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Silence For the Glam! | |
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Silence For the Glam! | |
But he's not inviting us to mourn; he's simply telling us to
shut the f*** up. Besides, in front of a red star backdrop (which appears to
have fallen off the back of S*M*A*S*H's transit van), his eyes are popping, his
neck veins are bulging, and he looks like he's having the time of his life. And
so are the motley collection of rejects from a Trainspotting--The Cold
Turkey Years casting session surrounding him.
It's there in the cheeky grins, and generally catfishness, but
it's even more apparent in songs like "Good Time Girls" that stomp with all the
guileless sophistication of a Dr. Marten-wearing amoeba. And, as if that wasn't
enough, "Love You Always" [I believe that's "I Love You Anyways"--Addy] rings with
insipid steel-string slushiness, proving that deep in the psyche of most
Scottish bands--from Runrig to Texas--is the overwhelming desire to be a little
country, and a little bit western.
What should be enough to dismiss Travis outright. But then they
attack "Hazy Shade of Gold" like Ash ram-raiding an Abba song. "U16 Girls" is a
'70s TV cop theme as sung by a football crowd ripped to the tits on Buckfast and
Irn Bru cocktails, and "The Line Is Fine" sounds like Heavy Stereo always
imagined they did: preposterously glam, with Rod Stewart on vocals after a heavy
night on the booze and the blondes--but, crucially, without the annoying retro
posturing. But their real crowning moment comes with "All I Wanna Do Is Rock,"
and a growling bout of stratospheric soloing and screaming guitar heroics.
More of that, and truly dumbstruck audiences won't be far behind.
Melody Maker
A minute's silence is usually reserved for funerals, not London
showcase gigs. But there's Francis Healy, singer with Glasgow's Travis,
spluttering, "We should have at least 45 minutes silence here!" A mere
60 seconds is not enough for him. No, he's asking for a whole bloody
three-quarters-of-an-hour of the stuff.
So this is no wake. But there are ghosts flitting around the
place: namely, the spirit of Scottish music past. Because, while their home
town compadres are raiding the sweet shop for Sherbert Dips or serving up atonal
fuzz, Travis have gone right to the back of the Scotpop wardrobe and emerged
with a tartan scarf wrapped around their necks and comedy tam-o'-shanter
balanced precariously on their heads. They have tinkered with the pop Ouija
board and raised the dread spectre of--and you might want to sedate your mothers
at this point--The Bay City Rollers.
Frannie opens wide.
April 26, 1997
by Jim Alexander
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