Issue #2

Live Review: Melvins
by Emily Lebetzis

Question: What happens when free jazz gets raped by rock ‘n’ roll and crosses over to the dark side? Answer: THE MELVINS @ Cherry Bar, Melbourne, Sunday 28th April 2002

After endlessly bitching to whoever was stupid or unfortunate enough to listen to me vent about how I didn’t want to pay $78 for TOOL in order to see the Melvins, my faith in the older band’s sincere anti-corporate stance was restored when I read that they were playing their own club shows. The announcement came via street press just three days before they were due to play the Rod Laver Arena. I guess cool ‘industry’ people had heard the rumours earlier, but sorry, I’m just a pleb. The delivery of street press came quite late on that day, so I only read the news after 5pm and didn’t ring up to enquire until around 7. Needless to say, the tickets for both shows were long gone. I was slightly disappointed but realized there was no reason to beat myself up…I just needed a plan. Seeing as I’m writing a live review, my plan obviously worked.

I fronted up to the Cherry Bar, early, but not too early and calmly impersonated a street press writer who needed to review the show. I got inside and quickly scanned the place, noticing a sea of unfamiliar faces, and headed straight for the toilet. I should’ve known this night would be a time warp from the moment I heard a ‘once-rare-now-available-on-a-compilation-CD’ Nirvana song as I walked down the alleyway toward the venue. I was there alone and didn’t know a single person. Welcome to my life circa 1994. A time when I would listen to each Nirvana album over and over again every day. And I would look with scorn at people who only liked “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and one version of “Polly” (the unplugged one). I’ve changed so much since then but I will always respect the people who influenced Nirvana as musicians and as people. Let’s face it, I would never have really gotten into the Melvins if Kurt Cobain hadn’t mentioned them and Buzz Osbourne in interviews. And I’m pretty sure that the majority of (older) people at the Cherry Bar were essentially there for the same reason. I noticed some of the prettier, younger boys with afros wearing TOOL t-shirts and realized that the positive effects of Tool’s decision to take the Melvins on tour with them far outweigh any supposed negatives.

So I got out of the toilet and went and got a drink (something to hold, a security blanket, a wall between me and everyone else) and found a spot to sit down and wait. As I waited and looked around, I heard Jesus and Mary Chain, Suicidal Tendencies, Black Sabbath, MC5 doing “Rambling Rose” followed by a shit cover of “Kick Out the Jams” and out assorted ends. This, coupled with my boredom and loneliness all transported me back to when I was 15. I probably went to the same shows as some of the people in the room back then. I only recognized one face and most of the crowd’s clothing had changed with the trends. The majority of people in the room were wearing clothes that fit and had currently trendy hairstyles. There were a few throwbacks (frizzy long hair and baggy tops on girls) but not many. I remained seated for half an hour then stood near the stage in anticipation while listening to live Sex Pistols. A couple of inebriated dimwits were appropriately shouting along to all the words of “Pretty Vacant” when a side rollerdoor opened and King Buzzo appeared. Two other idiots (these were part of the Bloodduster fanclub) got up on stage and started shouting out stuff that sounded like soccer hooligan chants. They had friends in the crowd cheering them on and for a moment I thought they may be part of an unannounced local support act. Buzz quickly dismissed that notion by uttering the only spoken words we would hear from the band that night, “If you’re not in the Melvins, get off the stage.” He didn’t even look up from his guitar tuning as he spoke, but his commanding voice was as serious and stern as the voices of 20 angry mothers threatening their children. And sinister too. The boys got down almost immediately, realizing they were in the presence of greater evil than they could comprehend.

Within moments, Dale and Kevin came on stage and were greeted by a mighty roar and applause. Isn’t it funny how people clap before they even see a performance? As they prepared their instruments, I slowly noticed what they were wearing (well Dale stripped as usual so there wasn’t much to look at there). Buzz and Kev had matching knee-high black lace-up boots and black monk-style dresses with high collars and a red cross embroidered onto the front. This became more impressive when they actually played because they both managed to look absolutely insane but via different routes. Buzz remained stoic and stolid and looked deadly serious, mean and disgusted by the antics of his stupid fans, while Kevin had very disturbing comical facial expressions and movements such as tooth-grinding and twisting his bass around in circular motions over and over again.

When the guitars were tuned, Dale signalled he was ready to begin with one ear-splitting whack on a drum. The almost unbearably loud, dull thud reverberated in my hollow chest cavity and I felt a sense of euphoria slowly rising within me. I’m sure the Melvins never intended for their music to be uplifting, but as they played, that’s the effect they had on me.

They played for an hour and fifteen minutes, mostly without breaks. Even when a song obviously came to an end, Dale Crover’s feet never stopped.

He would be drinking water or grabbing a towel and his feet would already be playing the sedgeway into the next song. I’m sure there was no setlist other than the telepathic communication between Buzz and Dale.

Their choice of songs was diverse and by no means crowd-pleasing. When they played one of their faster, more catchy songs and got half the audience in the pit moshing and stage-diving, they immediately followed it with one of the longest, slowest dirges on the difficult-to-listen-to Honky LP. The only time there was a significant break in their set was towards the end, when the two guitarists stood still and Dale only occasionally hit his bass drum. This lasted all of 2 minutes, and all the while there were various remarks repeated in the crowd: “I love this one”, “Play a song”, and the most annoying sound you can hear when you want silence - “Shhhhhh!”. All of a sudden I felt like a jazz nerd at a club where people who talk during a performance are guaranteed to have daggers shot at them by the ‘connoisseurs’. I just wanted all the conversations and heckles around me to cease, but I knew there was nothing I could do to shut up the hecklers and the ADD sufferers and the shushers. The Melvins shut them up by getting into the song and once it was over, they took their guitars and microphones and walked out.

The highlight of the show for me was my vantage-point from the centre of the space, very close to the stage. From where I stood I had the best view of the greatest living drummer in the world today. He may occasionally look like the human who most closely resembles Animal from the Muppets, but he is actually the most creative and talented drummer I have ever had the privilege of witnessing. I really like how he uses found objects as percussion and he changes drumsticks to make use of different gauges for different effects. The only drummer I’ve ever seen with more drumsticks was an old be-bop drummer playing a lunchtime show at Andy’s jazz club in Chicago. That kind of precision can’t be bluffed through without the talent to back it up.