Irish Rock in a Hard Place

When modern dance first bleeped, rapped and generally barged its way into the British and American mainstreams, a lot of Irish rock ’n’ rollers shrugged their shoulders and said, ‘nah, it won’t happen here’. Five years on, U2 may still be the biggest band on the planet but their would-be successors at home are finding the going decidedly tough.

While it might be stretching it to blame dance per se for the demise of the likes of The Golden Horde,The Fat Lady Sings, The Stunning, the Black Velvet Band and the Forget-Me-Nots, the fact that they ended up waving the white flag is perhaps indicative of the fact that three chords and the truth is no longer enough to capture hearts, move feet and cover your mortgage repayments.

Or to put it another way, the golden era of rock in Ireland may be permanently (as opposed to completely?) over. Danceline Records’ Pete McCluskey tells a tale which is unfortunately typical of the apathy groups are currently having to battle against.

“We recently put out a new Georgia single,” he explains, “which within the first few days of release got 12 plays that we’re aware of on 2FM, including three on the breakfast show. They’ve already got two top 10 Irish hits to their credit and reams of press. But despite that, I can’t get them a gig outside of the North West, where they're from. No-one’s questioning their pulling power – what I’m hearing from venue owners is that it’s cheaper and less hassle to bung a guy a hundred quid and let him play records.”

McCluskey’s frustration at not being able to get gigs – in effect not being able to get any gigs – for Georgia is echoed by An Emotional Fish manager Aidan Cosgrave who’s recently taken on a new group – which he feels, given time, could land a major deal. The question is, in the current climate will they be able to buy that time?

“When the Fish were getting going,” he reflects, “it was possible to spend an afternoon on the ‘phone and piece together a seven or eight date tour that mightn’t have made money but gave you the chance to play to a couple of hundred people every night. The only way I’ve been able to get Verta Ray gigs is by setting up three-band bills at the Baggot and sticking them on in the middle.

“They’re not headliners yet, though they could be if given the opportunity to develop. I’m in the fortunate position where I can to a certain extent underwrite their losses while they’re finding their feet but how many other young bands can afford to ‘pay to play’?”

Cosgrave illustrates the importance of live work in a group’s development by recounting the story of another Dublin outfit who managed to attract 16 A&R men to a showcase on the strength of a demo and then blew out the interest by being woefully inadequate on stage.

“You can mess around for days in the studio perfecting your recorded sound,” he reasons, “but when it comes to getting signed, the bottom line for rock bands is still, ‘can they do it on stage?’

The group I’m referring to here couldn’t – and even if they do conjure up the gigs and improve, they’re going to have a hell of a job getting those A&R people back.”

This is the word that’s coming back from the streets and the clubs: dance is happening, and it’s happening in many of the venues that formerly housed rock ’n’ roll gigs. In Cork, Sir Henry’s was for years regarded as a reliable bastion of basic rock values. Now it ranks as the most successful dance venue in the country.

That shift is supremely symbolic but it is echoed and repeated in other towns and cities around the country. Limerick is currently without a significant regular rock gig. Similarly dance has had an enormous effect on live music in Galway, Waterford, Tralee and in particular Belfast, a city which has nurtured a thriving ‘rave’ scene over the past few years in spite of the imminence of paramilitary protection rackets and the consequent potential for violence.

Not since the ’70s when disco first exploded onto the international music scene has rock music faced such a self-evident crisis. There are those who insist on putting a brave face on it but the reality is that rock musicians, who define their activities in the traditional way, are hurting. In the past, if you didn’t have a record deal, you could always put a show on the road and build up a head of steam, and a following by doing live dates. In 1994, that option is no longer a viable one. Even where established, name bands are concerned the curtain seems to have come down. In recent months, acts as diverse as A House, Serious Women, Fatima Mansions, Something Happens, Divine Comedy and The Pale have released albums which were almost universally acclaimed. Of the posse of once and future contenders still treading – or hoping to tread – the boards, only Blink have sustained their momentum.

Elsewhere, it’s a clear case of Irish rock bands finding themselves unwanted and out of work. Pay packets among gigging bands have been plummeting disastrously. And the work that is going has been shifting inexorably away from musicians, going instead to DJs.

When disco arrived and put bands out of work wholesale, that attack on the fortress of rock generated a calculated response. Inevitably, it seemed, the Keep Music Live stickers were produced, and after a period in the doldrums the power and appeal of live music began to reassert itself. This time around, however, the response is far more muted. And there is a reason.

In the 70s, disco was essentially a working-class phenomenon. A relatively small number of dance-floor queens in the gay movement aside, disco barely crossed over into hip culture. Studio 54 became a symbol of what was essentially an elitist phenomenon. Chic, Sister Sledge and The Pointer Sisters – and others – made great records – but with Talking Heads, Patti Smith and The Ramones spearheading rock ’n’ roll's counter-attack, the identification of good guys and bad guys seemed relatively straightforward to the average middle-class late teens and early twenties, who effectively endorse the future trends in music just before they happen.

In the ’90s, to a considerable extent, that audience has opted for dance. The fans who five years ago might have been committed to The Cure, or dabbling in the mysteries of The Jesus and Mary Chain, are now hooked on The Prodigy or The Orb. With the onslaught of rap and hip-hop as well as house and techno, rock music no longer has any equilibrium. Things are falling apart. The centre cannot hold . . .

Looked at dispassionately, this is neither a good nor a bad thing. You can put the success of dance down to the influence of Ecstasy – but that’s no more valid than saying that punk wouldn’t have happened without amphetamines or heavy metal without Mogadon (a little joke for our friends in the hard rock community, there – Ed).

Either way, the effect seems to be that rock musicians are more bewildered than angry. Railing against dance could see you being cast as a Luddite. On the other hand, unless you’re U2 or Therapy?, with a relatively established identity and big budgets at your disposal, it isn’t really on to try to beat the dance aficionados at their own game. As a result, a lot of erstwhile gung ho rock ’n’ rollers find themselves stranded in a curious no-man’s land.

Besides, maybe rock bands took too much – including audiences – for granted. Maybe they themselves have a case to answer.

Perhaps that explains why, despite the clear threat to musician’s livelihoods, it soon becomes apparent talking to the industry’s main movers and shakers that far from attacking dance, most of them have come around to seeing it as something to be embraced and even selectively emulated.

“It’s not so much a case of dance killing Irish rock,” proffers Blink manager Aidan Lambert, “as Irish rock committing its own slow suicide – because it’s not giving punters value for money. Five years ago you could get away with shoddy productions because, especially in the country, that was people’s only access to music. Now, everyone’s got MTV and your competition isn’t the band down the road but Prince and Pearl Jam.

“99% of dance events have the edge on 99% of rock gigs because they think about the packaging and presentation and there’s stuff going on that makes you want to leap round the floor, rather than stand at the bar waiting to be impressed.”

That kind of talk is abruptly dismissed by Pete McCluskey of Danceline who argues that, “dance won’t last because fundamentally it’s not musical”. That hoary old chestnut in turn receives short thrift from Therapy?’s Andy Cairns. “To my mind,” he insists “David Holmes and Andy Weatherall are every bit as God-like as Bob Mould or Ian Curtis.

“I don’t understand,” he continues, “why this division has to be made between rock and dance. Music’s either good or it’s not and to write off an entire genre because it’s made using computers rather than guitars is incredibly narrow-minded. If that’d been the attitude all the way through history, we’d still be beating dinosaur bones off of monkey skulls.”

That said, Therapy? themselves have been accused of bandwagon-hopping by some critics who feel that their farming out of tracks to hotshot producers like Weatherall and Holmes smacks of tokenism.

“If it was A&M forcing us into it and we hated dance, I’d agree with them,” Cairns counters. “As it is, I just love hearing how other people interpret my songs. More often than not they pick up on something that’s there but you’re not consciously aware of.”

In a similar spirit, as one of the country’s leading deejays, Johnny Moy feels that clubbers are not given enough credit for their critical capabilities.

