"I didn’t know I was this geeky until I discovered the online world through my office’s 2400 baud modem back in ’93." A red cat that loves pizza
When Job, guitarist of ‘Lawn’, asks the audience to be quiet because, you know, it’s a quiet song, he does so with the confidence of a seasoned performer. Not the kind of thing you expect from a support act in a tiny club. Not in front of a crowd that’s already shown considerable acceptance of the band eventhough they’re there to see the main act ‘Sophia’. I’m impressed.
{ Lawn, Tivoli – de Helling, Utrecht }
A lot of people around us are dressed in dark red colours. We can’t figure out why. Perhaps it’s some thing fans of bands do, some quirk like The Mission fans who called themselves ‘Eskimos’ or the early online community of U2 fans who took to wearing tags with the name of their mailing list written on it.
Or it could be they’re dressed in red to go along with the Fire-engine themed ‘disco’ that’s planned after the gig.
I didn’t know ‘Sophia‘, but I knew their predecessor, noise-mongers the God Machine. They had impressed me as a young band, having made the decision to live and record in London rather than stay in their native America. I remember that the death of their bassist came unexpected and that I felt so sorry at a time that a band that had seemed so promising would meet such ill fate.
Robin Proper-Sheppard, the God Machine and Sophia’s front-man, nearly gave up music after his friend died, but in the end decided he could not live without it. He looks like a young David Brent with a little Sean Penn on the side. When he’s on stage pre-show to set up some girls, fans, comment “Oh there he is!”, adding with a certain air of disappointment, “He’s not even wearing performance clothes…”
{ Sophia, Tivoli – de Helling, Utrecht }
Sheppard dresses to impress your mother and if he’s hoping to do it in the rather affected or arty way Interpol seem to do it, he’s failing. His songs, his lyrics lack that same irony. They’re just completely mundane, the kind of thoughts you and I have, without even a hint of poetry or vision. And that’s their appeal, despite the lack of joy and their utter self-indulgence. It’s unassuming, just like his rapport with his audience. But this ‘one of the guys’ persona is an act, because you can just feel the screaming diva inside him when he orders the lighting tech to keep the bright lights out of his face. Perhaps it’s that undercurrent, controlled rage, that keeps it interesting.
Right at the start he mentions that his daughter, ‘Hope’, is 10 years old. A fan says: ‘Last time she was 4, has it been that long?’ A conversation ensues, but Sheppard cuts it short: “You know, I like this conversation, but maybe we should have it… after… I know I have this kind of relationship with my fans, but…”
He promises to tell a joke his daughter taught him and then continues to sing a – depressing – song about ‘her mother’. All through the gig people keep reminding him to tell the joke, which he does eventually. He asks a guy in the front:
“What’s your favourite colour?’
“Red,” the guy says, pointing at his shirt.
“What’s your favourite animal?”
“Cat.”
“What’s your favourite food?”
“Mie!” says the guy, which sounds like ‘me’. He means ‘noodles’, proving once again that no, the average Dutch person doesn’t speak English as well as is generally thought. It confuses Sheppard, who tells him he’s supposed to name a food product.
“Pizza!”
“Well, have you ever heard of a red cat that eats pizza?” It’s not that funny and Sheppard agrees, but when he told his daughter this she had answered: “I know, but all the kids at school think it’s funny.”
In the meantime, my friend — sharper than most — leans in and says: “A red cat that loves pizza? Um… Garfield?”
I shouldn’t like this band at all, with its wishy washy music that is never completely out there and never completely original. It meanders between all kinds of genres, with a warm organ sound straight out of REM’s cookbook, the country influences of Neil Young, the fire and brimstone melodies of Nick Cave, the Britpop streak completely stripped of all irony and the echoes of their own God Machine past.
I shouldn’t like it at all, but I do. Their ‘from a whisper to a wall of sound’ gimmick should be annoying, but it’s not. Like their support act ‘Lawn’, who I should like even less, Sheppard and his band have a wonderful knack of writing melody lines that please and surprise. They’re just annoyingly engaging. Like Crowded House, another band I only grudgingly appreciate, I’ll have to admit they were good.
Good enough for a Saturday night out.
Here, have a listen.
Pictures taken with Nokia 3650.
