Supergroups can be, by their very nature, bloated affairs, the
collective nature of the band blown apart by ego and vanity trips.
Yet in their short career so far there's been enough evidence that
Them Crooked Vultures may have some longevity.
The stellar line up of Josh Homme, John Paul Jones and Dave Grohl
first appeared in the summer, making surprise festival appearances and
supporting Arctic Monkeys in Birmingham. From the outset, it was
clear that was something special about this trio.
It's all about chemistry. It doesn't take a rocket
scientist to work out that mixing the drummer from Nirvana, the bass
player from Led Zeppelin and the man who is, to all intents and
purposes, Queens Of The Stone Age is going to result in a noise that
all rock fans can admire.
If the resultant album fell short of expectaction (and, let's be
honest it did - it was too long and prone to bouts of
that Achilles heel of supergroups, self-indulgence), it's live that Them Crooked Vultures really make
sense. After all, part of the thrill is being in the same room as
three of the most influential musicians of their generations and
watching them interact with each other.
And it's clear that Homme, Jones and Grohl are having the time of
their lives on stage. Every so often, Grohl can be seen beaming over
his drumkit at Homme, who in turn squares up to Jones, Homme obviously
thrilled to bits at having the opportunity to jam with one of his
heroes.
The music is very QOTSA, but with a much needed
lightness of touch provided by Jones. The woozy desert rock of opening
track No One Loves Me (And Neither Do I) is delivered with an
invigorating, exhilarating rush, and following it with the grinding
Dead End Friends means that the steam is already rising from the
mosh-pit within the first few minutes.
Crowd interaction is kept to a minimum (consisting mainly of
Homme saying "y'all having a good time, Birmingham?") but nobody's
expecting wisecracks here. It's all about the juggernaut riffs of
Elephant or watching Dave Grohl forget about the MOR rock of Foo
Fighters and get back to what he does best; it's been easy to
forget over the last few years that Grohl is one of the finest
drummers out there.
At times there's some self-indulgent noodling
going on - Interlude To Ludes could easily be cut, and surely
only a figure as legendary as John Paul Jones can get away with two
bass solos and an extended piano coda at the end of Spinning With
Daffodils? Yet, at their best, as on the mighty double whammy of New
Fang and Gunman, TCV sound like no other rock band on earth.
There's also something pleasingly old-school about the whole
venture. After the awe-inspiring jam which ends Warsaw, there's no
encore and the houselights go up to the incongrous sound of Roy
Orbison. Judging by the faces of the crowd streaming out of the
Birmingham Academy, nobody wants these three to go back to their day jobs just yet.
ALBUM:
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