Rollins Band

And he’s out there. One minute he’s on stage just pointing, looking, on the edge of something, a ball of nervous energy, about to go into some other place. And the next he’s gone. Henry Rollins has left the building and retreated to some where deep inside his emotional landscape. And the rest of the world just disappears – it doesn’t matter if there was one person watching, or a million. His figures tenses, buckles, contracts, as his body becomes a ball of sweat, tattoos, and rage. It’s like watching the final minutes of the Exorcist for over an hour.

Some people need this. For some people the way life is, the indignities most of us brush aside, become the thorn in the side. I’m not sure if Henry is ultrasensitive to respond in such a fashion to the world, or has been brutalised to some kind of sweat n muscles n tatooed macho madman (such is the impression most people have of him). It’s compelling to watch, in a half empty hall, one of the most credible of rock icons scream himself into exhaustion.

Whilst yes, he may have done adverts, feature films, written books, owns a record & book label, spoken word gigs, and have his own band, Henry is one man machine, a do-or-die suicide bomber, geared to rising above his own lowly former position as assistant at an ice cream shop, and one who will, perhaps unfortunately, pursue his vision at whatever cost. From the days of Black Flag to now, Henry Rollins hasn’t diluted his music one iota in order to sell records. Few people have the spark needed to leave behind everything they have and everyone they know to take their one chance and run with it, forever.

Aside from this though, Rollins Band are hardly thrilling. Three quarters of them are known as Mother Superior, who support, and perform a set of thoroghly dreary semi-Pearl Jam, boring old style grunge. They pull old style rock moves, as seen in near enough any video on MTV since 1986, wear bizarre hats, have long hair, and look timewarped out of the age when classic rock ruled the world.

Bring on Henry, and they become well, almost turbocharged. They still look ridiculous, but they play fast, no-nonsense, intense rock music full of cutting riffs and manic drumming whilst Henry just builds up an enormous, invisible shield around him and screams himself clean. The sight of a slightly flabby, white haired man, wearing nothing but sweat-sodden shorts shorts that seem to have been sprayed onto him, flanked by three anonymous rockpeople, crouched into a ball screaming “Starve! Starve! Starve!” is both compelling and somewhat tedious. It’s like a big man poking you repeatedly with a stick telling you off. There’s not even a second of light in all the shade that they project – a purifying ball of black rock light that blocks out almost all positive emotions.

The low points are minor. Firstly, with a 11pm curfew, the band are finished and gone by 10.15pm. Secondly, the newlook Rollins Band seem to ignore entirely almost all of the finer moments of the past line up. Liar, Divine, Disconnect, The End Of Something, Hard, What Have I Got? – all some of the best work, are ignored in favour of a relentless slew of newer music. Within the first 30 minutes the band have paused for precisely 14 seconds between the eight or nine songs, playing them in a new continous, seamless, megamix style. There’s no let up, no respite, in the music. When one song ends, the other one has already been started by the drummer, or the bassist, or Henry himself. The band are undeniably tight, and talented, but the overall impression is slightly one dimensional.

What of the music? Well, it’s heavy, intense oldstyle US hardcore, the type pioneered by the Dead Kennedys and Black Flag. It’s never going to sell in great amounts or be on TV much. It’s hard to find in the shops, most major labels don’t touch it anymore, and it shows the cute little Punka kids in the Slipknot tops what guitars are really used for. There’s not a turntable or baseballcapped rapper in sight, which can only be a good thing. If you want it, it doesn’t get any more real than this. Just be sure that when you listen to it, or when you go to see it, make sure you understand exactly how and why you despise your divine object of hatred, and purge.

Almost essential.

You Didn't Need, Up For It, So Much More, Gone Inside The Zero, Hello, Rocker, Ten Times, Whats The Matter Man, One Shot, Starve, Are You Ready?, Going Out Strange, Stop Look Listen, Nowhere To Go But Inside, Your Number Is One, Too Much Rock N Roll, Tearing, I Go Day Glo