A SWEATY, smoke-filled gymnasium deep in the bowels of Manchester University on a wet night may not be the ideal venue in which to witness the rebirth of the blues. But then The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, a New York based three-piece hell-bent on redefining the genre, aren t exactly a blues band in the conventional sense.
Depending on your point of view (and the state of your eardrums), JSBE are either a truly awesome live act, or purveyors of an unlistenable, tuneless cacophony. The truth probably lies somewhere in between certainly they make The Cramps sound like The Carpenters. But there s no denying the band s onstage intensity and conviction: Spencer in particular is a beguiling presence, with his psychotic demeanour, contorted vocal style and patent leather white pimp shoes!
What they are, unquestionably, is popular. Unfathomably popular. Part of the reason is the intense media attention currently being visited on the band. The UK inkies, presumably seeking an antidote to the smothering chirpiness of Britpop, have adopted them in a manner unmatched since The Ramones were hugged to Blighty s bosom 20 years ago. Former The Word presenter and stand-up comedian Mark Lamarr has become a close friend too, and is accompanying the band on this tour, playing records before gigs and acting as general vibemaster of ceremonies.
Maintaining an impressive detachment from the whirlwind building up around them, the band themselves appear totally unfazed by the hype.
Our mission is to rock out, offers Jon Spencer, not unreasonably, over a plate of pasta, shortly before going onstage. We re not fighting against anything. We just want to have a good time, to bring into the future, as well as to capture the spirit of early rock and roll. People like Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard were real wild. That s what it s all about. That s where we re at.
Since they formed in New York in 1990, The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion have been grinding away at their own brand of seething, delinquent rock and roll with ever-increasing success. Spencer, founding guitarist/vocalist with sleazy New York sonic terrorists Pussy Galore, met up with drummer Russell Simmins, then of The Honeymoon Killers, and his buddy Judah Bauer who joined in on guitar. Inspired by the hellbound spirits of Jerry Lee Lewis, Howlin Wolf and James Brown, (it says here) the trio set about preaching the gospel, according to their own sick agenda.
There was no plan, says Spencer. It just developed into what it is. We started playing together and in the process we found that we d similar tastes and ideas about music. We were all really into a lot of early Sun and Stax stuff.
A slew of genre-defying albums ensued, including Crypt Style, Extra Width, Orange and the more daring Experimental Mixes, which featured remixes of some of their previous material from the likes of Moby, Beck and Mike D. Now signed to Mute in the UK, their fifth album, Now I Got Worry an even more discordant, dissonant howl which was released last autumn has been acclaimed for its transcendent, incendiary take on early rock and soul. Featuring cameo appearances from Stax legend Rufus Thomas and sometime Beastie Boy collaborator Money Mark Ramos Nishita, Now I Got Worry breaks most of the rules, deconstructing riffs, slicing rhythms and screaming its head off with a fervour not seen or heard since The Clash s heyday. Presumably, I put it to them, the record was as much fun to make as it is to listen to?
It s always fun for us making records, Spencer drawls. Compared to, say, U2, we work pretty quickly. Compared to almost anyone we work pretty quickly, I d say! It s pretty much recorded live we all played together at the same time in the studio to get that vibe and intensity.
Apart from the sonic histrionics and general chaos underpinning their sound, probably the most revolutionary characteristic about the JSBE is the lack of a bass player among their ranks, resulting in a thin, high-frequency texture, both live and on record. Was this deliberate, or just accidental, like everything else about the band?
We didn t think about it but it works better, Spencer explains. It give us more freedom to do what we want with the guitars. We can play faster and change keys a lot easier without a bass player.
The Doors didn t have a bass player, chimes in drummer Russell Simmins, who s been munching away quietly on macaroni and cheese.
Yes, but Ray Manzarek played bass parts on his keyboard and they used a bass on their best albums, Morrison Hotel and LA Woman, I offer hopefully. Spencer is unimpressed by this revelation: If we had a bass player then we wouldn t be a proper blues band, would we? he retorts, cryptically.
One of the more, er, conventional songs on the album features Stax legend Rufus Thomas (father of Memphis soul queen Carla) on vocals. How did they rope him into the project?
We were recording in Memphis and we offered him a few hundred dollars to come down to the studio, says Spencer. We had a song, Chicken Dog , that d we d been playing for a while kind of a soul instrumental. You know Rufus has songs called Funky Chicken and Walking The Dog , so we just had to get him, there was no choice in the matter. But he was great to work with.
He s the main man, adds Simmins. 78 years old and he s really professional in his approach. He hung out with us for a while afterwards telling us stories about the old days at Stax. We got our money s worth, that s for sure.
Another more recent influence on the band is RL Burnside, an ageing and obscure bluesman whose records on the Fat Possum label they d all liked. He even gets namechecked on a song ( RL Got Soul on Now I Got Worry), and he s been guesting with the band on their current European tour.
Spencer: We were all fans of his music and we had the idea of doing some shows with him. But when we approached him he didn t know who the fuck we were. We eventually did some touring with him and it worked really well.
He s the real thing, part of history, the whole Delta blues thing and all that. He tells us loads of stories and jokes about the old days.
Presumably the band s name causes no end of confusion with promoters and radio programmers, expecting something more predictable.
Yeah, sometimes, offers Simmins. We had one guy at a gig in Farrago, North Dakota, who was real pissed off. The place was full of kids but he came along wearing a suit. I think he wanted to hear something like Eric Clapton and he came up to us after the gig complaining and hollering that we weren t a proper blues band.
He was right; we re not a blues band, adds Spencer. A lot of people ask us questions about the blues, but anyone who knows us knows that it s much more than the blues. It s just a stupid name anyway, but that s what we are The Blues Explosion. I think the new album is closer to the blues than any of our previous albums were, but we re not precious about anything. We re trying to get the energy of it, not the precise sound.
Tonight s gig at Manchester University is, curiously enough, packed to the rafters with students Newcastle Brown Ale drinking, roll-your-own smoking, jumper-wearing students. What kind of people come to their gigs in the States, where they ve been touring exhaustively?
Housewifes, kids, ex-cons, transvestites, grins Spencer mischievously. We don t care who comes to see us as long as they ve got their dollars to buy some T-shirts and stuff.
Later, up on stage after three encores, Simmins bashes the snare drum like a man possessed, guitarist Judah Bauer inflicts GBH on his battered Fender Telecaster, while Spencer fellates the microphone impressively before climbing up on the PA stacks for a final sequence of excruciating growls. Despite the deranged and ecstatic reaction down in the mosh pit, it s difficult to imagine The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion breaking beyond a cult audience into the mainstream. But stranger things have happened.
If we become huge, we ll probably blow ourselves away with shotguns, Spencer grins.
He was joking. I think. n