January 13, 1994
The Soft Boys
The Astoria, London
by Victoria Segal
"In this horrible age of abuse and decay/It's good to see someone is looking okay..." ("Queen Of Eyes").
Okay? The Soft Boys are looking pretty good for a band that offically split 13 years ago. My generation, gender, and general musical inclinations should by rights push me next door where Elastica and Echobelly are roaming. But this band -- who describe themselves as "men in their late thirties playing songs written during the last Labour administration" -- have tied my affection in knots. The psychedelic revival was never a big topic of conversation in playgrounds down my way. But I'm almost as excited by this reunion as the orignal obsessive baying for obscurities.
The sense of event isn't helped much by support Weddings Parties Anything, who play the sort of righteous Folk-y rattle that could happily be made illegal and no one would complain. They do, however, inspire some frenzied dancing and are apparently Big in Australia -- so they could be looming large here soon. You have been warned.
Their lack of charisma is cruelly highlighted by the arrival of The Soft Boys. Singer, songwriter, and personal Zeus Robyn Hitchcock could be used as an alternative energy source. He's something like an upright, right on, offbeat beatnik with violet vowels and a mind like a light-show. Former guitarist Kimberley Rew is notably absent, but first bass player Andy Metcalfe charges around as if he's on fire. Matthew Seligman skulks elusively, and drummer Morris Windsor exudes agressive adrenalin. It's so cool to hear songs known only from second-hand vinyl spring to new life. "Insanely Jealous", with its double-headed scrabbling bass, sticks a claw in your heart -- Robyn standing in a white spotlight and crackling with the static of paranoia as Psychedelia topples into psychosis: "All I hear in their embrace is the kiss of skulls". It's the fire-eyed visionary side of the band that's most apparent tonight. "I Wanna Destroy You" knifes marauding politicians in the head, while "Only The Stones Remain" is spiky and splendid. The spontaneity heard on old live tapes is perhaps inhibited by "the occasion", but the songs are vibrant enough.
The Soft Boys look likely to remain a bloody "cult" band when they should be studied by astronomers, introduced into the water table, and made gifts of your firstborn. Whether they're past or future doesn't matter -- they're parallel.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE