THE INDEPENDENT, 9/21/5, Nick Hasted
PERE UBU
Islington Academy
LONDON ****
The large man dominating the stage is one of rock's secret giants. David Thomas formed Pere Ubu 30 years ago in the abandoned industrial heart of Cleveland. They coupled the rusting ruins of American promise with the limitless potential of the pop they'd grown up with - from The Beach Boys to Captain Beefheart - to forge a proto-punk vision that has yet to be exhausted.
In recent years, Thomas has entered unlikely self-exile in Hove, where he can be found in the corner of his local pub, pet whippet at his feet. His music has mutated from its original apocalyptic clang to a dreamier fascination with obsolescent America. The only equivalent extant figure in pop may be Mark E. Smith, who has led The Fall (with, like Ubu, an ever-shifting line-up) through three uncompromised decades. Thomas's relevance and potency have been honed by the years of obscurity.
That is proven by the eager crowd here to greet him, ranging from original punks to the curious young. Thomas greets them with a cornered, assessing look and a song from Ubu's latest LP, St Arkansas. On "Slow Walking Daddy", as mutated a take on the blues as you'll hear, a theremin whips strange frequencies through his voice, producing seasick, overloaded white funk. Thomas' fascination with the currencies our society flows on is made plain by the squeaking-rodent oscillations of "Electricity." "The Modern Dance", a rare oldie, also has a layer of static. Ubu remain urgent enough to make the crowd dance, while warping their sound sufficiently to keep a tremor of rock's original shock.
"Oh, my friends don't understand me / and my wife begins to fear," Thomas murmurs on "Dark." It's a song based around the idea of salvation in driving and listening to pop radio, much like Bruce Springsteen's work, but Thomas's voice mixes unhinged conviction with wavering instability to suggest a man vanishing into his own mind. [Webmaster comment: This is a culturally specific allusion that the English probably don't get. Americans recognize that AM radio, these days, is the domain of talk radio, ethnic and specialty stations.]
"Perfume" is a still more beautifully desolate story of American loss. Thomas holds his hand up like a preacher as he recalls stepping into a desert diner much like a mirage, where he pleads: "Is there someone here / who knows me?"
The new "Texas Overture" suggests why Pere Ubu are a great band. Its lyrics leer at George Bush's home state [Webmaster comment: David notes that this is NOT true; the song is a celebration of Texas and everything Texan], while their whole career envisions America after its imperial era has crumbled.
They play undiminished rock'n'roll from the ruins, as innocent, violent and arcane as it was as its start.