Thing of the Day
RUDE MECHANICALS? MISS ROBERTS? METAL RABBITS?
January 30th 2011
Miss Roberts, Metal Rabbit,
what? Who are Rude
Mechanicals? It is a question we’ve addressed many times
before around these Organic parts, it isn’t a question that can be
addressed too many times though, as each time it is the voices in your
head will come up with a different answer.
The Rude Mechanicals will be celebrating the Chinese New Year of the Metal Rabbit with a musical theatrical whirl of punk, poetry, film and anarchy. It all happens at The Victoria in Dalston, East London, on Thursday 3rd Feb. The event also features Anarchistwood and Susie Showers.
A small selection of The
Organ's previous Rude Mechanical coverage:
26th JAN '10: RUDE MECHANICALS – The Cyclops And The Wildebeast (Ex
Gratia) - Is there anybody there? Terms and conditions apply.... Stitch
me the perfect child, bodies found and left out in the cold, stolen
brains of a rich man... Who knows what goes on in the mind of Miss
Roberts – for it is her once more, Miss Roberts and her Rude Mechanical
symbiotic slaves (or something like that - less body fluids this time,
something far more sinister sounding). Rude Mechanicals
really don’t fit anywhere, musically or lyrically they really are
rather different – dangerously different, lot of people claim lots of
bands are different, Rude mechanicals really are.
Rude Mechanicals are things living in lofts, things behind twitching curtains, they’re automatic priests and such, is there anybody there? There’s a man on the train, eating on the train... Do I need a cup of tea? Some large red fake eyelashes? That smell again? She killed him... For the pleasure, because she needed something to do so...? Are our organs compatible? Can someone please check? We are here today gathered together under this beautiful sky... actually the sky is rather grey and cold today and they’re a band so terribly ignored, London’s best kept secret (and I almost had to bully this new album out of them a week before official release, like some kind on sin eater with indigestion). Tasting the sin, do you love it or hate it? Does it taste of gin.... if Rude Mechanicals were a drink it would be gin, gin from a cracked yellow teapot of an afternoon, while Derek was out and birds were playing in gutters and... They’re a very strange band, you’ll either love them instantly or just look at those who do with a fresh air of suspicion - you like this, what goes on in your head? Do I really want to share my space with someone who likes music like this? Born in a Wednesday, full of grace or woe? And this time around they’re even tougher to pin down than last time... Is there anybody here called Wolfgang? A myriad of lamps? You want to possess me? Well only if you’re sure, I don’t want to start a quandary... Guess who I saw the other day, bloody Greta Garbo, looking a little worse for wear, there was fish in her hair... something something something, oh I know... So we almost had to bully this out of them in time to play it on the radio before the actually release, so we could write some words the week before it comes out... Rude Mechanicals are such a well kept secret, like him in the attic, a treasure, and the bodies and the gin in the teapot and the appetite for human flesh (and candyfloss). Rudimentary lungs inflating, we shall fight them on the beaches, armed with Winston Churchill speeches.... Porn films for the deprived? The depraved? What happens to the sin eater once he’s eaten all your sin? Is it time for a new paragraph now?
Does sin taste of gin? Does it
taste better overnight? Rude Mechanicals really don’t sound like anyone
else, they don’t sound like English tea party Zappa fronted by powdered
wig Thatcher, or the sky cracked open or strange afternoon dances or
waltzing around lounge jazz or William D Drake playing disco
music or some kind of off-hinge performance art with big red
dress and even redder shoes and strange violin players called Lynda
Beast or keyboard bits from very English horror movies or ashes to
ashes, dust to dust, and what about those mobiles? It ain’t half cold
in here, there’s a bird in the gutter, and what about the people you
see on train journeys and visits to the seaside and fish and chip
eating monsters and more tea vicar... Strange lounge dancing and
English tea parties and cucumber sandwiches and there really is nothing
quite like Rude Mechanicals – they’re a delight, a very strange
delight, a very very strange delight, I do so love these Rude
Mechanicals, strange is good when strange sounds like this... Dare you
to go see..? www.rudemechanicals.org.uk
Rude mechanicals live: London, 10th Sept 2008
RUDE MECHANICALS – Inn On The Green, Ladbroke Grove,
There were no red trucks in Ladbroke Grove and nothing was wished on, we missed the Portobello film festival bit of the night but there were Punkvert film-bites running through most of the evening and well where do we start with this tale? There was already some kind of vibe at 8.30pm, and well before the first band things were feeling good, something happening here. Now I need to urgently get tonight out on (virtual) paper and try and explain at least some of it before the details – need to explain why I found myself out front on the phone telling others they needed to get down here mid way through. We’re at a Punkvert/Subterfuge night called A Fete Worse Than Death that’s part of the Portobello Film Festival and also something called an Ex-Gratia Recordings launch party night – I think that’s what we were at.
