I wonder about this one. You hear stories of music journalists reviewing concerts they never went to and this one could have easily been written from home. Not that I would want to accuse Mr. Dadomo of anything, but even he must admit that this “review” wasn`t the greatest ever written. Read on.
Denim blues
Status Quo Stafford
Concert review by Giovanni Dadomo
I’M INTO mohair meself. Or, rather, I’m in mohair, the bulk of my outer garments comprising an ancient but still highly wearable (if you ignore the moth-hole in the crotch, and I do) moddy suit complete with side vents and three slanting flap pockets. Yeah, the little one’s for your lighter but I’m sure no-one’s that interested anyway. Only there’s around six thousand people in this vast concrete hangar with me an I think they’re all wearing denim. I mean, denim’s alright I suppose but it’s such a bugger to wash and it stretches and never really fades right all over. And I always seem to get these horrible irremovable marks running up across my calf from my inner heel, too. Looks really filthy doesn’t it? Plus it’s really expensive nowadays. Anyway, the reason I’m going through all this fabric analysis is there’s this group onstage name of Status Quo and everyone’s going barmy and all I seem to be doing is watching my foot tap up and down to the rhythm. And that’s all — just my bloody foot going up and down, up and down. I feel like a Sikh who’s just walked into the local synagogue by mistake. This is why I’m going through my pockets looking for a scrap of that wonderful blue stuff. See, I’ve got this compulsion that if only I was wearing a pair of Mr. Levi’s trousers I’d be having a whale of of a time. Failure sets me scrambling in other directions, peering down from the balcony at this bobbing sea of heads with its twelve thousand arms waving about and suddenly digging on this great ritual being carried out at the altar of, ahem, rock’n’roll. I twig right near the end that it’s really very simple — Status Quo are a DANCE BAND. And right, what we have here is this enormous mass of people dancing together. Trouble is, I can only see about a hundred girls out there, three, four times that number at most. So I’m back where I started, wondering what the hell is going on here. I mean, I like girls. God. My brain hurts. Must be this bloody suit.
The original music paper this article came from (pictured at the top) is for sale! Send me an e-mail if you are interested. Send it to: geirmykl@gmail.com The offer should be 20 $ (US Dollars) to be considered. (This includes postage). If you order several papers – contact me for a “special” offer. We conduct the transaction through my verified Paypal account for the safety of both parties. If you have a large collection of the following magazines, don`t throw them out, but contact me as I would be very interested in these: Creem, Circus, Hit Parader and Metal Edge.
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Even though this band is one of the biggest in English music history, they have always been seen as “down to earth” and very much regular people that the people in the crowd could identify with. I think that fact has contributed to their success, and not only their huge amount of single hits. Loveable lads dressed like their fans – that`s Status Quo. Read on!
Blue is the colour
And boogie is the game for Francis Rossi and the denim clad masters of the three-chord trick
By John Shearlaw
RELAX. Status Quo have finally (gasp) made it to the top of the tree. According to one daily newspaper they have just copped the ultimate accolade in the world’s hardest working profession. Of course I mean the music business, and ten years on it might just become acceptable to like them. The world can breathe again. How are they going to act now? You see they’ve just been rehearsing living up to their new moniker for this week; Status Quo, the band voted by the astute readers of the D***yM****r as Britain’s numero uno Hard Rock Band. And the band guaranteed to sell out Stafford’s jumbo jet musical emporium, Bingley Hall, for the poll winners concert. Number one may shortly become an apt description for several other aspects of the career of the boys in blue. Like a single hit with ‘Wild Side Of Life’, 24 years after the mysterious Warren and Carter combo turned it in for one of those country Yank Hanks. Like a double live album due out soon after the Glasgow Apollo balcony bouncing competition last year. And of course the other side of the coin. Number one, perhaps, in the poll to find the band with the most inexplicable lack of success in the States… ’nuff said for now. To make it worse the sun is shining, very low in the sky, very brightly and it’s first thing in the morning. As guitarist with the aforementioned poll winning group Francis Rossi might just not be feeling on top of the world after Eric Faulkner walked off with the top instrumentalist award, but the real reason is a lot less virulent than jealousy. Just flu and the sun in his eyes. Honest. He starts quicker than you’d expect: “I’m Francis Rossi, spokesman for the group, but I’m just so bloody honest I don’t want to tell anybody. And this is Bob Young, the fifth member. Y’know, the spare dick of the frantic four.” Looks like that knife got dislodged from behind Rossi’s eyes pretty quick. 