Experimental Rock. Vigorous in Britain

By John Rockwell
The New York Times
January 14, 1979, 
Section D, Page 35

Rock is an indisputably American creation. But the British caught on quickly, and from the time of the Beatles onwards, British acts have defined the form in disproportionate strength to the relative populations of the two countries. A re- cent sampling of British “new wave” disks indicates that there is still a lot of life left in that country's experimental rock camp.

With punk or new‐wave rock, the situation between the two countries has perpetuated itself, but with some interesting variants that relate directly to the music's relative commercial “failure.” Punk was arguably an American invention, dating back to the late 1960's and such Detroit acts as the MC5 and Iggy and the Stooges, and developing rapidly in the early 1970's with the New York Dolls and other bands here. But as soon as the major acts from the first burst of mid‐70's New York punk rock arrived in Britain—the Ramones especially, on their first tour there — the British new wave erupted with a force that has threatened to obscure the American originals.

Or at least it would have, had the music attracted the music industry in really serious way. Britain lacks the heavily influential commerical AM radio of the United States. Records are sold through key televison program appearances and, to a much larger extent than in this country, through the rock press. British critical tastemakers tend to be a far more trendy, excitable lot than their American counterparts, and so the rock critics’ mass conversion to new‐wave rock in the past three years has led to a far more formidable commercial success for this radical music than it has in this country.

By and large, new‐wave rock has failed to challenge the top of the charts in this country. There is a market for soft, sloppy music in Britain, to be sure. But it seems to be more stratified in terms of age and class than the “mellow rock” market here, and less capable (given the paucity of top‐40 AM stations) of driving progressive music from the sales charts.

Since new‐wave rock hasn't aroused the fervent interest of the commercial powers behind the music, it hasn't (yet) been co‐opted. This means that in America and in Britain the new‐wave rockers have proceeded with greater independence — both of each other and of industry pressure — than rockers were allowed to in the mid‐60's, when every record‐company executive suddenly got hip.

Thus there remains a greater differentiation between the British and American new‐wave scenes than one might expect. On both sides of the ocean bands are still willing to experiment in ways that suggest that they aren't just interested in gigantic commercial success. Despite the muchbruited “death of punk,” the music seems very much alive. The Americans remain artier than the British, who tend to use the music to vocalize longrepressed class hatreds and attitudes. But the vitality in both camps is equally impressive, and there is a good deal of similarity to be discerned between American and British rock experimenters.

But whether the terms “punk” or “new wave” mean much any more is real question. “New wave” replaced punk when Seymour Stein of Sire Records and other American executives worried that the connotations of “punk” were needlessly offensive to mid‐American tastes. The two terms still suggest a valuable distinction between overtly raw, crude rock on the one hand, and a slightly more intellectualized variety on the other.

But some recent LP's from Britain make one wonder if even the term “new wave” has much meaning any more. Like most such movements, the original energy came from musicians and young managerial types who formed a grouping as much sociological as musical. By now all sorts of interlopers have tried to cash in on the punk craze, and at the same time many of the originals have extended their interests to include defiantly progressive rock, reggae, pub‐rock and other form of rhythm-and-blues and early‐rock revivalism.

By far the most famous/notorious of the first wave of Brish punk bands was the Sex Pistols, and the “death of punk” stories heated up When that band broke apart early last year. Since then its various members have pursued different paths, from the industriously workaday to the sad (Sid Vicious). But the most prominent member of the Pistols and its lead singer, Johnny Rotten, laid low. Gradually it emerged that he had formed a new band, and a couple of months ago a single emerged. Now the debut album is out (as a Virgin import now in the speciality shops, with a domestic release on Warner Brothers due imminently). The band is called Public Image Ltd, and the album is “Public Image.”

On it Mr. Lydon (for that was the singer's original name, to which he has reverted) seems determined to put behind him what he apparently regards as the manipulative behavior of the Pistols and their manager, Malcolm McLaren, and the simply brutal rock the Pistols espoused. One has to admire him for his insistence on experimentation and his willingness to court commercial failure with this album. But that doesn't make it a success.

Public Image is a quartet, and theoretically all the members are equal (which doesn't stop Virgin from putting Mr. Lydon's face on the cover, including a poster of him’ on the inside — titled “Johnny Rotten” — and billboarding the poster with a sticker on the front. But the supposed democracy of the band means a’ sharing of responsibility for the musical results. That means Mr. Lydon's voice is mixed less prominently than it was on the Pistols album, and that everyone has a chance to shine in one way or another. Unfortunately, Mr. Lydon's voice seems better suited to the snarling aggression of the Pistols than it is to this fancier skuff, and the instrumental experimentation here isn't all that interesting. Still, Mr. Lydon has already proven himself charismatic performer, so perhaps Public Image in concert will prove more exciting than this disk, and the group's future records will find a more focus.

