THE sonics, THE horrors

London’s 60s aristocracy were out for one reason only: Washington state’s finest Sonics. As a moment in history the night was hard to beat. For those that care about such things, this was like last year’s Led Zep reunion gig. The Sonics had their moment in the mid 60s. They played a lot of gigs on the local circuit in the pacific northwest of the States (they never played further east than Cleveland), they knocked out a couple of albums and that was that. Unlike most of their contemporaries, who languish in utter obscurity, dragged out of oblivion to appear on Teenage Shutdown vol. 13 and the like, the Sonics have been remembered. Even if you don’t like them, you can’t deny the sheer brutal force of their sound. So, as the announcer urged us to jump around, get down and general party like it was 1967, the anticipation couldn’t have been higher. Apparently they played a couple of gigs in 1972, a couple more in New York last year and after much persuading (and presumably a large injection of cash) they were tempted across to play two shows at London’s annual 60s weekender. They started with ‘He’s Waitin’ and it was hard not to be disappointed. The guitar sound was as raw as ever (in fact the guitar being played was the very one that terrorised their two classic albums), singer and songwriter Gerry Roslie could still howl and scream (although he is clearly a very ill man), but the sound was flat and lifeless. Of course, idiot child, it’s not 1965 anymore and you are not in sweaty basement with a hundred other over-hormoned teenagers. You’re 34, the venue is big and they thought they’d finished with this nonsense forty years ago. So with expectations recalibrated, it became nothing more and nothing less than what it was: a celebration of a great moment in rocknroll. Their treatment of ‘Money (That’s What I Want)’, a version that surely tops the original, again sounded a bit plodding, but by ‘Boss Hoss’ and ‘Have Love Will Travel’ their was a certain spit and venom returning. Their most famous song ‘Strychnine’, a mutant rocknroll stomp, more Cramps than the Cramps ever managed, sounded fabulous, with an extended guitar solo from amp-torturer Larry Parypa. Some of their more obscure material fell flat, but keeping the classics coming (‘Shot down’, ‘The Witch’ etc) kept the feet moving. Stand-in bassist shared singing duties and did what a bassist should. The new drummer was all wrong. The songs came out too slow and his classic rock style fell far short of the frenzy of pugilism that was required. They recorded the drums for their first album with one mic. Guts, not tidy technique, was what was needed. Still they finished their set with ‘Psycho’, surely one of the most perfect bruiser rocknroll songs ever written. Roslie forgot the words, everyone lost their way, but no one cared. They only had one song left for the encore, their savage version of Louie Louie. That guitar riff, as simple and effective as anything ever written, chewed up and spat out by the Sonics, book-ended the song. A perfect closer. It wasn’t an all time classic. There was too little of the frenzy they captured on record for any real thrills. Nor was it a revival – there are no new songs on the way and Gerry Roslie did look very unwell. But as one great moment, celebrating another great moment, it was a lot of fun. Sonics pic from www.dirtywaterclub.com