1977 Returning
Davey Crockett is not a happy man. About as happy as Alan McGee's and Alex Ferguson's bastard offspring on father's day, he's spitting fire. No-one, it seems, is safe. Steven Dalton, he promises, will be killed. The editor of Melody Maker will be raped. David Gray will be shot. Even his biggest fans are getting on his tits and will be dealt with in a violent and, erm, quick-fire manner. Only Daphne and Celeste, with whom they apparently plan to record a hip-hop track, escape his wrath. And this is only the ninth gig of a twenty six date slog across the country. What we need, he concludes, is a Third World War. Hence his new single, the deceptively caustic '1939 Returning' (released in the middle of October), and its accompanying publicity campaign that saw the slogan spray-painted on half the walls of London, something for which they were happy to let Islamic Fundamentalists take the blame. Perhaps not the cleverest marketing campaign of recent times, but certainly one of the most fun.
As their performance at the Zodiac last Tuesday proved, this is the essence of the Crocketts, making up in big guitars and pure energy (or rather impure ecstasy) what they lack in brains. In other words, they're about the closest thing we've got to a proper rock band right now. You'd have hardly thought they were playing to about a dozen people in a glorified village hall when they took to the stage: Davey, assuming a Bowie-esque persona of 'the Host' attempting to crowdsurf the non-existent mosh pit, attacking anyone who dared go near. Bassist Richard Turpin, wearing a pure white nightie, doing all the rock'n'roll posturing and providing the set's highlight with his cabaret version of Crazy Little Thing Called Love. Sultry guitarist Dan Boone looking and playing like Bernard Butler when he still had the world at his feet. And a totally anonymous drummer. All that was missing from the stage was a model of Stonehenge.
They may not be the greatest band around, then, but they're certainly one of the most fun. And this, it seems, is exactly how they like it. Just check out lyrics such as "Just because you blow me it don't mean you fuckin' own me", and titles such as 'Don't Curse In Front of my Kids'. They're certainly in a minority in bringing the ghost of Half Man Half Biscuit to the pages of Kerrang!.
Also unusually, especially for a band with so much hate, there's no grand plan, no real politics, no claims to be the greatest. They just want to get by, to keep getting better while achieving enough success to avoid the perils of the major-label guillotine and to afford to go out on smaller tours and thus play more consistently storming shows. Oh, and they want their porn back.
They'll tour with anyone, as long as the money's right and the headline act's not past it (they've turned down The Levellers and Terrorvision on that count) or David Gray, on the basis that they believe they're good enough to convert any audience. And, live at least, they probably are.
So far, the records have been something of a different story, somewhat wimpier, more Britpop. Once they've established a firm base, something increasing sales, media coverage and even award nominations suggest will not be far away, however, they pledge their recorded sound will correspond more closely to the live experience. They already proudly boast of a new Bryan Adams influenced direction.
By the time they come to record the next album in March, the need for DIY publicity could well be gone. The duets with Daphne and Celeste and catfights with Slipknot may be erased from memory. They'll inevitably become the sort of people Davey Crockett hates so much, in it for the money not just in it to be funny. As long as they don't become the Stereophonics, however, right now it seems everyone's just having too much fun to care.
5th Oct 2000