The Fall – always different, always the same

During the latest Melbourne lock-down, I have been revisiting the music of The Fall. A strange (or should that be Kurious?) choice, but at a time when you feel like ranting (or mithering) at the absurdity of it all, The Fall make perfect sense. It might not always be comfortable listening, but sometimes you need a bit of grit and gristle as a catalyst to move on.

When exploring The Fall, it’s hard to know where to begin (and, just as importantly, how to end). Although they emerged from the 70’s punk movement and were associated with the Manchester music scene, The Fall identified with neither. But if punk hadn’t happened, and without that link to Manchester, I doubt they would have got as far. They out-lived all of their contemporaries, without the tired reunions or desperate comeback tours of their peers. Perhaps only Wire or Gang of Four can claim a similar longevity, but they both had long periods of inactivity.

Named after an Albert Camus novel, The Fall were not afraid to acknowledge their influences and interests, in particular those of their core founder and only consistent member, Mark E Smith. Scattered across lyrics, album covers, sleeve notes, press interviews and side projects, it is possible to find references to literature, art, theatre, dance, philosophy, politics, psychology, spiritualism and the occult. Elements of Wyndham Lewis, Samuel Beckett, Edgar Allan Poe, Aleister Crowley, Jean-Paul Sartre, William Blake, H.P. Lovecraft, Luke Rhinehart, Bertolt Brecht, Alfred Jarry and Kurt Schwitters can be found strewn across The Fall’s output.

This should not be too surprising: during a 40-year recording career, The Fall released 30+ studio albums, 60+ singles and EPs, and more than a hundred live albums and compilations. Integral to their recording career are the two-dozen sessions The Fall recorded for John Peel’s BBC Radio 1 program. (Peel was an early champion, and often cited them as his favourite band – he is also credited with the quotation that provides the title of this blog.) It’s the sort of discography that will keep fans busy for years – and represents something of a licensing headache for record labels and music publishers alike.

The Fall’s prolific (and challenging) body of work only came to an end when Smith died in early 2018, although the posthumus re-issues and compilations have continued with almost indecent frequency – I hope his estate are keeping tabs.

Of course, with that sort of work ethic, quality control can suffer. Smith was equally feted and feared for his wilful determination and unwillingness to conform. His refusal to compromise or comply with current fads and fashion was certainly an admirable trait. But this steadfast and stubborn control over his content reveals a weakness – the absence of any discernible editorial oversight means that there is a law of diminishing returns, especially in the band’s later years. Although it must also be acknowledged that even on the last few albums, there was something of a return to form.

When Smith died, he was honoured with an obituary in the Washington Post, which must have had more than a few readers perplexed – (Mark E who? Marquis Cha-Cha of course!). Smith would have loathed/laughed at the attention. He had a love/hate relationship with journalists, but he also understood the value of the media to reach his audience, especially in the pre-internet heyday of the UK’s weekly music press (the NME, Melody Maker and Sounds). At the same time, he could be dismissive towards certain sections of his fans, although he saved most of his bile for other bands, especially those whom he felt were mere plagiarists.

Trying to summarise what The Fall represent musically is no easy task. Their antecedents can be traced to 1950’s rockabilly, 1960’s garage rock and 1970’s glam. In terms of outlook and attitude, it’s possible to discern similarities to American groups such as Captain Beefheart and Pere Ubu, and German bands such as Can and Faust. Yet another reference point might be their choice of cover songs, ranging from The Kinks to Sister Sledge, from Hank Mizell to Lee Perry.

Another way to approach their music is to break it down into chronological chapters: the post-punk and dense sounds of their first few albums, the rapid evolution into art rock and neo-pop in the mid-1980s, the brief period with a major label in the early-19990s that saw a transition to a more electronic sound (and mild flirtations with techno and big beat), the peaks and troughs of the middle-aged years, and then the erratic coda in their dotage that showed glimpses of former glories. But this hardly does their back catalogue justice. If you asked fifty fans to list their top 10 tracks by The Fall, you would get as many different compilation albums.

I was fortunate to see The Fall in their early- and mid-1980s peak – so my own preferences mainly stem from that era – the run of albums that comprises “Grotesque (After The Gramme)”, “Perverted by Language”, “Hex Enduction Hour”, “Room to Live”, “The Wonderful and Frightening World of The Fall”, “I Am Kurious Oranj”, “Bend Sinister”, “This Nation’s Saving Grace” and “The Frenz Experiment”, plus the myriad singles and EPs dotted around those releases.

If pushed, I’d have to say my favourite track is “Leave the Capitol”, from 1981 – to me, it sums up what The Fall represent.

Next week: Eileen Agar – My Brush With Surrealism

Goya – allegories and reportage for the modern age

Just prior to the latest COVID-related lock down in Melbourne, I managed to visit the exhibition of drawings and prints by Goya at the NGV. Although these works were produced 200 years ago, they are still relevant today.