“Dance fans are not the drug-crazed sheep that they’re made out to be in certain – mainly rock – circles. They’re very adept at spotting what’s genuine and what’s a contrived attempt to muscle in on the scene. I’ve played Therapy? mixes at gigs and they’ve gone down well because, one, Therapy? have a credible reputation and, two, they’ve used good people who’ve fucked around with the sound but kept the hard feel.

“Off the top of my head, the worst bandwagon jumpers I can think of are The Farm,” he adds. “They only wanted dance mixes because they were afraid they couldn’t make it without them. They ended up paying for it, though, because clubbers wouldn’t accept them and indie fans thought they’d sold-out.”

Having already been subjected to the sort of media hysteria that would be funny if it wasn’t so damaging, most members of the dance fraternity are understandably loathe to discuss the thorny issue of drugs. Tales of wild Ecstasy-inspired abandonment may sell newspapers but they don’t go down very well with nervous venue-owners, who are petrified of antagonising the Gardai or, worse still, having a dead body slumped on their dancefloor. Moonlighting occasionally as a deejay, Sack lead singer Martin McCann is aware of the role chemicals play in both cultures.

“Now, more so than ever before, kids are taking loads of drugs and it’s a fact of life that Ecstasy goes hand in hand with house music,” he says. “I’m not going to get into the moral or medical argument but from the point of view of having a good night out, you’re probably better off dropping an ‘E’ and going clubbing.”

How then, in McCann’s opinion, should rock go about reclaiming those who’ve lost the gig habit or maybe never had it in the first place?

“Yeah, you’re right, from the point of view of rock acts, that’s a critical question,” he continues. “I’ve met a lot of 17 and 18-year-olds recently who’ve never in their entire lives seen a live band. The flippant answer is bust all the ‘E’ dealers and flood the streets with cheap amphetamines because Ecstasy is the reason why 75% of the people I know are going to clubs. Rock’s no different – psychedelia happened in the ‘60s because there was acid around and punk was definitely an amphetamine-fuelled movement.

“Bands also have to go out on stage and entertain more,” he adds. “A really good gig is still the ultimate high but, hand on heart, how many of those have you been to recently?”

As someone who was expelled from school for anti-social practices not entirely disconnected with Motorhead, it shames me greatly to admit that the biggest visceral thrill I’ve had this year was shaking my not inconsiderable stuff to the Sweat crew in Sir Henry’s. According to Sean O’Neill, the former Burning Embers mainman who now manages the venue, I’m not alone.

“I come from a staunch rock background,” he reveals, “so if anything, I’m biased towards bands but I can’t justify booking more than one or two a month because they don’t do the business. We had S*M*A*S*H here earlier in the summer and for all the hype and Melody Maker front covers, they pulled a hundred people. For what they cost me – which is £1,000 – I could bring in a leading international deejay and stuff the place.”

O’Neill has been around for some time, and he’s getting close to the bone here. Too often, for all their hype and inflated egos, rock bands have miserably failed to deliver. And that’s not just talking about Irish ones.

“I’m also sick to death of bands,” he continues, “who’s biggest claim to fame is getting to number 56 on the chart coming in and behaving like fucking superstars. I don’t expect anyone to beg for gigs but, by the same token, you don’t endear yourself to a promoter by making them feel you’re doing them a favour by turning up.”

It’s perhaps symbolic that over the June Bank Holiday, 2,500 people jammed into Sir Henry’s for the first Cork DJ Weekender, while the annual Cork Rock showcase could only muster 500 paying customers.

“Bands,” agrees Aidan Lambert, “have cut their own throats by charging ludicrous amounts of money for gigs. You might get away with it once but if a promoter stumps up the £2,000 or £3,000 most ‘name’ Irish acts demand and only get 200 or 300 through the door, they won’t be rushing to have you back. Worse still, if it happens too often they’re going to reckon it’s too much hassle and switch to discos’.

“It’s a case of cutting the cloth to suit the measure. One of the venues on Blink’s recent Irish tour was The Eagle in Portlaoise which holds a maximum of 450. You can’t charge more than a fiver in, so a quick bit of mental arithmetic tells you that no promoter in their right mind’s going to give you £3,000.”

