Adrian Cooper has been unwell

Old reviews that are no longer available online, or from sites that no longer exist. The pen is dead, long live the camera.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Royal Trux
Fleece & Firkin, Bristol

In the true tradition of rock’n’roll, the old legends are never lost, but continue to reverberate around us, tempting us with mythology, until they later re-emerge, embodied in deep within the genealogy of Royal Trux. From Stones swagger to Stooges nihilism, New York Dolls sleaze to Beefheart blues, it’s all there in the purest form possible in a band so true to the spirit that they sold their soul to the man, only to have it given back when the man found that he didn’t understand it.

It’s there in the way Jennifer hangs off the mike stand, equal parts Janis Joplin, Nico and Joey Ramone, scowling through her sunglasses, the music coursing through her, lost to the occasion as Neil slouches to one side, slung over his guitar, content to allow the spectacle to carry on around him. In the way that ‘Waterpark’ bristles with braggadocio, that ‘Run, Shaker Life’ sticks barbs into the recognised notions of Americana and ‘Blue Is The Frequency’ is intent on driving itself further onward, until only the moment is allowed to exist and everything else is eclipsed by the relentless driving hooks.

Every last low-down look, every scuzzed-out note may have been seen and heard before, but rarely to such devastating effect, and only Royal Trux are capable of sounding so potent and volatile that it is as if the past, present and future of rock’n’roll have merged together in a determined effort to put on the greatest show of all time.