Lilys, Live at London
Hoxton Square Blue Note,
London, England, 10 Feb 1998
This piece originally appeared in NME,
12/2/98
A TEENAGE GIRL WEARING A T-SHIRT WITH an
embroidered crimson heart playing 'Tomorrow Never Knows' behind
the decks; a politely psychedelic light show swirling endlessly
over the walls; Crispian Kula Shaker in a corner surrounded by
swarms of wide-eyed girls... the Lilys sure know the poetry of
innocence. Why, with all these newly-converted flower people here
to pay homage to the newly-established 6ft 5in King Of Uncool
you'd think Kurt Heasly would be happy just to, maybe, y'know,
let the music do the talking.
No chance.
"Hey, what is this place?" bellows Kurt precisel two
nano-seconds after taking the stage, his head and shoulders
apparenUy lodged somewhere up I the deserted bar upstairs.
"lt's kinda small in here. We should be
playing on rooftops! But I like it. It's like The Cavern"
And with that, the band clunk-click into their scatter-brained
stride and we're escorted straigh onto, well, the last steam
train to Clarksville. Rigid staccato rifts, kicked awake after 30
years asleep stumble drunkenly
against each other like blind men on a revolving floor.
Meanwhile, drummer Aaron Sperske performs heroics in the
backgroud, saving songs from certain death with the mere help of
a paradiddle.
Those of a certain disposition (the sort who polish their box
sets daily and shudder at the musical output of The Rutles) begin
to falter three songs in. A colleague suggesta that the likes of
Olivia Tremor Control and Apples In Stereo do this stuff so much
better - A pair of confused mods presumably lured into such a
kitschly-coloured world by the band's recent excursions into
Levi's sponsorship - bellow vainly for 'Magic Bus'. Kurt,
meanwhile, oblivious to both his world-slaying potency as an
irritant as well as the exegesis
of one-hit protocol, is debating aloud when be should play 'that
song'.
"Should we play it now? We've only Just started but maybe it
would be good it we did it now..."
With that we're plunged into the glorious thrash of 'A Nanny In
Manhattan', quite obviously the finest pastiche of The Kinks
playing The Searchers with Brian Jones on spoons the world's seen
since The Lemonheads turned sour. Lurching wildly with each
chorus, it fizzles to a close with Aaron pounding o his Stone Age
drumkit and Kurt providing a final twanging solo straight from
Roger McGuinn's back pages. Which, funnily enough, is where he
appears, to have got his haircut.
And what with Evan Dando having parted company with Atlantic and
retroism still held to ransom by the last of the dadrockers,
Kurt's wonderfully acid-affected slant on the '60s appears to
have arrived just
about on time.
"Hey, we're off now!' he splutters, scampering to the back
stairs ten steps at a time. "Back into the wonders of the
black hole of confusion!" And, it seems, the dressing room.
Paul Moody
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