It’s interesting to note that of all the Irish bands who’ve released albums this summer, Blink are the only ones who’ve been able to put together a nationwide tour in the traditional sense of the term.

You could say that this is where it really hurts. Five years ago, if

an Irish band’s album wasn’t setting the world on fire, they could always make some money to tide the operation over by gigging at home. Nowadays that isn’t on, a fact which might put acts like The Pale and Something Happens under an even greater strain, as they strive to keep an independent show on the road.

“There are parts of the country like Cork,” rues Something Happens manager Conor O’Mahony, “where dance has completely killed the rock scene off. Personally, I find that sad but the venues are only responding to what their customers want and at the moment that’s deejays rather than bands. While part of that’s down to fashion, you have to say there hasn’t been too much new to get excited about since the Cranberries.”

When it comes to moulding the Irish dance scene, few people exert the same influence as Mark Kavanagh, label boss at Red Records and one half of the Sound Crowd Orchestra, who are currently ensconced in the top 10 with their ‘Seventh Season’ single. It wasn’t too long ago that the duo had to get down on bended knees for gigs; now they’re appearing second on the bill at Féile and playing regular sell-outs at the 1500-capacity SFX. He agrees with Aidan Lambert’s supposition that, “if anything’s killing live rock, it’s live rock itself.” And he’s certainly not going to apologise to anyone for the current pre-eminence of dance.

“At the end of the day,” Kavanagh reflects, “if there were rock bands out there who were exciting enough, people would want to go and see them. What I find puzzling is that so few Irish groups have tried to incorporate dance music into what they do. When it hit in Britain in ‘86 and ‘87, you had all these baggy Madchester-types latching onto the scene and turning it to their advantage. As calculated as it may have been, you have to admire U2 for bringing in Oakenfold and reinventing themselves.”

Does he feel any measure of sympathy for the sound men, technicians and other live crew who are finding it increasingly difficult to get employment?

“If you align it with the workforce in general around the world, computers have taken over and put a lot of people out of work. The same thing’s happening in the music industry and why should these idiots think they’re more special than Joe Bloggs who’s just been laid off by the car factory? That’s probably a bit cruel but this is 1994 – wake up and grow up!”

Although a little more conciliatory in their choice of language, the message from Kerry techno merchants 4th Dimension is much the same.

“The members of the rock community who persistently moan about dance music should stop for a moment and ask themselves why so many people have stopped going to gigs in favour of clubs,” suggests the group’s Joe O’Leary. “Personally, I can get into any band that’s got loads of energy and can’t see any contradiction in liking both The Prodigy and Rage Against The Machine. The snobbery works both ways, though. It’s a shame when you get kids who listen to nothing but techno because they’re missing out on so much good music.”

Ironically, while the trend is to snipe at 2FM for not devoting enough airtime to Irish artists, O’Leary feels that 4th Dimension have been treated extremely well by the national broadcaster.

“They don’t play any British techno, so I think it’s a case of ‘let’s get behind the boys here’. Regional radio has also been quite supportive and after dragging their heals a little, I think MCD showed a definite commitment to Irish dance by getting ourselves and Sound Crowd to play at Féile. You won’t find any two artists more diametrically opposed than ourselves and Elvis Costello but I didn’t notice many of the crowd leaving when he came off and we went on.”

Indeed, one of the more enduring memories of the final Trip To Tipp has to be that of thirtysomething Costello aficionados trying their hand at this ‘rave’ lark and finding that it’s not without its merits. Perhaps, indeed, that could be the way of the future . . .

“What I see happening,” ventures Stephen Anderson of Belfast’s Underground organisation, “is rock and dance coming closer together in the way that they’re presented and consumed. Rock fans having to pay £10 to see a band and then being chucked out on the street by 11 o’clock represents extremely poor value for money.

What we want to do is take the format we’ve perfected for our dance events and apply it to live music – put two or three groups on the bill, open early, close late and provide extras like performance artists and rubber inflatables for people to bounce around on. Dance fans get those things as a matter of course, so why not their rock counterparts?”