Hugh Cornwell, Glen
Matlock and Clem Burke
Nick & Eddie,
Minneapolis, MN
Friday, March 2,
2012
By:
Almostred
I grew up in rural
Minnesota in the 1970’s and enjoyed all the cultural benefits you would expect
when living mere minutes from Fargo, ND. Like most men of my vintage, I acquired
an early taste for classic rock but as I grew older my soundtrack evolved. At
the time, however, I struggled to catch glimpses: Bowie, Iggy Pop and Cheap
Trick had to be special-ordered but then the local radio station inexplicably
slipped The Clash, Blondie and Gary Numan between Kenny Loggins and REO. I kept
seeing glimpses: the 60 Minutes
segment on the Sex Pistols until my mom turned it off in disgust; the Dickies on
CPO Sharkey; “punk” rock on Quincy; Roxy Music in the $.50 bin at
Woolworths. Then my brother started sending me the
mixtapes…
I am living proof of
the benefit of older brothers in college with fast cars and powerful stereos.
Mine introduced me to the Stranglers, Buzzcocks and Killing Joke, c. 1981, and I
never looked back.
Hugh Cornwell and
Clem Burke played the 400 Bar in Minneapolis last fall. There were maybe 35
people in attendance and most were probably also in the audience when Clem’s
original band opened for the Kinks at the Longhorn in 1978. The addition of a
curiosity-factor Glen Matlock plus heavy pimping by local hipster cruise
director Jake Rudh brought maybe 150 people to Nick & Eddie last Friday. Say
what you will about Mr. Rudh, but his ability to successfully mobilize his
flying monkeys in support of an otherwise under-promoted show cannot be denied.
Let’s see what he can do for Peter Case and Paul Collins at the Amsterdam Pub on
3/22.
As a restaurant, Nick
& Eddie violated my 3-strikes rule for food and service several years ago
and I haven’t been back since. As a music venue, however, Nick & Eddie is a
pretty good restaurant. Located in Loring Park by Lurcat and Joe’s Garage, Nick
& Eddie maintains a late-80’s Manhattan vibe, with tall ceilings and rows of
(functional?) speakers set into whitewashed walls. It’s the kind of place that
used to appear in Spy magazine
features from 1988, maybe with a picture of James Spader standing at the end of
the bar. During the concert, Clem Burke described N&E as “an upscale
CBGB’s,” and he wasn’t far off. An ad
hoc concert space at best, the stage is set up at the back of the house
along the bar. There was no formal concert lighting either; rather, the
performance was lit by the three or four halogens that hadn’t been unscrewed
above the musicians. And much like CBGB’s, the single bathroom was visible but
unreachable, requiring a long slog to the front of the stage, then a hard left
turn. Many of the lucky few who made it chose to watch the show from behind the
stage rather than make their way back through the crowd.
I held
it.
Glen Matlock:
Original bass player for the Sex Pistols before he was pitched to the curb by
Malcolm McLaren in favor of the pathetic yet marketable Sid Vicious. Never a
“punk” himself, Matlock had committed the cardinal sins of knowing how to play
an instrument and write songs. A somewhat successful solo performer and
bass-for-hire, Matlock has gigged with Iggy Pop and re-formed versions of both
the Sex Pistols and the Faces. His most recent visit to Minnesota was at Lee’s
in 2011 with rockabilly icon Robert Gordon and proto-punk Chris Spedding of
“Motorbikin’” fame. A good show, I’m told, and one you should all be very sorry
for missing.
Hugh Cornwell: Led
The Stranglers from 1974 through an acrimonious split in 1990. Significantly
older than their punk peers, the Stranglers’ bass-heavy and organ-driven
psychedelics were nonetheless lumped in with that scene by virtue of nothing
more than proximity and a shitty attitude. A hugely popular band for a time in
the UK and Europe, the Stranglers never had much visibility in the States beyond
the record-store cognoscenti.
Cornwell has been slogging it out on the solo road ever since, even while his
old band mates invoke his legacy at sold-out shows back in England, including at
London’s Roundhouse this coming Friday (3/9). Both Matlock and Cornwell played
separate sets supported by Hall-of-Fame drummer Clem Burke from Blondie and
Steve Fishman from the Contortions on bass (Google him).
