rings true.

I did get the pleasure of meeting Glasvegas after the show and enjoying their more than generous hospitality. But that is where the story ends. I don’t feel it is appropriate to be voyeuristic about such encounters. Although there were autographs and pictures, that was not why I was there; not to broadcast pictures and tour bus stories for the universe to see. It wasn’t why I stood outside a library which years before I huddled inside to hide my family from a storm. As the empty tour bus stood parked, I looked at the library and thought about how our past catches up with us, how the little things in life play such a big part if we only let them. I met Caroline, Paul, Rab and James, told each of them Glasvegas was “the next big thing.” Although their future may be unwritten, their present is filled with the excitement and surrealism of the unknown. As we drove home that night, my wife told me I should play music for my kids the same way my mom did for me. The next night, I did. I felt the ethereal circle of music, which binds all of us who believe in it; the same feeling Glasvegas feels every time they take the stage. They bring it all back home, which is exactly where our hearts need to be. The concert of a lifetime, a band for the ages. I have seen the past, present and future of rock and roll and its name is Glasvegas.

The Sum of the Interior

I love the Cramps. At least, I think I do. What’s not to adore about a band steeped in doo-wop, rockabilly, psychedelia and glam black leather? Lux Interior, the Cramps’ lead singer, died Tuesday of heart failure. Two days later, the Cramps broke Yahoo’s top ten searches of the day, easily their highest chart position of anything during their career. I found this a little odd, considering I know very few people who own Cramps records and those that do hardly blast their canon with religious fervor like AC/DC fans. My first Cramps record “Smell of Female” was purchased in 1994. One song stuck out: “Psychotic Reaction”. When I played it for my friend, Klink, he stated, “That’s pretty good, but the original by The Count Five is better.” Turns out, Klink was right. I bought a compilation with the Count Five version and it was superior. Later that same year, I played Klink a song from the Cramps CD “Psychedelic Jungle/Gravest Hits”, “Green Door”, which I thought rocked. Klink gave a similar response, telling me the original by Jim Lowe was much better. His parents even owned it! It took me a few years, but eventually I procured the 1959 “Green Door” by Jim Lowe, which again proved my friend right. Before Interior’s death, I was grooving to a 9-disc compilation called “Lux and Ivy’s Favorites”, compiled from decades of songs referenced in interviews by Lux Interior and his wife/guitarist, Poison Ivy. I realized this week that I’ve listened to those CD’s more in the last month than I had Cramps material in my entire life.

Lux Interior was a rare breed of rock and roller, the kind that would rather spend hours playing his favorite 45’s than discussing his own career. Along with Poison Ivy, I can think of very few musicians with the depth, passion and knowledge possessed by Interior. Kurdt Cobain, Paul Westerberg, Paul Weller and Noel Gallagher come to mind. Most musicians are concerned with discussing the profoundness of their own mediocre material. In the 1980’s, listening to Nikki Sixx wax poetic on Motley Crue classics like “Girls Girls Girls” and “Dr. Feelgood” was more humorous than Sunday morning’s “Bloom County.” Despite performances filled with more sexual references than the entire “Crue” catalog, listening to Interior discuss music is akin to a collegiate lecture. For further evidence of Interior’s and Ivy’s knowledge, I recommend Re/Search #14: Incredibly Strange Music Vol. 1, featuring an extensive interview with the duo.

It is unknown what really qualifies as “dance music” except that a song has an innate ability to compel humans to bounce and flail around in an uncontrollable fashion. To quote Mike Muir of Suicidal Tendencies and Infectious Grooves, it’s “the plague that makes your booty move.” Interior was fascinated by this type of music, the kind that made you dance but you really don’t know why. Three songs compiled in Lux and Ivy’s Favorites, Volume One, exemplify this theory. “Shombalor” by Sheriff and the Ravels from 1959, has been described as doo-wop, rockabilly and rock n’ roll but nobody really knows what it is. There’s no actual definition of what “shombalor” the word even means. All I know is that you’re supposed to move “left-right-left-right-left-right”, “swing-ding” and a whole bunch of other moves that I guess you’re supposed to improvise. The rhythm is definitely contagious and falls into the old rock theory that the more confusing the words are, the cooler the song is. Similarly, 1956’s “Rubber Biscuit” by The Chips makes absolutely no sense except that it compels you to move. Subsequently covered by the Blues Brothers, it is a celebration of sped-up doo-wop confusion. I’ve probably played the original song fifty times in the last three weeks, although it would be far cooler blasting from a 1957 Chevrolet than a 1999 Ford Winstar. The last song on the CD, 1958’s “Jennie Lee” is by Jan and Arnie, who later changed their name to Jan and Dean. It is straightforward doo-wop with several differences. It is relatively unproduced, and has one of the deepest echoes of any song in the era. The lyrics are also somewhat unintelligible. In an era where anyone can become their own personal Phil Spector, Lux Interior loved songs that weren’t quite ready for prime-time radio.

A few weeks ago I offered to give a copy of Lux and Ivy’s Favorites to one of my music buddies, Vladimir. “No Cramps,” he said.
“Are you sure? This stuff’s really good,” I replied.
“No Cramps. No Cramps.”
At the time, I wondered why Vladimir felt this way. He likes many of their punk contemporaries like the Dead Kennedys, Black Flag and the Misfits. After Interior’s death, I began to understand his reasoning. For all their depth of knowledge and exhibitionism, the Cramps didn’t have many great original songs. Personally, I can name six I consider great rock and roll songs: “Human Fly”, “The Mad Daddy”, “Goo Goo Muck”, “Surfin’ Dead”, “The Creature From the Black Leather Lagoon” and “Bikini Girls With Machine Guns.” Cover songs excluded, much Cramps material sounds like songs that Lux and Ivy thought Cramps records should sound like and be about, which is different than the material that influenced them. Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against artists writing songs suited to their audience. KISS did it for thirty years. Every so often, Gene Simmons complains about KISS’ exclusion from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, arguing the band’s massive popularity is enough to warrant induction. Stage performance aside, KISS has about as many great rock songs as the Cramps, which is honestly not enough to jam out with Neil Young and David Bowie.

Lux Interior probably didn’t care about being in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He never expressed envy when his contemporaries Iggy Pop and the Ramones were inducted. Interior truly loved touring and playing up the band’s psychobilly, sci-fi and S/M image. If he turned on fans to any of the obscure yet fabulous music he adored, he was happy. His on-stage persona was a gateway to another reality. A world filled with B-Movies, zombies and vampire vixens. He encouraged fans to come along and participate in the Cramps’ celebration of decadence. I don’t know anyone who went to a Cramps show and did not have a great time. Although he may never gain the recognition of Iggy Pop, Lux Interior resides in those ever-dwindling record stores. He’s in the Sonics 45’s, the gigantic wall posters, DVDs of “Faster Pussycat Kill! Kill!” and on the lips of anyone who gets asked the ambiguous question: “Can you find me something cool?”