Relaxed Muscle - London Trash @ The End - 20/10/03
4/5
By: Toby L
Humour and trendiness always seemed a galaxy apart; the notion of London's oft fickle fashion-crowd sniggering or exchanging sardonic, informed banter - or anything above the prospect of innocuous snide-y rasps - has been a tough vision to behold. 'Til now, at least.
For Jarvis Cocker's latest musical-foray is tinged with the same, loveable avant-garde genius that marked his previous Pulp. Dressed in ludicrous, X-ray clothing, possessive of a vocoder-mic that prevents his true speaking-voice to unveil itself (as if we didn't already know who it was, anyhow), and a face splattered with luminous make-up, Cocker is in alter-ego 'Darren Spooner' mode this evening - the head-henchman of Relaxed Muscle.
Backed by ex-Longpigs strummer Richard Hawley and further add-on muso-counterparts, this is the second performance of RM's still-burgeoning career, as taking place in the infamous, weekly Trash club - a night where blonde hair is nigh-on a crime. A slew of favourable, if confused, write-ups and giddy hype aside, and the produce of our 'Muscle is actually rather appealing - nuggets of stomping, vibrant pop-blasts and camp theatrics. Let alone a whole plundering of not-so-engrossing one-liners (after a bout of star-jumps, Spooner proclaims, out-of-breath, that a recent piss-up in a chip-shop led to him becoming 'battered').
The show's opening is the main highlight - a room-full of screams greeting the Adam & The Ants charging thud of 'Muscle Music' as if it were a classic, rock-dance floor-filler, whilst the loudest moment of the night is the hammering noise of a sumptuously ragged 'Tuff It Out'. And, after ripping off The Stone Roses, Primal Scream and Rolling Stones in the vein of all-out, guitar-growling ferocity - let alone Fischerspooner in the way of tinny electronica - the culmination of a frantic forty minutes is the acoustic-guitar driven 'Mary' - an ode of the perils and complications of drugs and marriage-troubles, naturally. The crowd roars once more, and Cocker - headband intact - exits the stage, minded by several beefy security-men, before being led out of a venue side-door.
It's been a sensation - Cocker perhaps living out his mid-life crisis in an all-too public, yet endearing, context. Whatever - proving his worth after all these years seems no longer a prerogative. No matter what he lends his name to, his Midas-like touch seemingly always provides our Jarvis with a case of musical-gold. Despite the dodgy attire.
Artists in this article: Relaxed Muscle
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