I (don’t) hate rock n roll. Primal Scream get down at The Scala

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As a teenager trapped in a steel town with little cash and only my mind as means of escapism it was inevitable that I would turn to tunes to soothe the crushing numbness of nothingness that hung around in the air.

It started with simple rock n roll  - it wasn’t even real rock n roll – it was some sort of working man’s club revival with aged fellas in drapes sporting DAs and thus there was an inevitable Showaddywaddy type lock on, Shakin’ Stevens and Stray Cat struts and shit.  Don’t get me wrong it filled a hole. I know it was only rock and roll but I liked it. From there I would listen to Elvis, Carl Perkins, Eddie Cochran and through that came The Stones and The Beatles.  This would have been back in the early eighties.

By 1985 I had stopped my association with rock and roll. It wasn’t that I hated it but I associated rock and roll with the worst excesses of TOTP culture  - all men in denim with collars up shaking their hips and pursing their lips but looking like stout middle aged men hanging on to some sort of milkshake dream – you know it’s not Nashville it never would be – it’s Ashby and we’ve got a Kwik Save.  

I had begun to define my self in opposition to this. I began to hate rock and roll and all those people with nothing to show.

Yet looking back I was simply a rock and roller by another name.

My rock and roll was reaching beyond the kiss curl and jumpsuits. It wanted it to be fierce and untamed. It began with The Velvet Underground. It would take some time to find the dirty end of scuzz rock and bawling but in the beginning The Velvets provided this antidote to the bland chug a lug-lug-lug of the behemoth rock and rollers.  Screeching and full of bittersweet romance and loss The Velvets was the band I wanted to be in. Artful outsiders to the mainstream of fat rock and rollers – maaaan.  Appropriation occurs at every stage of living when you are a youth – so I searched out winkle pickers, tight black canvas and blunt scissors for bowl headed cuts.

And then as I was morphing into my own zone came the Jesus and Mary Chain. Year zero for the rebirth of independent pop music. It was 1985. Suddenly it was the ‘rebirth’ of rock and roll in this house. Screaming teenagers and loss of control.  

Real rock and roll.

Maximum rock and roll.

Bobby Gillespie was part of this new rock and roll. Two drums and this supra-cool aesthetic. It was instant love – heaven’s above! Then there was talk that he was only moonlighting in the most original band I’d ever heard. The Jesus and Mary Chain were a band who’d taken all the elements of rock and roll and merged them into one pure blast of sonic magic. But this Gillespie had another band – a band called Primal Scream.  Cool name and one cool motherfucker. So into town to purchase their single was the next move – once again you have to remember that we weren’t downloading this and having a listen through streaming. You had to go to the shop ask for a copy – sometimes order it – without listening and then buy it – we weren’t brave enough to listen to it in store and say no. So it would be bought, bagged up and returned to bedrooms to revolve on cheap record players turned up loud (when we could get away with it.)

‘Crystal Crescent’ was a beautiful song. Psychedelic and tripped out lite and tight not noise and full of rage. There was a gentle side to this rock and rolling. Flip the record and find Velocity Girl. Simple, chiming and over in seconds.

Suddenly there was a new rock and roll in town.

And that rock and roll was in town again tonight (or in this case a few weeks back as it’s taken far too long to write this) Primal Scream played the Scala for a night of maximum rock and roll.  And after many years I was back in the fray again. I sort of lost touch with the Scream after the heady Screamadelica days and lows of the Give Out but Don’t Give Up long player. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them but rather they were verging on something I wasn’t quite aligned to. I’d got rid the winkle pickers ( as had they) and most sounds in my head were electronic and made for dancing to through the night. The Scream seemed to be mutating into something like the behmoths I couldn’t take anymore – it had all gone a little too rock n roll.  

But how wrong I was.

Following ‘Give Out’ came a blistering set of long players and The Scream found that Stooges fright and scowl blended with motoric electonica that was always at the heart of what they did/ do. Tonight is no exception. It’s the greatest hits and they are the greatest. A two-bit indie rock band from Glasgow with all killer and no filler delivered a wonderful evening of music for the maximum capacity crowd rammed into The Scala on a Tuesday evening.

Opening with the gospel rock of ‘Movin’ On Up’ Gillespie resplendent in Flying Burrito Brothers meets Viet Cong black suit whips up the crowd to a frenzy and we are only one song in. This is a stripped back Scream this evening and possibly for the future. Innes – blue tonic suit, pork pie hat and Hawaiian themed shirt (perhaps he was going on holiday afterwards), Duffy tucked behind the keys (I can’t tell you what he was wearing – I couldn’t see him), Simone pwering away on bass and Darrin firmly sat behind the kit.

Tonight’s proceedings take in 1986 to the present. A full on 33 years. Gillespie still has that awkward charm of a man who knows he’s a rock and roll star but isn’t going to pander to the obvious. Tight lipped except a few acknowledgements and thanks and a heartfelt tribute to the very recent death of Jake Black from the Alabama 3. Gillespie lets you know how he feels through the songs.

Innes is in towering form with his guitar tonight and being up and close is a  pleasure. The last time I saw the Scream was at a festival and everyone was talking through ‘Damaged’. It wasn’t great. Tonight though they can see our eyes and we can see the whites of theirs. And it all makes for an hour and half of sonic mayhem and merriment.  Every tune is greeted with a cheer and there was always one part of the crowd bellowing out the words and boogying on down whether the tunes were coming from Sonic Flower Groove or Chaosmosis.

It was wonderful to see The Scream acknowledge some of the tunes that had brought me to their door so long ago. ‘Velocity Girl’ was aired tonight and it probably hasn’t been played since 1988. It was longer and there was a sense that Gillespie had done a Lou (Reed) on it with a change in inflection of the lyrics. But you know what. He wrote it  - he can sing it however he likes. We didn’t have a surprise visit from Martin St John. I think the ‘Confessions of a Primal Screamer’ but the stop to that. So there are no tambourines but Bobby did have maraccas. 

And Innes got the Rickenbacker out for a blistering ‘Imperial.’ Which for old men like me was a lovely addition.  I was gutted that we didn’t get ‘Ivy Ivy Ivy’ from the second album even though it had apparently been soundchecked in Brighton the day before – but hey ho the set list made up for it with sublime cuts from Vanishing Point (Kowalsi and Star) and Exterminator (Accelerator, Kill All Hippies and Swastika Eyes – with Innes in full siren effect)

Of course we got ‘Loaded’. And we had a party. We had a good time. With Gillespie holding his microphone aloft for the crowd to chant back at him as he grinned from ear to ear. I think the biggest surprise for me was seeing just how popular ‘Country Girl’ is for The Scream. It’s a sure fire crowd pleaser. I wasn’t too certain when Riot City Blues came out. I was in the camp that I thought they could do better with what they had but clearly that’s the reason why I never ran a record label nor fronted a successful band.  Bobby is in his element and the stripped down Scream give all their worth in a rock hoe down and the crowd sing along in unison to what seemingly is their ‘biggest’ hit. And I guess that’s what it’s all about. You don’t last 33 years if you don’t have the tunes that make the whole crowd sing. Tonight Primal Scream don’t even play half of the ones they have in the locker. This is a rock and roll band that can command a crowd.

When I think back to those early days of catching glimpses of Primal Scream on TV you can see that it’s all still there in Bobby G and his merry band of brothers and sisters. It’s charisma, self-belief and the ability to have a god time.

Primal Scream were good tonight.  

Actually Primal Scream were great tonight.

Primal Scream are a maximum rock and roll band.

I think I might love rock n roll again.