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"We’re constantly moving on and we’ll keep on doing our own thing forever. We’re not some fashionable haircut band..." | Record Reviews
Live Reviews
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I definitely went a bit mental when I was tour-man-aging Shitdisco last year. It wasn't the seven-in-one-room sleeping arrangements or the shitty, freezing carpet-cleaner's van we were travelling in that tipped me over the edge... it was the local support bands what done it in the end. I mean, imagine you're a promoter in a big city like Liverpool, and you're putting on this group playing high energy, wobbly rave-punk. Out of all the thou-sands of bands in the city you could choose from, you decide that the perfect supports for Shitdisco would be, firstly, an MOR rock band fronted by a Val Kilmer look-alike in a vest, playing an acoustic and muttering some shite about "the gallows pole calling me". Then, follow that with a schoolboy funk-band heavily indebted to Level 42, with a bumptious singer who's just begging to be slapped with a claw hammer. And don't even get me started on the support band in Stoke, glam-rock hippies of the shitest order. Two days later, I found out that they're called Tiny Dancers and (deep breath) they're signed to fucking Parlophone. The fact that silly old men in suits will be throwing big bucks at this squad of gimps in 2007 properly messes with my head, I'm telling you. The last gig of the tour was at The Cluny. Some clever shite had the bright idea of getting Guessmen to play as well, and they totally fucking stormed it. Band of the tour, no contest. A few weeks later they came up with a dark, sinister remix of Shitdisco's Reactor Party single that gave me nightmares about a big gang of babies jamming with rattles and maracas in a busy train depot. If you haven't seen or heard Guessmen before, here's a quick lesson. Distorted beats, fat bass-notes rumbling your guts, blasts of trumpet and bassoon, songs about mermaids and all-day breakfasts and one of the bestest frontmen that you'll ever see. Imagine a down-on-his-luck circus ringmaster who has been to the darkest places and still come back grinning and growling in a slightly un-nerving man-ner. Alan Edge AKA Edgeman AKA Alien Hedge (alright, I made that last one up) is the mad sounds of Guessmen made flesh. If you'd prefer a more concise description, Darren from Shitdisco likens them to "a fun Underworld", and for once, I can't argue with the hairy lad. Beef-heart, Zappa and Tom Waits are definite influences as well, but it never becomes a tribute or a pastiche; they always sound indefinably Guessmen-like. You, the people, may have heard a lot about Guessmen back in 2003, when they won a Diesel U-music award. Other people who have won these include Mylo, Tom Vek and DJ Yoda and they are good things to win. They freaked the hell out of Isaac Hayes when they played live at the awards ceremony, causing him to rightly observe " you guys got some crazy shit!" After they'd released their debut album, Animals In Suits, I for one felt certain that Edge and co. would soon be wiping their arses on swans' necks and mix-ing with the beautiful people, or whatever it is that you do when you're signed to one of them multi-national conglomerate major labels. Alas, it was not to be. Or rather, it has not yet come to pass. The fact that bands like Tiny bastard Danc-ers are getting a regular wage without having to say "do you want fries with that?" while the likes of Guessmen remain unsigned is a sorry state of affairs. Not that Edge is over-arsed, particularly. Just be-cause it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't happen, he reasons. "Our time will come, there's no doubt", Edge prophesises, "We're constantly moving on and we'll keep on doing our own thing forever. We're not some fashionable haircut band, we're evolving organically." I went to interview Mr Edge at Guessmen's lovably squalid studio-cum-rehearsal rooms in a secret location in that bit of town that the council invented not so long ago, the Ouseburn Valley. It turned into a proper comedy of errors, with me forgetting to tape the first attempt, then inadvertently wiping everything off the machine after we'd done the interview again. Cheers to Edge-man for not losing the plot when I texted to ask if we could go over the same old bollocks for a third time. "So, Edgeman," I kept on saying, "Tell me all about your forthcoming album, the splendidly titled Back From The Bins." "Well, Ettrick," he replied, each time, "This is a big fat new album. We're getting more into the synthetic-stroke-organic sounds onstage now, as well. Getting more instruments in, stuff like pocket trumpets and bas-soons, and a drum-kit made from bins and beer kegs and other bits of junk." (How Guessmen plan to fit more instruments on stage is anyone's guess, man. There's only three of them, but there's loads going on already. John plays synths, clarinet, guitars, programmes stuff and sings, Edgeman sings and plays trumpet, trombone, flute and harmonica, and Tommy does the percussion, more synths, sound processing and waxa turntable skills.) "Sounds splendid, Edgeman," I said, thrice over, "Now tell me, is there anything else occurring in the world of Guessmen that we should know about?" "I'm glad you asked, Ettrick. We've started a new record label called Co-lab, planning all kinds of collaborations with different artists and producers, all sorts of different art forms and backgrounds. If anyone wants to get on board, get involved, get up and get into it, then the website address is www.co-lab.biz. "We're also doing some work with Belly Rub comedy crew, we'll be performing with them at Northern Stage and some other places. It's live, surreal sketch shows interlaced with Guessmen effects and music performances. "In addition to all that, we'll be doing a full tour soon. We're also organising the Tripswitch events at the Cum-berland, and there'll be more Hobo Disco's coming, too. Keep checking the website, keep watching the skies." Guessmen. Tests conclusively prove that they're better than 99% of the crap that The Man keeps on sticking to The Kids. If only they had tight trousers, you'd all fucking love them...
Ettrick Scott Narc Magzine, Febraury 2007 | | ||||||||
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