Steve Smith Live in Cape Town
I once read this astute statement somewhere (Q magazine, I think): “A significant measure of a band’s ability is how they approach cover songs.” Witnessing a gig shared by Cape Town bands Fever Pussy and Blunt, the accuracy of that yardstick was once again confirmed. One band got it right and the other didn’t.
The venue was Under The Loft, the occasion the 21st anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley, and Fever Pussy were up first. They’re probably a band best described as lo-fi wannabes pioneering a genre something akin to John Spencer Blues Explosion meets The Cramps. They certainly look the part too, with vocalist Yolande’s trailer-park chic ensemble perfectly accessorised by the greasy quiffs and razor sharp ‘burns sported by the guitarist, bassist and drummer.
Their opening song set the tone. Heartbreak Hotel was delivered in breathy, Barbie vocals, barely discernible above a wall of sound produced by the rest of the band. I generally like this kind of stuff, but it’s difficult to do properly and unfortunately it clearly wasn’t working here. To be fair, a large part of the problem had to do with poor live-sound reproduction that reduced Yolande’s vital contribution to a drowned-out squeaky plea, sadly though slacker-style white-noise mush without the tease of subtle melody and crisp interjection – either vocally or otherwise, is unlikely to win new converts too easily.
A couple more covers, including an
angsty Love Me Tender, punctuated original stuff that was basically an inaccessible and out of tune deluge. The smallish crowd weren’t that impressed either. “Elvis sucks!” someone heckled from a dark corner, “We want Michael Jackson.” Yolande tried hard though, and her pouty, knock-kneed delivery was pretty cool, but a band cannot live on vamp alone.
Their intentions are brave but there’s some work to be done.
Fever Pussy simply proved an old rock’n’roll adage: fuck with the king and you’re setting yourself up for a fall. A cover is a brave thing for any band to undertake. To reinvent an already acclaimed song, you have to really know your stuff – not only should you be in command of your own talents, but also in tune with the essence of rock’n’roll.
Look at Jimi Hendrix’s incendiary version of Dylan’s All Along the Watchtower, and Sonic Youth’s chilling take on The Carpenter’s Superstar. Hell, just look at what Tom Jones did with Prince’s Kiss. These are tough acts to follow.
Blunt got it right. With insight and respect missing in the previous set, their homage to The King was brilliant and touching in its simplicity. “Yo man,” said Gifford, “this for Elvis, the king of rock’n’roll.” – what followed was 20 seconds of Elvis himself belting out Teddy Bear over the PA . and that was it.
The rest of their set was a quick-fire succession of original material delivered with a “don’t fuck with me” commitment you just cannot argue with.
Sure Blunt’s stuff is a US metal- tinged old skool hip-hop derivative somewhere between Rage Against the Machine and Cypress Hill, but this is the global village bro and we can shop for our cultural influences wherever we please.
All beanies and dreads, Blunt are an uncompromising sonic assault driven by the thrash skank of guitarist Michael Jones and slick interaction between twin rappers Gifford and Hamish. Instantly they had the crowd’s attention.
A three-person mini-mosh spontaneously broke out and heads even popped up from the pool table – for Cape Town, that’s impressive.
The Blunt posse know where it’s at. What better way to pay tribute to The King than showcase what Elvis was all about – bad-ass rhythm delivered with energy and attitude to spare.