1976 was the best year Quo ever had, starting with ‘Blue For You’ at the top of the album charts and ending with `Wild Side Of Life’ as the fastest selling single they’ve ever had. That sort of thing. Rossi discards his shades but retains the stance of a celestial market gardener; ruminative, and satisfied. “Didn’t do bad, did we?,” he says. “Nothing as good as the Empire Pool, mind you. Hammersmith and that tour was about an 80 per center on our satisfaction scale. Cardiff was 100 per cent, Isle Of Man 80 and the Apollo for the live whatsisname could have been 95. “I enjoyed all of them more than all that lark in Japan, Australia and New Zealand. We’re doing quite well painting the world blue and it’s getting stupid down there; we didn’t even get to meet the Rollers. Melbourne for instance, all the punters were inside, about 10,000 of them, with half as many again trying to get in outside. You get a bit distanced and overcome with all the security, but even in all the biggest concerts we’ve played in Britain you don’t get locked in and shunted about like that.
“And with those size of venues the people at the back lift up their thumb in front of them and they can’t see the stage. It’s nice to get away for the two months like that, with a nice easy schedule, good cabbage and Bob gets a suntan for Christmas, but we wouldn’t ever want to do that in England… we’d always like to go to them rather than just book into somewhere and say come and see us. Why shouldn’t we go and play in their town?” Good news therefore for all the regional battalions of the Quo army; migrations to Olympia won’t be necessary in 1977, but, ahem, there’s no doubt Quo could sell it out for a week if they wanted to. “We were surprised at the number of, er, females in the audiences, especially in Japan and Australia this time. They just appeared out of the blue.” Pun excused. “I had three birds in my bathroom, hiding, which gave me the fright of my life when I walked in. When we’d kicked them out they’d nicked me jeans, me vests and tooth-brushes. I was naused. “But seriously we’re well past the anniversary of looking up at these huge great venues and getting overawed. We’re well out of that bracket. We can play, nearly, where we want, and have enough control to make sure people can see and hear us.” Nothing had suggested that a change was afoot, in material, committment, approach and attitude in 1977. Why should there have been? But there was that single, and without suggesting prolonged insularity, somebody else did write it, an event in itself considering five years successful dependence on their own material. “I’ve always loved that one. The first time I remember hearing it was by Tommy Quickly in 1964, and I’ve been advertising for a copy of that on and off for years. But it was the first time we’ve walked in with the preconceived idea of recording a single, with a single mix, perhaps that’s been the problem. “With reservations I suppose we were going for airplay, not specifically for the States, but it’s right for that too. Nice clean bass and snare, very mid-tempo and it chugs along beautifully with none of our usual peaks. We’re not going to get on the freeway radios yet but it’s a start.” This particular piece of vinyl, to coin a Rossi phrase, hasn’t done bad. Produced by Roger Glover it hit radio play-lists almost immediately, worthy predecessors like `Down Down’ and ‘Mystery Song’ making undercover chart entries without the benefit of radio airings. Even E.J. the D.J. gave it an unmitigated post-Christmas seal of approval. Rossi will finally be satisfied when the telegram arrives from the Eagles. He might not have long to wait. “I’ve even hammered hell out of my own copy and I usually never listen to singles again. I love it.” As for the live album, recorded complete with community singing at the Glasgow Apollo over three nights last year, it has already shaped up as one of the best laid plans from Quo.
