Record Reviews
Incantations
By Patrick Emery
The latest New Christs LP has all the killer riffs and occasional Radio Birdman flashbacks you’d expect, but more than that too, writes PATRICK EMERY.
[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] Rob Younger isn’t someone to dwell on the past, or, perish the thought, his own legacy; in fact, Younger has been known to dismiss the hagiography surrounding Radio Birdman, the band that originally brought Younger to the forefront of rock ’n’ roll consciousness, as irrelevant.
But of all the musical spore thrown from Radio Birdman, Younger’s is arguably the most significant. Deniz Tek’s output outside of Radio Birdman has been patchy; The Hitmen, the band featuring Birdman guitarist Chris Masuak (and, originally, bass player Warwick Gilbert) threatened to cross into mainstream popularity and commercial success, until fate – in the form of singer Johnny Kannis’s car accident – cruelled the band’s chances.
But The New Christs, the band Younger formed originally as a temporary outfit in 1983 to support Iggy Pop’s 1983 tour, have been a model of consistency. In some ways The New Christs are less of a band than a concept fronted by Younger – Younger has been the only constant in a lineup that’s variously included The Celibate Rifles’ Kent Steedman, Charlie Owen, Jim Dickson and the sadly recent departed Christian Houllemare. But it’s a powerful and influential concept: continental Europeans regularly cite The New Christs’ 1989 debut album Distemper – and the European tour that followed – as seminal events in their rock ’n’ roll education.
“A band that’s still as close to the top of its game as it needs to be.”
And it’s hard to identify a genuinely false step in The New Christs’ progess ever since: Lower Yourself remains one of the great ‘lost’ albums of the late 1990s, and the band’s last album, Gloria, surprised even the most ardent fan with its strength of songwriting and power of delivery. So why when The New Christs announce the release of a new album, why isn’t there the same media frenzy that accompanies the latest Nick Cave record? The answer, perhaps, lies in Younger’s enigmatic style; alternatively, it’s symptomatic of a commercial world where superficial brand dominates over artistic substance.
But to listen to Incantations is to hear a band that’s still as close to the top of its game as it needs to be. From the moment ‘Ghostlike’ heralds the start of the record, you can visualise Younger, ghost-white hair hanging down across his shoulders, eyes staring off into the distance, arms flailing in post-Iggy fashion, the frenzy of Birdman movement tempered by the passage of time but the prototypical garage-punk spirit as intense as ever. The riff is gutsy and guttural; isn’t this another New Christs track that everyone should hear but hardly anyone will?
‘Waves Form’ starts with a rumble – the comparisons to Ron Keeley’s ‘Pipeline’-esque opening salvo in Birdman’s ‘Descent into the Maelstrom’ are unavoidable – the song itself is as tight as the proverbial inappropriate metaphor. This is seriously good shit – and more.
The romantic tone of ‘We are Lovers’ is almost confronting – since when did Rob Younger get in touch with his emotional side, and what does it mean for punk rockers, be they old and emotionally retarded or young and impressionable? The answer, as with anything in a postmodern world, is everything and nothing. Younger is equal parts somber and mildly emphatic; again, bottle that riff and give it to the next generation and get them to ponder it.
Then there’s ‘It Means Everything’, with a sense of Ali, Foreman and Frazier in the bruising riffs – knockout punches, all of ’em gonna floor you, just you wait. But then you turn to ‘It’s Not a Game’ and you remember that wry, introspective edge Younger’s always added to his lyrics: there’s no bravado, no bullshit, only honesty and critical self-examination. The lyrics speak of dislocation and reflection, and you wonder why rock ’n’ roll struggles at its heart to break free of its self-aggrandising obsessions.
Move on to ‘A Window to See’ and there’s a pop song of sorts: it’s a little bit surf, a little bit Distemper and exactly the type of product that affirms the perennial imbalance in the rock ’n’ roll terms of trade between Australia and Europe. Part of me – that is, the part of me that heard The New Christs’ ‘Born Out of Time’ 25-odd years ago and never recovered – hears that seminal riff again in ‘The Golden Street’; another part just heard The New Christs writ large, and it was written.
‘This is a Party’ is proof positive that age defies simply chronological assessment: this is a party that transcends the superficialities of the cheap and specious contemporary entertainment world, with its fascination with narcissistic narrative. ‘Precious Little’ winds back and finds solace in dirty, slightly psychedelic blues territory. Younger is the old man on the bus, waxing lyrical to anyone who knows enough to listen. There’s a Stooges-ish simplistic piano rhythm in the distance; some things change, some things are always constant.
“The odd flash of acid rock transports you back to before dysfunctional Sydney planning and licensing laws.”
‘Unless’ is no less impressive: the sun-bronzed surf-rock passion of The Atlantics bleeds into a classic New Christs rock lick. Younger’s surrealistic lyrics glide across the track; the odd flash of acid rock transports you back to the 1980s, before dysfunctional Sydney planning and licensing laws cast a dark cloud over the city’s live music scene. The title of final track ‘Divine Somehow’ betrays a level of irony that might be deliberate, or just serendipitous – after all, Younger did coin the band’s name back in 1983 as a tongue-in-cheek response to the deification of Radio Birdman. The song itself is slick in the way that good rock ’n’ roll can be: there’s no flourish, just a solid steak-and-three-veg meal.
Maybe the eyes of the rock ’n’ roll world will open, and The New Christs will be feted for the great band Younger has made it. But even if that doesn’t happen, we’ve still got another great record to savour, and for that we must all give thanks.
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