Email
Print
Comment
A garage-rock revue isn't the last place you'd expect to find the Zombies, but it isn't the first place you'd look, either. Sure, some of their early '60s singles could pass as prototypes for what we now know as garage, but the Zombies were always too clean, too crisp -- a mint wafer to garage rock's murky, sticky marshmallow crisp.
Tonight, though, they're headlining Little Steven's Underground Garage Tour, a mishmash of bands old and new, go-go dancers, and corporate sponsors (a banner above the stage reads: Rolling Rock and Roll Show). It's a strange place to find a band whose music served better as a template for twee than a rule book for garage rock. Perhaps acknowledging this, tonight's crowd is a heady mix of mods and rockers, young and old -- everyone's anticipation palpable.
The English five-piece formed in 1961, quickly establishing itself as a prominent upstart with the release of debut single "She's Not There." Their subsequent 45s, however, didn't fare so well, and in their initial incarnation the band only put out two albums: a rush-released compilation of singles and Odessey and Oracle, a fey, pastoral pop album released after the band split.
Many of these later songs weren't heard live until 2003, when founding members Colin Blunstone (vocals) and Rod Argent (keys) began playing together after long stints as semi-successful solo artists -- the singer, under his own name, and the keyboardist, with the band Argent, whose progressive rock sound was more suited for cavernous arenas than the famed Cavern venue where the Zombies' sound once resonated.
Philadelphia's Theatre of the Living Arts (TLA) is also a cavern -- albeit a concrete one -- with a sloped floor that makes it easy on the eyes, if burdensome on the back. Tonight, it's bedecked with drapes, banners, and a circus big-top backdrop. The stage protrudes more than usual, which, we soon learn, is to allow ample ogling of the go-go dancers. Images of James Dean movies and Rolling Stones performances are projected on the walls while an elongated shower curtain separates the dancing girls from the actual stage, allowing the bands to set up in secrecy. They're obviously going for an Exploding Plastic Inevitable vibe, but it's more bad pastiche than honest recreation.
With reports of insipid live shows and a poorly received 'new' album, it could be argued that the Zombies' current line up, too, is built of bad pastiche rather than honest recreation. The fear of cheap fabrication heightens as the curtain is pulled to reveal Colin Blunstone bedecked in a black, collarless suit, and t-shirt. Rod Argent is wearing a black t-shirt tucked into his jeans and sporting a matching, graying curly mop and mustache. Bass player (Jim Rodford) is not only fretless (it's one of those weird instruments) but also appears toothless. I know they're old, and it's a superficial complaint, but there's a certain cruise-ship cabaret vibe that's hard to shake.
Some fear is allayed, though, when they thump into "I Love You." After several reiterations of the title phrase, Blunstone belts out the song's signature line: "And I don't know what to say." It's a magical moment that recalls the original recording, and the band, sensing the crowd's candor, build on it. The purebred garage rockers (there are a few filing about) are immediately appeased by "Sticks and Stones", a bluesy number that, along with obscure 1965 single "Indication" (which they play later), comes pretty close to the garage-rock rhetoric that attracted many to this tour.
Despite this musically startling introduction, there's a weird juxtaposition jostling my mind -- to steal a Bowie song title, it's the 'sound and vision' thing, and, in particular, the clear disconnect between them. Maybe my utopian view of the band is blurred somewhat, but the only time they make sense visually is on their solo stuff, which veers from Blunstone's balladry to Argent's overblown rock (he certainly puts the the 'ham' in Hammond).
Luckily, the solo stuff is limited to just four songs, though both of Argent's numbers do run over the five-minute mark. His 1972 single, "Hold Your Head Up", obviously has its fans (the guy next to me keeps shouting 'Go Rod!' each time he embarks on yet another fingertip-fueled piano pass), as does "God Gave Rock and Roll to You" (yes, that one -- the Kiss version was a cover). Judging by the crowd's reaction, God also gave us lighters and the ability to wave our arms above our heads.
The majority of the set is given over to original Zombies material: a splattering of singles and four cuts from Odessey and Oracle, which, as a record, has risen from relative obscurity, gaining a reputation of prodigal proportions. Selling little at first, it is now considered a seminal, defining moment in '60s psych. Given the record's history, it's a little odd that we only hear a few songs from it. The road-show aspect, I guess, is to blame, as -- at a little over an hour long -- tonight's set is about half the duration of a typical Zombies show.
As evidenced by the cheer that emanates at the announcement of the Odessey songs, it's obvious that they are what the crowd came to hear. The band start the four-song cycle with "Care of Cell 44", the album opener. It's a bouncy, poppy affair, full of lush harmonies, and is as far removed from garage rock as a band at a garage-rock revue can get.
The Odessey and Oracle journey continues with the jaunty "This Will Be Our Year" and closes out with "Time of the Season", a song which, prior to singing, Argent announces was recently honored for its five millionth play. Best of all, though, placed in between these two and worth the ticket price alone, is "A Rose for Emily". Stripping down to a three-piece (drummer Steve Rodford (Jim's Son) and guitarist Keith Airie leave the stage), they nail the complex harmonies that accent Argent's electronic piano, generating rich, rousing applause.
The biggest cheer, though, is saved for "She's Not There", a sanguine slice of pop that, like "Time of the Season" and its five million plays, suffers from its own ubiquity (how many movie soundtracks has it featured on?). Accolades, then, should be sent the band's way for trying to mix it up a little. Unfortunately, they do so by adding an over-the-top guitar solo reminiscent of Michael J. Fox's anachronistic fretplaying in Back to the Future.
Surprisingly, the Zombies finish the set with the slow-burning George Gershwin penned "Summertime," a tune that was primed as their first single before Argent snuck out "She's Not There." It's a solid rendition of an old classic, and despite my initial misgivings as a concert closer, in hindsight it seems fitting: anyone seeking solid renditions of the classics (albeit interspersed with some solo stuff), will be sufficiently satiated. But fans hoping to find the Zombies of old, the Zombies of yesteryear, the Zombies of Odessey and Oracle will feel slightly disappointed because, to steal a song title, she's simply not there.
— 9 October 2006
