Crash Test Dummies at Whelans

January 27th, 1996

Crash Test Dummies (Whelan's, Dublin)

Marguerite Barry, Hot Press

"YOU DON'T really think of them as being, sort of, sexy though, do you?... Canayjuns," said Alma on Coronation Street [popular British soap opera] the

other night. She didn't see or hear The Crash Test Dummies recently, an intelligent and sexy band and Canayjun. Last week in Whelan's, a variegated

audience arrived nightly, five times no less, to sway nostalgically, you'd think, to a couple of tunes, and to clap politely at the rest. The Crash Test Dummies

appeared, explaining that 'live rehearsal' meant they'd botch it up and booze a lot.

Well, (a) they lied, (b) it was all a conspiracy, and (c) they were maybe more than a little shocked by the large and actual fanbase present. They boozed

alright, but managed to pull off a magnificent coup by sounding more spontaneous, more together and more live than the suspiciously dull 'rehearsed'

performances of some of the acts that we have come to accept.

Brad Roberts writes formulaic pop songs, but with twists and contradictions. There are no real patterns to be discerned in Crash Test Dummies music,

except for the constant coffee, guacamole, sleep and strange anecdote obsessions of a 'once upon a time...' lyricist. Perhaps this is why they have

occupied such an unassailable and perhaps lonely position in music circles. It's not a case of wanting to classify them, but every time you think you have

something to hang on to, they take it back and throw you off scent. They never hang around long enough, even for one song, to consolidate any grasp.

They're a tease.

This flirtatious approach allowed them an extensive set, covering most of the two albums, Ghosts That Haunt Me and God Shuffled His Feet. A rake of

new material, which easily differentiated itself from the rest in style and attitude, was also sprinkled around in a most relaxed fashion. Guitars crowded this

intimate scene, already mass-populated with mad Benjamin Darvill's private percussion and effects workshop. He juggled harmonicas, shakers, maracas,

triangles and a theremin (early electromagnetic sci-fi sounmaker) as well as matching each sound with his own unique facial expressions. That sixth person

on the stage 'policed', in both senses of the word, the playing effectively throughout the new material, and this move away from keyboards has allowed

Ellen Reid to give Brad The Inhaler a run for his money, front of stage.

The result is a much harder electric sound than usual from the Dummies, but still those strange melodies with the odd key changes and harmonies (give or

take a few blips) as before. Some pre-recorded sound effect intros added even more to the "let's try this" atmosphere, punctuated properly with some false

starts and miscues - all part of genuine live performance, I mean, rehearsal.

Crash Test Dummies specialise in accessible and almost childlike music which is strangely and masterfully produced by themselves. They had become

almost forgotten only to re-emerge in a most sinister manner, brainwashing the world with a deep-throated humming song, driving women wild and making

men extremely jealous. He - the leader - obtained supreme pulling power with lip-snarling pronunciations of 'lurch' and 'church' - then vanished again

leaving trails of aching bosoms and impressionist's vocal chords.

As chaos subsides and world order resumes, one swift, penetrating, sly-dog move brings them to a small, innocent Dublin venue, where they ask us to

watch them practise new things we don't know. Five nights in a row of cunning stealth, should have subtly and sufficiently infiltrated the mind of even the

most Dummywary. They pervert justice, they invert the laws of marketing, they converty us to their ways and we obey - a little curious but content.