“After all the messing about, and the worry at the time, we didn’t change a note. At some points when we were mixing it the sound was just like a studio album, with the odd duff bit… you always get that. So we yanked up the audience monitors so you can hear the balcony creaking. Lovely. If you start overdubbing and changing things you might as well take out each instrument and re-do it. A bit silly. It felt good at the time and it sounds like us alright — a little longer.” At one stage U.S. Capitol, purveyors of Quo in the colonies, were rumoured to be anxious to “do something with Quo”, envisaging the live album as the start of a big break for the group Stateside. One such dude in attendance at the Apollo was eagerly pursuing the football crowd analogy, framing future promotional campaigns on the back of cigarette packets. “They’re Americans, aren’t they? You can’t listen to them… they want to try this thing, that thing, and the rest. Everyone in the business over there said ‘Down Down’ was going to be the big one, then you heard it on the radio and it hit you straight between the eyes. That bombed. Then they wanted to mix the live album so we sent them the tapes and they couldn’t do it any better than we could. I’m well pleased.” The reality of Status Quo in the New Year, perhaps, lies halfway between the creaking venerableness of Old Father Time and the fresh, pink innocence of this year’s baby. A dog with two heads indeed, one that can be taught new tricks easily enough, but they have to be bloody good because they know the old ones so well. After all, most of the barriers have already been broken down, including the wall of assumptions about Quo’s restricted outlook. They may be crowned heads of hard rock, the workmen of British music or the band with the purest and most honed down approach to what is specifically their own sound, and they indisputably are one of the biggest bands, live, and on album, in Britain. And, yes, in all those places that Captain Cook risked his life to discover for us. No surprise. Nor is the next bit. I think I read it somewhere. “Being in a band is just like running a business. You’ve got to look at it financially, think of your cabbage…” And keeping on at what you’re best at doing, the view through the window of a Range Rover? “If you get to where we are it’s a real relief, as well as the cabbage, you play somewhere and you can stipulate you want whatever, relax and play. But you still have to think about the money — to be able to buy the lights and the rigs and put on a decent show. I really think ticket prices should have gone up. They’ll pay for everything else but not tickets. I think it would work; Stewart’s done it and he’s still selling. We could all do it. “When you look at it that way you can understand us and America. It’s back to square one, robbing Peter to pay whatsisname. You flog yourself to death and at the end of the year ask how much you’ve got left. If we’ve toured the States it’s all gone, and you’ve had to eat shit again just to do that. Down low on the bill, they’ll give you a couple of orange spotlights and say if you’re not off in 25 minutes the plugs will go. Who needs that lot again, especially where we are now, and you’re broke at the end of it?
“We all understand the position and none of us want to go back to the States for the time we’d need to, perhaps three or four months. If you’re settled why should you want to leave home for that time, perhaps for nothing? We earn good money everywhere else, it’d be spending money to make more money, and you’d have to hang about to get a slice of the cake once it happened. “I’m well happy, and don’t know what I’d do with it anyway, ‘cept be more flash or something. Maybe if we were a bit younger… and you’ll have me feeling bleedin’ sorry for meself in a minute…” Leave it out mate, you started it, with all this America bit. “Most of the time I don’t care if we never go to America again really.” But there has got to be an altruism corner in every interview, just a small one, like a suggestions box in a factory. “Of course, just a slight feeling of wouldn’t it be nice, but as usual it’s only a question of waiting. Hoping for the airplay, our day will come and all that sort of thing, rather than going out and trying to do it. You can see it now, the sun’s baking hot and they’re playing all that mid-tempo gear. It’s all getting to be MOR rock, sort of mainstream which is satisfying everyone, I can’t stop playing that new Eagles album. “Anyway if either the single or the album broke, and I think one of them might, even though we’re blasé about it, we’d have to go and work anyway, we can have a rest till then. “I don’t look ready to retire though, do I? Picture of health I am with all those early nights. I’m going to go down to the studio to crack the whip on all that other lot later on.” They’re starting the week’s wind up for the Bingley concert, with some concentrated studio work for the new album shortly afterwards. As usual the material will be their own, veiled in secrecy within the Quo camp with just the problem of digging each other out and getting into the studio at the same time. Unless they’ve all gone to dig latrines in an Austrian prison first. The ‘incident at Vienna airport’ of last summer has yet to be resolved. After a misunderstanding in the departure lounge at Vienna airport, and a night in a prison cell, alleged charges brought against the group were “resisting arrest” for Rossi and Rick Parfitt, and “assaulting an officer” for Alan Lancaster. Over six months ago. “The British Consulate originally said we’d get three months each, and Nuff would get a year. Now it’s heap bad news. We went back once to the court and now we’ve all been charged with GBH. It’s been blown up out of all proportion and now we’ve got to go back again this month. We’re supposed to have a good lawyer, but there’s nothing you can do but laugh. It would have been different if we’d really laid into them. “Imagine if that had been anybody else, the Rollers or something, with a few juicy bits here and there it would be in all the papers everywhere. What a joke.” Proceedings are due to be continued next week. It’s finally gone twelve, and Rossi’s chirpiness is returning. Status Quo have got a lot to look forward to this year, and all being well, not too much of it behind bars. And for Rossi that means both sorts. As he’s going out he stops to look at the Stranglers poster, the one with the police photograph of, wait for it, a strangled, er, body. “Charming, that. I thought Alex Harvey had gone too far calling the audience cunts. I’ve heard about all them kicking each other up the bum and that… we want to be outrageous, is anybody listening?”
