Tuesday 22 February 2011

Gig review: Rob Zombie @ Brixton Academy - 16/02/11

Monster? Morbidity junkie? Media fascinator? Many a question can be raised, and only some answered, about a certain gent legally referred to as Mr. Robert Bartleh Cummings. Perhaps he's a bit of all three: a spectacle of the sinister, uncompromising in his allegiance to the dark side. And over here on our small but intense shores, the British portal to the Underworld has been growing a little chilly over the last dozen years...

How does one sum up the man who calls himself 'Rob Zombie'? Or even introduce him? Notorious; mysterious; his status as a quote-un-quote "alternative" legend has rocketed since first solo effort, 'Hellbilly Deluxe', sold more copies in its first week of release, mid-1998, than any of previous outfit White Zombie's works before it. A few albums, movies (his creations 'House of 1000 Corpses' and 'Devil's Rejects' have become an international cult phenomenon) and piles of bones down the road, and Zombie parades his crown with ease: the Medusa-esque King of all things kooky and spooky. And this is why, after a 12-year hiatus from a UK tour, and with a 2010-counterpart to the original, in 'Hellbilly Deluxe 2', under his belt, we've all gone bananas. So much so, that nearly 5000 graves have been deserted, while their inhabitants troop to the sold-out Brixton O2 tonight, to see if their favourite Undead Messiah has still got it. Fasten your seatbelts and pray for your sins. Because one thing's for damn certain: we're in for one hell of a ride.

For all the rumpus astir, Zombie's secured an odd choice of support in reggae-punk thrashers Skindred, and metallers Revoker. They're Wales' biggest at what they do. But they're nothing like the headliner. Roadrunner and BMG are dishing them out in numbers without congruity, it seems. Even stranger since Zombie's just finished a successful collaboration with fellow shock-rockers The Murderdolls and Alice Cooper, for the 'Halloween Hootenanny' tour across the States, during the latter portion of 2010. And three-of-a-kind like that make far more sense together. But the curtain falls. A massive silver robot housing the man himself bursts into flame to a medley of 'Sinners Inc.', 'Sawdust in the Blood' and 'Call of the Zombie' – even adding Bach's 'Toccata and Fugue in D minor' to the melting pot. And at last, it's time to sink the fangs into 2011's London display of bloodlust and barbarism, from the one and only ROB ZOMBIE (9/10) himself.

"It's been so long since we've been here, we thought everyone had forgotten about us", he muses, in his Massachusetts drawl. Really? This is bearing in mind he's grown from a 90s 'fantasy' rocker, whom the press swore to be the 'real thing' of the NYC underground, to a fully-fledged horror franchise in his own right – with even the likes of irritating 17-year-old Taylor Momsen, frontgirl of grungey-pop group The Pretty Reckless, sporting his merch. But as Rob Zombie propels himself across Brixton's stage like a poisoned Harlequin, you remember exactly why he is where he is. He's the Jester to his court of death-suckers. Bathed in carefully-chosen neon hues, he resembles some kind of twisted sea-God: Neptune's darkest nightmare who, though he clearly holds a lot of passion for his art, splashes about in the 'incidental' benefits of his enormous revenue as a nice, not-so-scary bonus.

But enough business talk. Because tonight is pure theatre: a feast for the senses of the live or dead. And as guitarist John 5 of Marilyn Manson fame, and drummer Joey Jordison of Slipknot success team up with bassist Piggy D, they tear through the trademark Zombie formula with stunning panache. The set contains no less than 4 slices from new work 'Hellbilly Deluxe 2'; the likes of opening stormer 'Jesus Frankenstein' and 'Werewolf Women of the SS' fit nicely around 2001's 'Sinister Urge' excerpts 'Demon Speeding' and 'Scum of the Earth'. Of course, there are veteran classics a-plenty: 'Hellbilly Deluxe['s]' 'Superbeast' and 'Living Dead Girl' go down a treat, and first-encore explosion 'Dragula' is no doubt the moment 99% of people in the room have been waiting for, for just over a decade. And with a smattering of White Zombie beauties, including 'More Human Than Human' and 'Thunder Kiss '65', featuring a comic interlude of Marilyn Manson's 'Sweet Dreams' from John 5, Zombie is asserting his dominance tonight. Not only is he a force to be reckoned with in his own right; he exceeds many of his shock-rocker contemporaries in his credibility and longevity. "I hope that's not your cue to tell me you're leaving the band, John?" If Mr. Brian Warner could hear, his makeup would be running.

They're not silly boys, though. Anyone who gave John 5's fifth solo cut, 'The Art of Malice', a listen upon its 2010-release (or has sat through any of his previous four either, for that matter), is no stranger to his tasty playing; in case you didn't know, he picks country like a beast. Likewise, anyone who's familiar with either Zombie's or Manson's material will be aware that it doesn't really showcase a virtuosity of axe-wielding. If Paul Gilbert-wizardry is what you're after, then Zombie's brand of dramatic pop-industrial-sleaze-metal-disco numbers won't sit well with you. It's true, the lyrics don't run deep: "Mars needs women. Angry red women", and "Rock Motherfucker. Rock the Motherfucker" aren't exactly Einsteinian. Nor are the songs technically complex. But the slinky, razor-buzz tone, crunching through semitone-sliding grooves, commanded by the charismatic Zombie himself, proves a potent cocktail for even the biggest cynic to resist. Danceable and likeable, Zombie's tunes, be they past, present or future, fit together because of their stylistic cohesion and simplicity. And never fear: like any self-righteous guitarist, John 5 gets his big shredding moment in the middle of 'Thunder Kiss '65'...as Rob is led through the audience, complete with flashlights and muscle-bound 'heavies'. Just so you remember who's boss. It's an attempted titivation of the Page-Plant, sings-vs.-strings showman complex, which almost works...but not quite.

The black tornado has hit the terrain of the UK once again. And, as promised by the man himself, it's been nothing short of mesmerising. But the precise factors behind this are elusive, because the whole Zombie enigma is a subtle blend. So let's get the basics straight. You'd have to be a few crumbs short of your biscuit to miss the fact that it's largely sight over sound. The whole idea of Rob Zombie, and Rob Zombie in concert, is that drama outweighs musical dexterity. The recorded-quality live performance, and the true capacity of the musicians, is great. And so is the music, because it is what it is. They're not completely "dumbing-down" per se; it's just a more confined animal of genre, but one which tames their egos well. And there's no sense in getting snobbish about it, because you'd be missing the point.

It's about sensationalism, experimentation and fun. And as he's backed by the finest vintage horror on the screen behind him, as well as snippets of Japanese-style animation and a myriad of skeletons, scares and semiotics, you see why the Zombie spell is so effective. It's a cross-temporal, cross-cultural examination of the macabre and the eccentric, with tongue firmly in cheek. His mix of sci-fi, pornography, horror-mythology, occultism and the market of alternative appeal over the years, harnesses futurism with retrospection, and exploits that area just outside the boundaries of everyone's comfort zones concerning what's a bit of fancy-dress, and what's truly psychologically quirky and taboo. And he feeds our curiosity back to us through our own eyes. Sure, it's a little pretentious at times, but it's slick, stylish, smart, and very, very seductive.

We might have been 12 years in the waiting, but Rob Zombie has been making up for a lot of lost time...hard. Meretricious? Maybe. Magic? Definitely. Because with his continued unique breed of dark Commedia dell'Arte going stronger than it ever has, this man won't see you in Hell. He'll show you the way.

Review by Rhiannon Maiden. Copyright © Rhiannon Marley. All rights reserved.