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New York's Roseland Ballroom
Monday 8 th August, 2005 |
By Richard Vinciullo |
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Nashville’s Kings of Leon and Dallas’ Secret Machines share a Southern American heritage. But, red state solidarity aside, the bands are a strange pairing. The Kings’ shit-kickin’ hillybilly rock sound is distinctively country, while Secret Machines play a modern blend of stadium and pysch-rock. As Secret Machines set up, I stood in a long queue of beer-thirsty punters. Would the Secret Machines-Kings of Leon combination produce a peanut butter and jam effect – strange, yet palatable? Clutching my first $5 can of Budweiser and making my way to closer to stage, I sure hoped so.
In the vein of Tool during the Lateralus tour, Secret Machines’ set was preceded by a pre-recorded, piercing psychedelic howl that built a good deal of mood. In a couple of minutes the crescendo peaked, the crowd mustered a pretty enthusiastic cheer, and the trio took their positions. And some positions they were. The band took the unusual approach of placing drummer Josh Garza side stage, facing inwards towards guitarist/vocalist Benjamin Curtis. Vocalist, bassist and keyboardist Brandon Curtis balanced the equation, facing inwards on the other side of stage.
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As Secret Machines kicked into their first song, the anticipation built by the pre-recorded crescendo was quickly deflated. The unusual positioning didn’t help. There’s just something not right about lead singer and drummer camping side stage, not even facing the crowd. It’s like a piece of modern art that tries to ‘subvert’ form by doing something stupid like painting a chessboard all white (thanks for that Yoko). More importantly, the music failed to move the crowd or myself – emotionally or literally. Garza’s drumming is absolutely soporific, like something from a Def Leppard covers band. Secret Machines are stadium rock in the worst sense of the word: not heavy or emotional enough to be metal; too classic rock to be indie or psychedelic; too shitty to be classic rock. After what seemed like an excruciatingly long set, they closed with the pretty decent “First Wave Intact”, album-opener from their LP “Now Here is Nowhere”, but I was already too bored to care.
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I pushed further into the crowd for the Kings of Leon inthe hope that these Nashville evangelicals could purge the Secret Machines demon. As marijuana smoke wafted over the crowd, the Kings emerged and kicked straight into a blistering set that had the New Yorker crowd getting down like hicks at a drunken barn dance. The long-haired quintet, like an old-style Bluegrass group, stayed unanimated and let the music do the converting as they hit every note of their punch-drunk Southern rock. The crowd collectively took crack for the Kings’ rendition of A-ha Shake Heartbreak single, ‘Soft’. Later, one drunken punter in my vicininity single-handedly cleared a 5 foot space in every direction the momentCaleb Followill began the hoe-down chorus to ‘Joe’s Head’. Youth and Young Manhood’s ‘California Waiting’ spoke for itself, while ‘Milk’ gave the crowd a breather.
My personal highlight, being born in the 80’s and therefore missing out on Guns N Roses (when they were good), was witnessing guitarist Matthew Followill extend the solo of ‘Holy Roller Novocaine’ to about 40 seconds, and smoking a cigarette, hands free, the entire time. On that front, Slash, it looks like you’ve just been made redundant – who needs Velvet Revolver? The fact that this little antic was technically illegal in a New York venue only made the moment sweeter. God Bless Rock n Roll.
After the encore I wandered into Times Square, buzzing, partially from the second-hand weed but mostly from the shoe-stompin’ live Kings of Leon experience.
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