Goya: Two People Looking into a Luminous Room – Image sourced from NGV

Working at the time of the Enlightenment, and despite his status and reputation as a court painter, Goya still had to navigate the political oppression of both Spanish and French rulers, and the religious persecution in the form of the Inquisition.

His series of drawings and etchings reveal a very personal side to Goya’s work, combining allegory, satire, reportage, surrealism and the sub-conscience. The images provide a commentary on the horrors of war and its aftermath, while his domestic scenes on courtship, gold diggers and hapless suitors would not be out of place on Married at First Sight or The Bachelor… There’s a lot that’s familiar about these images.

The exhibition provide some insights into Goya’s working methods – from his use and development of preparatory drawings, to the different etching techniques he deployed to create the finished prints.

One drawing in particular caught my attention – a red crayon sketch entitled “Two People Looking into a Luminous Room”. It’s a remarkable image on a number of levels. The room of the title does not look like a typical building or structure. It almost resembles the bellows of a giant camera, except that photography had not yet been invented. Perhaps it refers to a type of camera obscura or similar device that Goya had seen? On the other hand, it could be a metaphor for Hell, a glimpse into the white heat of the Inferno. For me, it even suggests Goya’s prescience for the work of James Turrell. It’s a remarkable piece in an absorbing exhibition.

Next week: The Fall – always different, always the same

RONE in Geelong

Public art galleries need to attract paying customers if their funding derived from government grants is being cut. To pull in the punters, galleries have to resort to “blockbuster” exhibitions. In these uncertain, post lock-down times, the lack of international tourists means that galleries are forced to focus on local audiences. It’s good to showcase local talent in the shape of conquering heroes returning to their roots.

These may have been some of the arguments behind the Geelong Art Gallery‘s decision to mount a retrospective exhibition featuring the work of street artist Tryone Power (aka RONE). Of course, the planning began long before COVID struck, but otherwise the above assumptions would seem to be valid.

Let’s acknowledge the positives of this show: First, it is certainly pulling in the punters, and helping to bring in visitors and their wallets to the town. Second, it is hopefully creating a platform for future exhibitions, and public engagement with the Gallery itself. Third, it’s nice that a locally-born artist is being recognised (even if he has had to travel afar to make a name for himself at home).

Unfortunately, that’s where it ends, for me. My recent visit was probably the shortest time I have spent in an exhibition which I had paid to see. Overall, I found the work vapid – there was nothing of substance (nor anything challenging) underneath the painted surface, or behind the concept of “beauty and decay”. As a street artist, RONE does not have the wit or depth of a Banksy; as a conceptual/installation artist, he’s no Christo. The main images he creates or imposes on his work are highly stylised and extremely idealised portraits of young women – it’s a very limited exploration of “beauty”. At best, the work reveal something interesting about abandoned and overlooked locations. At worst, the installation reeked of interior decor magazines and displayed a taste for romanticised and sentimental kitsch.

Which is all a great shame, because given RONE’s apparent interest in deserted and decaying structures, there is a deep and rich vein of Australian Gothic he could have tapped into. (In comparison, think of the work of Nick Cave, Peter Weir, Peter Carey, Julia deVille, Rosalie Ham, etc.)

Despite the use of physical objects, this exhibition felt very one-dimensional. Artists as disparate as Helen Chadwick, Paola Rego, Cindy Sherman and Rachel Whiteread have all deployed notions of female beauty, decay, abandonment and destruction to far greater effect and impact.

Next week: Intersekt FinTech Pitch Night

Decay Music

As Melbourne returns to normal post lock-down, I’ve been attending some live music events around the city. The most recent was a performance of contemporary Australian compositions written mainly for percussion, including a piece entitled “When Only The Walls Can Sing” by Mark Pollard, performed by members of the Melbourne Conservatorium.

When introducing his work, the composer referenced the notion of “decay” in music, whereby sound waves continue to reverberate indefinitely, albeit in decreasing magnitudes of volume and resonance. Incorporating recordings of works previously performed by the Conservatorium, this 2020 composition is also a reference to our enforced isolation during the pandemic, when many people only had the four walls of their homes for company.

The concept of “musical decay” appears in many forms. Examples include:

The physical degradation that occurs with each playback of a recording (both analogue and digital), as exemplified by “The Disintegration Loops” by William Basinski

The idea that all sound is potentially infinite – given voice by Gavin Bryars on “The Sinking of the Titanic”….

…. and continues even when no-one can hear it, as suggested by “On Hold” by Photay.

The half-heard music that inspired Brian Eno’s early ambient and tape-loop experiments on “Discreet Music” ….

… and the related “systems” composition of Michael Nyman’s “Decay Music”

For musical archeologists, look no further than Philip Jeck’s epic installation piece (and related albums), “Vinyl Requiem”….

… and compare this to similar works by L.Pierre on his final two albums, “Surface Noise” and “1948”

Given the melancholic nature of “decay”, the “final” word probably goes to the conceptual work by AM/PM, that samples and amalgamates “The Ends” of certain records, to great effect.

Next week: RONE in Geelong