I missed openers the
Fuck Knights but kudos to N&E for supporting local music. Glen Matlock then
took the stage with Fishman and Burke and plowed through a 45-minute set of
serviceably enthusiastic bar rock. Amiable and appreciative, Matlock chatted up
the crowd in a heavy West London accent before launching into several solo
numbers that started heads bobbing. I
sensed hipster confusion, however, during the first few songs, since Glen
Matlock plays guitar, not bass, when he performs solo. Many in attendance had
simply assumed that the person playing bass (Fishman) must be Matlock and who
was this guy singing? While most were hoping for a greater emphasis on Sex
Pistols’ tunes, Matlock played only “God Save the Queen” and “Pretty Vacant,”
building up a good head of steam that had the crowd actually moving and singing
along. A few punk geezers tried vainly to be annoying for old time’s sake, but
the saps queuing for the bathroom were far more pissed. I even saw Punk Bob in
his bedazzled denim vest, awkwardly pin-balling about like a vaguely reptilian
Vivian from the Young Ones. Matlock
also received nods of recognition with “Ambition” from Iggy Pop’s Soldier album and “Ghosts of Princes in
Towers” from the Rich Kids, his first post-Pistols group with Midge Ure, later
of Ultravox. The encore, however, was an unexpected surprise when Matlock
returned to play “Montague Terrace (in Blue)” by pop godhead Scott Walker. The
arrangement, venue, crowd and performers all gelled into a perfect
representation of why I ever went to see live music in the first place, although
not so much anymore. Good stuff.
After less than 15
minutes, Hugh Cornwell, Fishman and Burke started in with “Toiler on the Sea”
from the Stranglers’ 3rd album, Black and White. The Stranglers’
guttural bass and organ flourishes were noticeably absent but Cornwell’s
distinctive guitar sound and iconic voice were intact, even at the age of 62.
They continued with several back catalogue deep cuts, including “Bear Cage,”
“Goodbye Toulouse,” “Nuclear Device” and my personal favorite Stranglers tune,
“Straighten Out,” a b-side from 1977. Cornwell’s snarling vocals and slashing
guitar lead on hits like “Hanging Around,” “No More Heroes” and the much-covered
“(Get A) Grip (On Yourself) confirmed him as a progenitor of punk aggression,
even if he had discarded that label himself more than two decades ago. Several
solo numbers were politely received and only on “Golden Brown” did the band
falter. A monstrous and uncharacteristic hit for the Stranglers in 1981, “Golden
Brown” is a delicate, harpsichord-driven paean to heroin that switches in and
out of ¾ waltz time. Forced to copy on guitar a melody previously played on the
organ, Cornwell and Fishman struggled to stay in step. A quick YouTube search,
however, reveals that the Stranglers themselves could rarely keep the song
together so this is nitpicking over a truly solid set. Cornwell made several
cordial references to past local gigs, resulting in knowing woots from the
crowd. He also noted that Minneapolis was a lovely city that needed to be
relocated to a warmer coastal area.
Indeed.
Regarding Clem Burke
- obviously a world-class musician, his support for lesser-known colleagues is
admirable. He is, however, a pop drummer at heart, with a busy style and a loose
wrist that manifests itself in excessive high-hat and frequent snare fills. The
Stranglers’ style was thuggish and spartan; Burke’s flourishes seemed
periodically at odds with the music, at least to those familiar with the
originals. At 58, though, Burke has been too successful to warrant criticism for
a gig that is obviously a labor of love, especially if the worst thing I can say
is that the drummer was too perky.
I’ve been listening
to Hugh Cornwell, Glen Matlock and Clem Burke for over 30 years now. Before the
show I had thought to bring down an old Trouser Press magazine for them to sign,
one where all three appeared in their respective bands. I’ve had bad luck in the
past with meeting my musical heroes, however, so I left it at home. After the
show I stood within a yard of where Hugh Cornwell was graciously chatting with
fans. I thought about stopping to shake his hand and express my appreciation, to
tell him how he had helped change
things for me, but then I just kept walking. I have some pretty solid memories
of him, and I’d like to keep them that way. I didn’t get to tell him what his
music meant to me growing up but maybe during the show he saw the tall guy along
the bar, mouthing the words to every one of his songs.
I’d like to think
that he did.
Nice read Almostred, thanks for sharing.
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