With the demise of the Pistols, the leadership of the British punk mow.ment devolved upon the Clash. This is quartet whose more excitable admirers have taken to praising in extravagent terms. The band's first album in American release, “Give Em Enough Rope,” is a fine record. It isn't as raw or striking as the band's debut LP (which CBS has stubbornly refused to release here). But it is still a fine example of rock that is both radically energetic and clever in a basic sort of way. The Clash's lack of a really strong singer and its slightly hectoring murkiness of textrure are taken by its fans as a sign of integrity; the implication is that any accessiblity would constitute cop‐out. To this taste, the Clash's music so far is simply too limited in range for real artistic success, quite apart from the issue of how many people buy its records.

Stiff Records is a British new‐wave label known both for the quality of its artists and for its flamboyant, ingenious way of promoting them. Crucial to the promotional efforts have been two package tours featuring the company's artists. In 1977 the talent included Elvis Costello, Ian Dury and Nick Lowe, and such. The 1978 version, which reached the Bottom Line almost intact last month, offered generally lesser attractions, but still had its charms.

One says “almost intact” because one member of the tour in Britain and in Europe, Mickey Jupp, failed to make it to America (for fear of flying), although his backup band did, with largely sodden results. Mr. Jupp's “Juppanese” album is a real charmer, and it makes one realize all by itself how amorphous the notion of “new wave rock” has become. Mr. Jupp is basically a pub‐rock veteran on the order of Mr. Lowe and Dave Edmunds. But building atop his solid, traditional rock is a lilting gift for softer, folkier ballads and a sleepy way with soft country‐rock songs that suggests British Billy Swan. Perhaps somebody will get smart soon and ship Mr. Jupp over to these shores by boat.

One highlight of the Stiff artists who did appear here was Lene Lovich (the other was Wreckless Eric, whose insoucicant charm in live performance doesn't work quite so well on disk). Miss Lovich, whose album is called “Stateless,” is a prime example of Stiff's promotional cleverness. As the title and the name imply, she purports to be some sort of mysteriously Slavic emigree. As it happens, Miss Lovich was born in America and moved to England, where she studied mime and engaged in such odd pursuits as writing English lyrics for Cerrone, the French disco star. She came into her own when she auditioned as a saxophonist, and was persuaded to expand her act into singing and theatrics; using songs mostly co‐written by herself and Les Chappell, the bald and determinedly weird‐looking in her band.

Miss Lovich looks pretty weird, too, dressed in bizarre tatters and long pigtails and screwing up her face like some Saturday‐afternoon television cartoon. But she has an engaging good humor about her, too, for all the selfconscious weirdness, and that virtue remains intact on her album. Miss Lovich is still developing a musical style and a performing character. At times her record sounds derivative of Patti Smith in the vocals, and of too many other arty new‐wavers in the instrumentals. But there's talent here, no doubt about it.

Two other women singers round out the current sampling, and one of them, Poly Styrene and her band, X‐Ray Spex, echoes Miss Lovich in the prominent use of a saxophone. X‐Ray Spex's album, “Germfree Adolescents,” has the liability of other new‐wave debut albums in lacking the group's earlier singles. These underground bands come to one's attention through their live performances and their (usually selfproduced) singles. The fans buy them, and the bands take the honorable position that those fans shouldn't be penalized when the first album comes out by having to duplicate singles they've already purchased. But, unfortunately, those singles are hard to keep track of and hard to obtain, and often contain the bands’ freshest early inspirations. That said, X‐Ray Spex's album is really superior one - not so much for Poly Styrene's raw if forceful singing as for the instrumentals, which are hot, exciting rock-and-roll.

Finally we have the evocatively entitled Siouxsie and the Banshees's “The Scream” (people make fun of punk band names, but as a whole they're as telling symbols of modern culture as graffiti). Siouxsie and the Banshees resisted signing a record deal and making an album long after the other pia neers of the British punk scene had made their moves. But “The Scream,” if not an epochal disk, is still worth the wait. Siouxsie herself is no prize-winner as a singer. But like most of these vocalists she makes a strong effect as chanting force and focus, and the band's instrumental experimentations prove (if proof were needed) that there is plenty of non‐commercial but gripping originality left within the seemingly limited resources of new‐wave rock.