The original music paper this article came from (pictured at the top) is for sale! Send me an e-mail if you are interested. Send it to: geirmykl@gmail.com The offer should be 20 $ (US Dollars) to be considered. (This includes postage). If you order several papers – contact me for a “special” offer. We conduct the transaction through my verified Paypal account for the safety of both parties. If you have a large collection of the following magazines, don`t throw them out, but contact me as I would be very interested in these: Creem, Circus, Hit Parader and Metal Edge.
If you have a music-related web-page where this fits – please make a link to the article. With credits to the original writer of the article from all of us music fans!
Sometimes it can be fun to print these festival reports. At least when some of the bands featured on this blog are a part of the concert. So here we go with the first one in the “Festivals” category – most of the bands mentioned here will still be found separately in the index linked to this. Read on!
Castle walls not breached
By Chas De Whalley
WHERE on earth do we start, friends? I mean, a one day Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster should have been more exciting than this. Budgie, Curved Air, Hawkwind, the Strawbs and Status Quo — the menu promised a large helping of Heavy Metal too upfront to be true, a small serving of Mandrax Madness and the Assorted Sounds of Sophisticated Smooch, right? So why did absolutely nothing happen? Cardiff’s annual twenty-four hour bash was probably the smoothest Fest I’ve ever attended, the bands came on as scheduled, went off on cue, with never more than half an hour to waste in between times. In their own way everybody on the bill did all that was required of them. But absolutely nothing happened. From backstage to out the front the general air of lethargy could have been cut with a knife, and not even the the shadow of Cardiff Castle, looming high over everyone, managed to inject any real life, or sense of occasion into a long hot Summer evening. Mind you, had I been there right from the start, it might all have been just a little different. The Phonogram sponsored Status Quo Workers Outing (London journalists, photographers and Publicity people one and all, accompanied by an able accordianist recruited, at a guess, Shunters), rolled into Cardiff over an hour late to find not only Sonja Kristina shakin’ her tailfeathers on the stage; but that Budgie and Burke Shelley had come, gone and were all hiding behind rows of empty beer bottles in the caravan that served as the band’s dressing room. Damnation. I really like Budgie. Think they’re great. Their particular brand of unpretentious, honest, essentially boyish Heavy Metal has gone straight to my heart every time I’ve seen them. With all due respect of the others on the bill at Cardiff I’d really been looking forward to the sight and sound of the little Welsh three-piece playing at home to a crowd of staunch supporters. “We got an encore”, said bass player Burke Shelley, his voice about as shrill and piping when he speaks as it is when he sing, “But I think we only played an average set for us”. Christ, not another average set, Burke? The last time you said you played one of these was at the New Victoria Theatre in London a couple of months ago, and if it hadn’t been for the bouncers you’d have burnt the house down that night. Admittedly your fans would never have stood a chance against the Medieval Military Technology of Cardiff Castle’s portcullis and battlements, but if you and Tony Bourge and Steve Williams really did play “Breaking All The House Rules”, “Parents” and “In The Grip Of The Tyre Fitter” as powerfully and thirstily this time as when I saw you last those kids tried something. I know I would have done.