We’re under the Westway anyway, Clash-land, West London and just along from the Earl Percy where that wanted a riot of their own back there. There’s always different feel under the Westway in Ladbroke Grove, this is Hawkwind/Killing Joke territory, that whiff of head-punk counter-culture still hangs in the air and half the people in here look like they were either Clash roadies or groupies back in ’79 – we are not in Hoxton and this certainly isn’t Camden.... There’s healthy dub and the sounds of Sly and The Family, James Brown and Public Enemy spinning while we wait for the first band, and did we get a bit of the Battle of Britain soundtrack, the bit that sounds like Stench Of Honey? We certainly got the classical strains of Holst and Mars over the PA and who is this man dancing around chaotically ballet-like is an orange boiler suit? Is he some official part of the night or just a passer by “enthusiastically” joining in? What’s he shouting about? Mars? Bringer of War? - “Can we please have a f**king band on stage” he eventually yells and goes and straps on a guitar and starts ranting about Auntie Mary having a cannery before the rhythm section shuts him up and ANARCHISTWOOD quite literally kick off. Four of them, two orange boiler suits, drummer in white vest and pint sized short-cut blond-haired ball of energy in jeans and basque in control of it all – “we’re a punk rock band” she declares as they launch in to a song called Stumpf**ker and a rant about Tipper Gore while the girl in the box dances around the audience - oh yes, the girl in the “feel-me” box - I think that’s what she called it - she’s wearing it around her top half, long legs and high heels, the box is painted silver, two holes cut in the front, you can guess the rest. Anarchistwood are ripping through some rather fractured, rather messy new wave proto-punk rock, they abort half way through a number of songs, they have one about Snorting Whisky that wasn’t the Pat Travers song (unless they really prank-rocked it up while they drank cocaine). They sing about Rivers of Shit (I think that’s what they were singing about) while animated films of pigs and sheep in sunglasses go past, and tales of caution and seeing things in another light. Singer girl – she maybe called Sistah Kist – certainly had an energetic limit-pushing personality, born to shout at the front of a punk band, and when she wants to, she really can sing. The band thrash on here, bite and turn there and hey twisted mister you’re a total wreck and agents of thee great cosmic joker and proud of it. She’s good, they’re good, they’ve got this raged art-punk thing going down, they’re messy, they walk a musical tightrope and you’re never sure if they’ll make to the end, they’ve got a bit of Crass, some Patti Smith a touch of Butthole Surfers and some kind of hint of situationist chaos and a gloriously good punk rock mess...
So this is it then, the stories on other people’s shoes, RUDE MECHANICALS have to be seen, no they really do have to be seen - they all look so intriguingly good, they demand your full attention, your fascination. Lynda Beast is with them tonight, mostly with her violin, sometimes a trumpet kind of thing, long olive green dress, bow between her legs, how was she playing it just then?. Kitty Kat is over there with blue hair and red heels (that somehow later on end up on the dance floor and have to be handed back) behind her keyboard and her oboe, Guy Avern weaving in the middle of it all and mostly driving the bass. Dapper man called Cos would be centre of attention in most bands with his refined guitar, there’s so many centres of attention here though – both visually and musically. Tommy G is at the back with his colourful jazz-stroked drums gluing it all together – there’s some seriously good musicians up there and it all seems to flow so so easily, so effortlessly when it should be so uncomfortably awkward. How to explain it? How! In an ordered alphabetical way while alien mice take over the tube lines, or feeding Derek lots of pies and then there’s the escalators that are to be considered nothing more than stair impersonators.
And there in the middle, looking radiant in her long red dress and big white hair and in finger-pointing control of everything is Miss Roberts. Telling us how to dance in such a charmingly refreshing (and wonderfully plummy) way – and we can’t help but respond to her elegant demands that really do manifest in to your deepest reality while her band of symbiotic slaves decorate the walls of your insides with their questions concerning time and the invention of the calendar and a later a Rotten Tango. Order up some Champaign and drink the golden outrageousness of it all, the twitching behind curtains and the life in carrier bags and looking though letter boxes. Oh it makes such bizarrely good sense and all the thoughts on video taken from inside of your head and strange noir and the sweet sweet smell of back bar-room art rock and strange other-jazz - and the smiling encroachment of my dancing neighbours for the frantic finale of Disco Dancer where they take on funk in a deliciously eccentrically English way and teach us all the routine. We’ve been though all kinds of genuinely avante across-the-line jumping with art rock and performance cabaret jazz and new-wave no-wave bites of blues and Zappa and Beefheart and before the disco there was another routine – oh yes, 1-2-3 hoorah!!! Most seem to already know that was required, there’s a cult following and a genuine word of mouth thing going on, Miss Roberts has clearly instructed them before – all seriously hard boiled art rock performance and all such fascinating fun and we were expecting good on the strength of the Glass Eye album, really wasn’t expecting it this good though. Yes, such fun and watching you from the other side... oh yes, love the existential angst and it doesn’t have to be that way for Miss Roberts will take control. Rude Mechanicals are wonderfully good They leave the stage to wild applauds and the sound of the Dead Kennedys and then, after some more inspired choices from the spot-on DJ, all kinds of ranting and filthy spoken word and audience-baiting performance and removal of clothes from a man called Handsum Pete - some writhing semi-naked boy-nuns and guitars and you really had to be there, following Rude Machanicals was tough Hansum Pete and his friends took it a whole different naked way ..
Rude Mechanicals: www.myspace.com/flyingcaberet or www.rudemechanicals.org.uk
A postscript from Funkcutter because Zoe deserves a proper name check: “It was wonderful and top totty! we had a last minute addition of our beautiful silver cake box girl Zoe Snelgrove - yum yum - and of course the fabulous DJ Mr Johnny southside + KodeK VJ filling in the large holes between live bands and all hail Handsum Pete, he surely is the worm of christ...”