There’s
nothing worse than looking at a 68-year old man and realising he has twice your
energy and half your waistline. But, seeing as the sexagenarian in question is
none other than Andy Ellison, he can be forgiven. Especially as it’s been some
time since he fronted a band worthy of the name John’s Children and played the
UK with it, meaning the joyous anticipation of his return is palpable.
Attendees of the London psych scene whisper in reverential tones about those
first reunion gigs ten or so years ago, particularly at St John’s Tavern. Since
then, bassist Martin Gordon has released a string of fascinating (and
criminally overlooked) solo albums, and tragically, the frenzied blur of
percussive power that was Chris Townson has passed away. But tonight the three
lean, relatively young Finnish musicians (Johan’s Children, maybe?) that flank
Ellison slot so neatly into their respective roles it’s at times almost as if
we’re watching the ragged chaos of the original lineup. Which, I believe, is
exactly the idea.
Dressed in regulation white jeans and patterned t-shirts (although Ellison initially bursts forth in a dashing striped naval jacket), and sporting a variety of hairstyles from Brian Jones bowl to porkpied skin ‘ed, they clang and bang through the still-strident songs as if 1966 were only five years ago. ‘Sarah Crazy Child’ and ‘Mustang Ford’ set the template of slashing, scything guitars, flailing drums and reverb-drenched, androgynous vocals. No wonder the original band is cited as the formative influence on both glam and punk. No wonder they scared The Who shitless. The vintage poster to my left advertises their gig in Beaconsfield, Bucks, 1968, with Simon Dupree opening and the Amboy Dukes closing… one can only imagine.
For me,
though, they’re at their best when quirky, offbeat and jittery in the way only
inherently English bands are (though others have tried). ‘Smashed Blocked’
veers as it always did between throbbing garage and sluggish proto-doom, but
with key changes pre-empting the outre essence of Syd, Bowie and all that was
to follow. ‘Just What You Want Just What You’ll Get’ remains a twisty-turny
thing of strangeness, guaranteed to confuse, and ‘Not The Sort Of Girl’ throws
the concept of rhythm out of the window altogether. Yet on the other side of
the fence from the strawberry toytown of archetypal UK psych lies the languid,
sleazy ‘Hippy Gumbo’, which demonstrates Ellison and his cohorts’ abilities at
tackling a quite different aesthetic, and sees Danie Cox (frontwoman of opening
act Featherz) attempting some incredible audience acrobatics, and transforms
the room temporarily into a whisky-filled shady nightspot of megalithic sleaze
proportions.
The
sleazy rawk n rawl continues with ‘Hot Rod Mama’ and a reworked ‘Sally Was An
Angel’, allegedly from a forthcoming studio album, but this music has always
been more about the brain than the hips, thighs or buttocks, and it’s not long
before the hallucinogenic vibe of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Scene’ blows the minds
of all present (ages ranging 20 to 70, although maybe in not as large numbers
as one might have expected). Not that that makes any difference, mark you, to
Ellison, one of the wildest nutters to ever tread a stage. From as early as
three songs in he’s leaping from drum riser to PA to dancefloor before your
eyes have time to focus, tearing his shirt off and attacking the front row with
towels, and clambering either atop the guitarist’s shoulders or under his
trousers. At one point he even walks out of the room altogether (his mike lead
is EXTREMELY long) and sings lead vocals from inside the bog. And all this
without ever losing breath or dropping a bum note. Seriously, it puts
generations of younger frontmen to shame. The other three Children are no
slouch either, particularly the Marriott-haired guitarist who shares a few lead
vocals with Andy, and thus gets the honour of doing the ‘Marc parts’, such as
the high-pitched whinnying chorus of the pulverising ‘Desdemona’.
As per
usual, my favourite number ‘Been A Long Time’ is sadly absent, but an
unexpected – and rather chilling – acoustic cover of Sinatra’s ‘A Very Good
Year’ more than makes up for it, as does the final kick-up the-arse encore of
‘Perfumed Garden Of Gulliver Smith’ and the perfect pop-punk of the old Radio
Stars number ‘No Russians In Russia’, which sees even DJ Andy Lewis pogoing
with abandon. I’ve seen a few veterans in my time and frankly, often they
struggle to keep their energy levels up, but on this evidence, Ellison – and
this new brood of Children – could easily be at it for another decade. Could a
man of 78 still have so much power? We’ll have to wait and see- but remember,
people said the same in 2004 when he was 58…
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