UNFORTUNATELY I missed the riot, and instead I had to begin my weekend with Curved Air. What a bunch of true professionals they are. Even from the press enclosure, right underneath Sonja Kristina’s sexily brocaded thigh boots, Curved Air’s on-stage sound seemed little short of perfect. Rock ‘n’ Roll’s Matahari stomped and strutted, for the crushed and straining front rows, her voice clear and clean and well-mixed above Mick Jacques occasional but effective harmonies. And as our Hennaed honey in her garish one-piece, black lace costume split smiles and blew, kisses to the assembled congregation, the band behind her played it all tight and close and smooth and silky. Admittedly Andrew McCrorie-Shand, temporarily drawn from his piano stool with Druid, sounded faintly lost, if not redundant during the Cardiff’s Heavy Industry passages. But Tony Reeves, cool and dapper with his Firebird bass around his neck, had his fretboard covered as calmly and consistently as he once did with Jon Hiseman’s Colloseum. Darryl Way was in fine form too — his hand drumming added an extra depth to Steve Copeland’s percussive skills while his violin soared high above Mick Jacques’ mellow but forceful guitar. Yet despite commercial strength of the new single “Desiree” and the individual instrumental pyrotechnics featured on the perennial “Vivaldi”, Curved Air failed to gleam with the kind of magical brilliance that dazzled Phil Sutcliffe recently in Dunstable. Light and airy sounds washed over the back-stage area as the gallant members of the Status Quo Workers Outing, wiping the chip fat from their fingers finally found their holiday resort, but it was immediately obvious that Sonja Kristina had traded in the seductive, cajoling croon that was the trademark of “It Happened Today”. It’s place was taken by a wild brash wail, more reminiscent of Tina Turner or, sorry Kristina, Elkie Brooks. Maybe it was just the gig… but it didn’t always work. So my thanks must go out to the incredible Hawkwind. You know what festivals can be like, from the interminable round of alcohol, cigarettes and whatever else takes your fancy to the hours and hours of Rock that frequently spell nothing but boredom. Saturday at Cardiff Castle began to drag very heavily indeed. But had it not been for the Hawks my patience might not have lasted out the Strawbs, let alone headliners Status Quo and their hour’s set of hardassed boogie. Robert Calvert and company were gross and gloriously so. I last saw Hawkwind at the close of their Christmas time tour in a a bleak, featureless GLC Sports Centre in Edmonton. The light show was rivetting, I well remember, but the music, eighty odd minutes of “Silver Machine” rehashed at various tempos, but, I suppose, in the same key, had been not much more than a wall of dispassionate and inhuman sound. But in the open air, where the faintest breeze can do more for Nik Turner’s sax or one of Dave Brock’s guitar ‘solos’ than the finest stereo PA a record company advance will buy, Hawkwind captured only a little, but just enough, of the old psychedelic spirit from which the whole concept of open air concerts like this were originally distilled. As theatrical as Ferry, singer songwriter and self-styled poet Robert Calvert was in his element as the Air Superhero from the thirties who might once have flown through the pages of CHUMS or the BOY’S OWN PAPER. In Flying Helmet, goggles, leather jodhpurs and gaiters Calvert read Destruction Poetry from a big red book, harangued the audience through an army issue megaphone and then mowed ’em all down with a submachine gun.
