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If I had a pound for every time I’ve seen a band of serious-looking young men with guitars singing about the human condition whilst staring into the horizon, I’d have exactly £6.50 (I’ve seen at least one with a couple of serious-looking young men and a glum-looking young lady too).
The Tiger Lillies
I’ve got a taste for the theatrical in music: whether this is expressed through passion, energy or sheer and utter bonkersness. From Lydia Lunch to The Tiger Lillies; The Dresden Dolls to Marilyn Manson: bands and artists which meld art, performance and music into something original will always get my vote (and if they shout and swear a bit, so much the better).
I don’t want to see yet another laddish Oasis tribute band or an insipid Coldplay-inspired quartet moaning about existential angst. I want to see people who jump around and fall over, spray beer out their mouths and run off stage into the audience.
On the Edinburgh scene, there are a few bands taking this route to notoriety, and I love them for it. Whether it’s the snot-nosed chaos of The Nature Boys, the country noir cabaret of Augustalia or the insanity of a Hagana set when Phil puts in an appearance: these lot understand it’s as much about the performance as it is about the music.
Scrap Brain - not mediocre
My current favourite example of this on the local scene are Scrap Brain.
On paper, they shouldn’t really work. A self-taught drummer who makes it up as he goes along, an elastic-limbed bass player who also runs back and forth from a keyboard; and a lead singer who leaps from the floor to the drum kit to the bass amp like Patti Smith on a pogo stick: together, they whip up a sonic maelstrom of art-punk noise which is as far removed from the radio-friendly diddlings of the serious boys as possible.
They may not have a guitar; they may not have tunes you’ll be whistling on the way into work the next day; it’s possible they may not even be the best musically-adept band in the city. But what the fuck – they have attitude, energy and an on-stage voodoo which shoots them straight into the stratosphere, where they look down on us lesser mortals like drop-dead cool art-punk versions of the Greek gods in Clash of the Titans.
Scrap Brain, I salute you.
(As yet, there are no bands in Edinburgh I’m aware of who scream and shout and hit things whilst wearing plague doctor masks and singing about incest and murder. As yet…)
