Highly evolved promotional budget seeks diminutive rock tyrant for lasting relationship. A quickie around the back of the Leadmill, may however have to suffice. The moment of truth arrives in the cold, steely heart of Sheffield. Will Jenkins has the details.
24/06/2002
The thought goes that when a man comes into a room it is not the motion that carries him into the room which is of interest, but what he does when he is in it; indeed what will come next? This propensity for action is nowhere more prescient than for a band; especially one sent out to sell itself.
The Vines have been courted, favoured and succoured by Capitol Records since last year. The record label has fuelled The Vines, financially supporting them over the odds with $800-a-day studio time over six months and exuberant living expenses; all dedicated to a fistful of fiscal return. This is of a concerned interest for a record label, not many groups off the back of a mislaid demo, have ever found themselves as rich as Croesus, or at least Eddie George, and been afforded such a time to record a first album.
Over here now to promote ‘Get Free’, their third single, the group has also been sent to Europe to play out an easier market than the unslayable beast that is the States. Smaller tours, easier and achievable press and an already fawning fan base stirred up by this year’s resurgence of guitar bands – The Hives, The Strokes, The White Stripes – bands from abroad are selling garage-loads here. And The Vines name has been added to the above list.
All this downloadable information for The Vines makes the first date of this short tour of Northern England, tough for now the band has to enter the room and show after the time and money spent that they could impress and perform. Time, place and action. On entering the Sheffield Leadmill, what can they do?
Craig Nicholls, small of frame and bird-nest of hair, casts himself well as a diminutive-rocker when bolting on, throwing his guitar around and playing out to the Leadmill. You can perhaps see the appeal, for he can appear deranged to suit the unhinged befit status of a talented man and comes across as vulnerable, making people want to protect and mother him. The band plays around with this idea and him. As always the singer is the star.
Yet after reading, waiting and hoping that here could be another band suitable to while away your time on – CDs, tickets, t-shirts, badges and bobby socks – The Vines begin to fall apart as potential before all of us standing there. The immediate rush of Craig and Co arriving on stage is the motion that carries the audience initially but when they begin to play ‘Sun Child’, The Vines run out of the appeal which has carried them so far. With sheer dedication the group promptly impales itself on Craig’s self-indulgence, leaving us to watch as a young man flails on a spike thrust into him by an every whim satiated ego driven to breaking by the dollar fuelled spectacular expected by Capitol.
Whereas the b-side to ‘Highly Evolved’, the song sounded as a lost 45 by Love as sung by Taj Mahal with the dust blown off it. Here we get attitooood. Craig’s eyes roll and his scream becomes not one of released aggression that has charged the singles but of a self-indulgence more befitting a spoilt brat arguing with his mother over a new pair of shoes.
What could have seen me biting my nails waiting to see what on earth a band can do next, which you would expect to feel after all the hype, during the rest of the hour, The Vines play turns in to a gruelling and predictable showcase for the utterly decrepit and mediocre. The Vines alternate with each song between fast punk and acoustic building, where the song strums itself out; petering out, becoming more and more predictable as my friends and I take turns to go to the bar. You know what will come next when the now entitled ‘Acoustic-Buddie’ strolls on, guitar under his arm and Craig goes into another four minutes of rolling around and sounding like he is clearing his throat. Boy he must have a mucus and catarrh problem not suffered since my Great Aunt!
The Sheffield gig is one long burst of energy from the punk only to be lead nowhere but to disappointment. As ‘Get Free’ rollocks along, as good as it is, you can still feel let down as what has preceded these three minutes has been arduous and painful. But money has been spent and people have been bought by what has been said and read, which is why my friends and I felt like we had attended a Combat 18 meeting dressed as Ariel Sharon. Most people leapt and yelped and bordered on openly weeping when The Vines left the stage temporarily before the obvious encore, whilst we internally hummed the soundtrack of our lives which we like to pass the time.
No doubt The Vines will go on to sell records, play to enthusiastic crowds at festivals and revel in the success that probably awaits them. Yet for anyone set a distance from the hype and can see what is really going on the band have entered the room and done nothing.
Will Jenkins for Crud Magazine© 2002