Surely the visuals and the vibes spelled out the old Hawkwind maxim of Astounding Sounds and Amazing Music, all lit by quaalude moonlight. But nevertheless Calvert still can’t sing and the band themselves, from twin drummers Simon King and Andrew Powell to organist Simon House, were consistently incapable of playing in time or in tune. The mix too was punctuated at all times with moans of uneasy feedback, while the sound all over the park was cut with more than its fair share of aspirin. But as they roared and ranged through the sheer musical ineptitude and naive enthusiasm of the latest single ‘Kerb Crawler’ and the older favourites ‘Urban Guerilla’ and ‘Reefer Madness’, Hawkwind generated as much sheer rock power as the finely disciplined Status Quo. And that’s more than can be said for the Strawbs. Expecting the finely honed Folk Pop of the hit singles ‘Lay Down, I Lay Me Down’ and ‘Part Of The Union’ we were all treated, I think, to a limp and disparate set of mediocre soft rock that tried so hard to be upfront it was embarrassing. Perhaps the blue satin bedecked Dave Cousins felt intimidated by a crowd brought up on Heavy Metal and restless for the Quo — and in all fairness this was Strawbs first gig in many months — but the dirgey bedsitter images of ‘Ghosts’, the opener from the last album, spelt out all that was to follow. With Robert Kirby and John Mealing adding extra keyboards to the guitar sounds of Cousins and lead man Dave Lambert, Chas Cronk on bass and Rod Coombes on the drums consistently failed to add any drive to a top-heavyly melodic instrumental section and a self-consciously intense vocal line. ‘Lay Me Down’ with which the Strawbs waved farewell, was the only number that in any way justified their position on the bill, and that succeeded merely through its simplicity and singalong familiarity. Which is where we get into South East London and Status Quo Country. ‘Come On now, join in” drawled Francis Rossi, (introducing the High Tensile Steel Scottish jigs the Quo slipped in between ‘Don’t Waste My Time’ and the old favourite ‘Bye, Bye, Bye’). “It’s so easy, it’s all a piece of piss.”
To true Blue. That’s all Status Quo are, a piece of piss, but one of the best in the business. They played us the same song, with slightly different words, all night long. They may rush about from side to side of the clear and empty stage in a way reminiscent of early Mott The Hoople. Or Rossi, Ric Parfitt and Alan Lancaster may put their heads down, planning the next play by numbers just as they’ve immortalised on album covers everywhere. But they prove they can do more with three chords than many another loud and tasteless quartet. Parfitt churns that E Major tuned Telecaster like an automotan, safe in the knowledge that Bass player Alan Lancaster and drummer John Coughlan are right there beside him, a mindless rhthym section that nevertheless provides The Life Support Systems for some Classic three minute singles. Occasionally they changed the tone and mellowed out into a slower, spacier boogie or two suggesting that Joe Walsh’s `Rocky Mountain Way’ plays in the band’s limousine home. Mostly though you could fight your way through the dense, denimed crowd to take a much-needed leak and return to hear the same throbbing axes grinding themselves sharper and sharper across the massive sound system. Greatest Hits and album favourites came and went, ‘Roll Over Lay Down’, ‘Just Like The Time’, ‘Little Lady’ and ‘Is There A Better Way’, and yet again Quo proved themselves a Rock ‘n’ Roll band with so much gut-power they aren’t to be argued with. But, for my money, they didn’t have the calibre or the depth of character to make them a viable and effective bill-topping act. Not for a twenty four hour operation like this was. That’s why the Cardiff Castle One Day Woodstock was ultimately so anti-climatic. I can’t recall exactly when the Boys in Blue last toured this country, but it was well within living memory, wasn’t it? And all the other bands on at Cardiff can be caught, sometimes in tandem, at least once a Season at the Roundhouse and at most times of the year in Colleges and Clubs all over the country. Cardiff was nothing more than an elongated Saturday nights wreckes at your local Palais de Rock ‘n’ Roll, and as parties go, those gigs aren’t always the best, now are they? At least this one wasn’t maimed with violence, although a dog backstage lost his cool when Quo came on, and began to bite people!
The original music paper this article came from (pictured at the top) is for sale! Send me an e-mail if you are interested. Send it to: geirmykl@gmail.com The offer should be 20 $ (US Dollars) to be considered. (This includes postage). If you order several papers – contact me for a “special” offer. We conduct the transaction through my verified Paypal account for the safety of both parties. If you have a large collection of the following magazines, don`t throw them out, but contact me as I would be very interested in these: Creem, Circus, Hit Parader and Metal Edge.
If you have a music-related web-page where this fits – please make a link to the article. With credits to the original writer of the article from all of us music fans!
Actually, to many people`s surprise, a good review for the Quo in the NME. Read on!
