The Clean have not played in New Zealand, let alone Wellington, for five years, which really isn't a long time considering they formed in 1981 and are cited as one of the influential bands of America's 90s indie rock scene (both Pavement and Yo LaTengo have credited The Clean as a source of inspiration). So on Friday, 16 March 2007, I walked the 2.5kms from The Terrace to the top of Cuba St. and shelled out $33 ($31 plus a $2 Ticketmaster levy) for a ticket; a price I decided extremely reasonable considering the history and stature of the band in question, not to mention the fact that the price was for two bands: The Clean, and opening act Luke Buddha (of Phoenix Foundation), both bands that could easily fetch the ticket price as solo performers. I felt like I was getting a bargain. I went back to the office and commenced to boast about my recent purchase. The reactions to my story surprised me.
Nine out of ten people I spoke to had either never heard of The Clean or never heard their music. How was it, I wondered, that I, a boy from Kansas, had picked up their music while still in high school, but 90% of the Kiwis I spoke to had a vague notion of their very existence? (However, by a similar rationale, how many IT geeks in Wichita will have heard of Yo La Tengo?) My cynicism subsided, though, when I reached the doors of Cuba St.'s San Fransisco Bathhouse and saw the crowds mulling around, scowling at the signs with black letters that read "SOLD OUT." It was one of those rare shows where the venue fills up moments after the doors open; where people stake out their spot at the front of the stage, neither drinking nor peeing for fear of losing their patch of prime concert real estate.
Around 9:30, Luke Buddha was on stage. Playing with a few members of The Phoenix foundation, Buddha plays what I can only describe as prog folk. With long sequences that last whole minutes, Buddha's sound is both comfortable and danceable. The members of the crowd churning before the stage seemed just a appropriate as those sitting on the couch in the back tipping back pints of Tui. Altogether a very fitting intro for The Clean.
After Buddha and band left, I made my way a bit closer to the stage. We were left without music for only about 15 minutes, for very soon after the opening act was gone, Hamish and David Kilgour were present, setting up and sound-testing their instruments. And only a few minutes later, Hamish introduced the band with a quick, "Hello, we're the The Clean," like he must have done so many times for so many years in small, musty Dunedin pubs.
From the first downbeat of the first set, the pervading emotion of the gig was one of nostalgia. Listening to them kick out quintessential post-punk riffs like those in Anything Can Happen must have evoked vivid memories of student life in New Zealand's lower South Island. Watching the crowd, I saw, at the beginning of each song, at least one person raise his or her hands into the air and then rest them back on their heads as if the memory the song conjured was momentarily in control. This, after all, was one of the bands that defined the infamous "Dunedin Sound" and helped send Flying Nun into cruising altitude (I say "infamous" Dunedin Sound because of a conversation I had with Dunedin's Pete Gorman , punk rocker and film maker, who dutifully pointed out that over half the bands categorised as "Dunedin Sound" weren't even from Dunedin. Simple misnomer or lazy labelling? That is, perhaps, topic for another post.).
Yet there was nothing "old" about The Clean's music or their performance. Quite the contrary. During some numbers, if one were to look the other way--away from the band, that is--and had never heard their songs or were aware of their influence (which is to say, everyone in my office), then one may easily remark on how The Clean sound a little like a blend between Mars Volta and Baby Champs. They have a place-able, but relatively timeless musicality. Add to that the band's calm, self-deprecating humour (after their first set, to assure the crowd they would, indeed, play an encore, Hamish leaned into the microphone and huffed, "Look, we've got more songs there, on the list thing, you can see that. we're just going to have a wee stretch. No need to shout. We'll be back.") and tongue-in-cheek psychedelic light show (David: "See what $30 can get you at The Warehouse?"), and you have a show that not only sounds amazing, but is also a joy to be a part of.
But all this sounds like it was a show for ageing hipsters. It was anything but. In fact, there as so much dancing, so much movement all around me, I felt out of place when I stood still. About the only anomaly was the balding, short ginger next to me who kept grabbing kids by the arm and shouting, "would you settle down!" But he got his when he grabbed the arm of a very butch girl who turned around, shook her finger in his face, and shouted something I could not hear. The best part is that she took his drink. All while The Clean purged the air with layers and layers of continuous, guitar-laden goodness.
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