SHADAZZ- Suicide @ the Islington Garage 25/11/00.
Suicide were never pre destined to make it big. They began thirty years ago on the back streets of NY. The bizarre creation of visual artist Alan Vega and classically trained pianist Martin Rev. Too structured to be truly Avante Garde, too wild to be pop, had they hailed from Berlin they would have been labelled Krautrock, but as they came from Brooklyn, they had to settle for the tag ’electro punk’ instead. Whilst fellow electronic pioneers such as Kraftwerk explored a clean utopian vision of technology, Vega and Rev committed the sound of the poverty stricken underbelly in which they lived to a soundtrack of repetitive beats and minimalist electro scrapping. They shared stages with the Ramones and The New York Dolls, but street corner glam was never on the boys’ agenda, nor was being a crowd-pleasing act. Vega confessed that they loved to torture their audience, and the extremes that they would take to ensure that this occurred would often lead to hostile confrontations with their crowds. At one legendary Belgian show in support of Elvis Costello, the situation spiralled so out of control that a full-scale riot ensued. Not that any of this prevented Suicide reaching the ears of successful acts such as Soft Cell and the Jesus and Mary Chain, even to this day influencing the latest generation of tech heads such as Aphex Twin and Doris Alloy.
Sadly none of their famous fan club's popularity rubbed off on Suicide and tonight’s date is being held at the microscopic Garage venue. However, such is the band’s influence that many notable names from the music industry are gathered in respect. House pioneer Arthur Baker stands before yours truly filming a camcorder bootleg, whilst the lead vocalist of Drugstore can be spotted elsewhere. But before Suicide have even stepped on to the stage, support comes from the band’s Blast First label mates Chicks on Speed. The Chicks’ variety of gutter level death disco is not too far removed from the sound of tonight’s main attraction, and their stage presence is enlivened by an androgynous glam trash image coupled with a sassy NY attitude. The girls’ screeching vocals embrace the unrelenting techno beat to perfection, think of a pneumatic Nitzer Ebb and you’ll get the closest point of reference.
Soon a black drape is placed before the stage, falling before the sound of a spluttering drum machine. A beret wearing Alan Vega walks before the audience and salutes his troops like the high commander of the apocalypse. His grimacing shade wearing partner Martin Rev paces intimidatingly before the crowd, soon taking his place behind the stage’s lone synth. For the uninitiated, the Suicide live set is one of the music world’s wildest experiences. Don’t expect a blow by blow greatest hits repertoire. Even the songs that sound remotely familiar are radically reconstructed and stretched until they fall to pieces. Vocal and instrumental improvisation are a key element in the performance. Suicide’s musical career began as an experiment, and even to this day that is how it continues each time the band perform.
One element originally vital to Suicide’s performance is now sadly absent - the audience hostility. Where as once their audience would lovingly spit upon them, Suicide now find themselves with a following that showers nothing other than devotion upon them. As Alan once fed upon the hatred of past audiences, he now plays upon their current adulation, at key points appearing to walk off stage and halt the show they so wish to see. Where as once he was a figure of menace, his performance is now that of an accomplished ham. His constant reference to some unknown Doris (Doris Alloy?) adding to his newly accessible persona.
Out of the vast cocktail of static bursts and metallic rhythms some familiar patches appear. The originally two and a half minute long 'Ghost Rider' is stretched to almost ten minutes of exhausting electronic masochism. Huge stabs of synth noises explode over the PA as Martin pounds his fists upon the keys (You’d never think that he was a classically trained pianist!). Alan Vega doesn’t care; he just sucks satanically on his cigarette as the smoke enraptures his face - at which point we are reminded of just whom it was that Andrew Eldritch stole most of his struts and stage poses from! Rev continues to toy with the equipment before him, poking and pulling obsessively at keys and knobs like a lab bound professor.
The ear friendly sounds of the band’s 1980 second album are for the most part ignored. However, 'Cheree' (As Vega notes, 'One for the ladies') hints at those fleeting pop moments that Suicide are equally adept at. Admittedly, their is virtually no similarity between tonight’s version and the song’s vinyl incarnation (Either in terms of music or vocal!) but through Martin’s feedback bursts, the track’s tender beauty still shines through.
And that my friends is Suicide’s legacy to musicians present and future; That no matter how little equipment you possess or whatever the obstacles that stand in your way, be they an unsympathetic public or an unprivileged beginning, there is nothing to stop you breaking down the barriers of taste and acceptance, in turn inspiring others to follow in your footsteps. As Vega salutes us once more we salute our commander in turn. Al, Martin- Thanks for showing us the way.