Status Quo / Rainbow
Concert review by Tony Stewart
A TOUR’S NEAR an end, and as far as the kids at Finsbury Park were concerned, their own local heroes were home and dry. To them, at the time, there wasn’t a band as good in the World. As Mike Rossi punctuates each phrase with “guvnors”, he unsubtlely prompts a full-bodied cry of Nationalistic approval. Criticing Quo’s act on musical merits isn’t really valied either. They play ably enough, through blues and boogie. Richie Parfitt, Alan Lancaster and Rossi sing just right for the mood, with some distinctive harmonies. But of more importance is the fact they’re still going forward. Numbers like “Claudie” and “Roll over, Lay Down” from “Hello” prove it. The first one is the finest song they’ve written with a stronger sense of melody, and a hush on the usual brash barrage of riffs. And there can be no denying that people get off on this out-and-out brand of rock. The first number had bearly started when the kids flocked down the aisles, much to the annoyance of the usually invincible body of gents who are know, among other things, as bouncers. You don’t take granny to a Status Quo performance, that’s for sure. Parfitt strides the length of the stage, every inch the part of the arrogant school bully, as he sneers threateningly at the odd one or two not up on their feet. (And odd they must be to remain seated). Lancaster and drummer John Coughlan tend to be the demon rhythm section generally in full flight. Honest, I love their act. It’s fun as Rossi shouts: ” ‘ere, there’s a fella lighting a fag over there — hey, we ain’t finished yet.” Then the band will implore one and all to participate. Unless I’m sadly misguided that makes a good concert. Quo just drive like an uncontrolled steamroller through their repertoire. Time signatures change, and it goes from one piece to the next, with barely time for a thank-you. It’s not like Sabbath or some other heavy metal brothers, because Quo can play well. The only danger I can forsee for them is turning that volume up, and requesting a crowd to dig noise, instead of music. It seemed to happen now and again at the Rainbow.
The original music paper this article came from (pictured at the top) is for sale! Send me an e-mail if you are interested. Send it to: geirmykl@gmail.com The offer should be 20 $ (US Dollars) to be considered. (This includes postage). If you order several papers – contact me for a “special” offer. We conduct the transaction through my verified Paypal account for the safety of both parties. If you have a large collection of the following magazines, don`t throw them out, but contact me as I would be very interested in these: Creem, Circus, Hit Parader and Metal Edge.
If you have a music-related web-page where this fits – please make a link to the article. With credits to the original writer of the article from all of us music fans!
Rossi & co didn`t have to worry at all about this record review as the album went to No. 1 in the UK and was a big album for them in other parts of the world too. Read on!
Identikit boogies
STATUS QUO: “Hello” (Vertigo)
Album review by Charles Shaar Murray
I GUESS I ought to be grateful to Status Quo. If I hadn’t heard this album, I wouldn’t have thought of writing the “Heavy Metal” piece that appeared in last week’s issue. I doubt if that’ll comfort them any since I am told that when Francis Rossie (or “Mick Rossi” as he used to be in more innocent days) was told that I was reviewing this album, he waxed profane and opined that the band had “had it now.” Well, rest easy, Francis. I don’t think that “Hello” is going to end up in my “Top 10 Albums of 1973” list, but it ain’t too offensive. In fact, it sounds quite nice if you don’t listen too closely. It chugs along quite effectively, and Quo bang out dem ‘ol tried and trusted riffs with a certain amount of precision and enthusiasm. There’s even a very nice little neo-Beatles tune called “Claudie”, which would be quite charming if the lads had modified their basic heavy approach slightly, not to mention a cut which winds like a bastardised version of “Truckin”. Now to the bad news. Once you get past the basic sound and production, there’s naught of any real substance there. The solos are woefully unimaginative, and the songwriting also lacks any real inspiration. Quo’s trouble is basically that they’re rather clichè-ridden. Clichès aren’t necessarily bad in themselves, as to a certain extent most good rock music depends on an imaginative and creative juxtaposition of clichès. The problem here is that Quo are not masters of the clichè, but slaves to it. In the hands of a master, the presentation of something half-familiar (or even totally familiar) can be quite enlightening. On the other hand, the same clichè presented badly simply causes anguished mutterings of “Oh shit, not that again”. And sad-to-say, when Status Quo trot out their identikit boogie, it is the latter reaction that prevails. But again, Francis, rest easy. Most of the people who dig you are going to enjoy the album, so why worry? Gotta rush now – I’m going over to Nick Kent’s to hear some Carpenters albums.
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