The first time I fully appreciated Attack of the Ghost Riders was at the IO club, deep in the sunny dungeons of Miami, with Patrick Lunn and burrito numero uno Mac. I moved to Australia and sank straight into BMK's copy of Chain Gang of Love. We would take out Mac's Deceptacon and drive with this feedback dripping masterpiece resounding through the unparalelled sunlight. Being a wanton disciple of The Jesus & Mary Chain, its the wall of noise guitar F/X that appeals the most; the early sixties rock chic only materializing after I've waded through the buckets of fuzz.
It's a disappointment then, when the third album is a crystal clear, quiet affair. I don't criticise anyone for trying something different. But then when BMK retports a buttoned down, mainly calm show in London, fatih starts to ebb. Thank fuck the first few minutes of this gig consist of nothing more than F/X drone. Initial fears asuaged? Oh yeahh.
First up, there's only four members, as opposed to the hazy five or six BMK recalls. Second, there's as much first two albums as there is new one. Moreover, the Pretty in Black tunes are roasted in an overload of racket. Was it all a grossly missed opportunity? If they are indeed the new Jesus & Mary Chain, then PiB would be their Darklands, but to follow down that path would heinously ignore there dazzling optimism. Young padowan Leon, 'Aximus Maximus' during his days off, marvels that they can get even more feedback than him. He also big ups their drum sound. Although I'd propose it's all entirely ripped off the JaMC's's Just Like Honey * (no bad thing, since you're asking). Attack of the Ghost Riders is there big dance number. Odd but bloody welcomed with its nihlist drone chorus.
Despite it being late in the evening there still a good waft of warm air hanging about. It's the first time in Aus for the Raveo's and Ms Foo comments on that when asked to smile earlier today, she confessed to not knowing how anyone can think in this heat. And they have just a bit of a baked edge; hard as that is to define. A slight lazy touch. Good thing they're not playing in a mid-summer Darwin. Up there it gets so hot all you can do is sit around and say "yes, its fucking hot'. I was feeling ugly crook myself, although I think the effects of the medication have done more damage than the initial symptoms, but I'm doing better already. Maybe its the blistered romanticism of Remember or New York Was Great, which ironically would also be reminding of that holiday in Miami.
The DJ plays out with some rollicking Nuggets style tuneage with the button marked "excess" firmly held down. It blends perfectly with these Danes' Pretty-pink-stampy-thing ethos. "You won't be able to get their tunes out of your head for weeks", a pleasent young gentleman informs a couple of days later. Yay verily, it's infuriating. And just remembering the wall of noise that is Attack Ghost Riders: it goes duuhuuuhhuhhuhuhuhh duuhuhuhuhuhu....
As experienced by Theodore Zyclonski
* There's a pretty high JaMC word count I know; but the comparrisons seem pretty bloody obvious. The classic early rock influences, the oceans of feedback; but whatever the Raveonettes can do to make the world took notice, either purposely or accdentally, of one the greatest bands that ever fucked it is respect overdue.
outpatients.