Supersuckers – Kings Arms November 16, 2017

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Well they didn’t suck. Nor were they exactly super.

Failing, for better or worse, to live up to either entertaining possibility installed in their name, the American self-proclaimed “greatest rock’n’roll band in the world” took a safe middle route with a borderline parodical set of solid fast-paced classic southern rock. And yes, the above quote is how they introduced themselves to the half-full King’s Arms on a Thursday night. But before going any further, I want to talk about the opening acts.

Walking into the venue, I was struck immediately with the strong and specific feeling of having walked into a scene from Dig!, the documentary on The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Auckland eight-piece Magic Factory were commanding every inch of the stage, most of it with bodies, sustaining steady garage-psych grooves while a wide-eyed tambourine player crouched unsteadily on the lip of the stage, drunkenly staring down the audience while shouting along to the lyrics. It was uncanny. The group’s music blended Brian Jonestown-esque psych with classic rock and blues tropes, both musically and lyrically, but their memorable stage presence made them the most entertaining act of the night, one I would have happily watched for longer, even if only to watch the tambourine player perform stage-jump after stage-jump onto a mostly empty floor.

Next up was another Auckland group, The Solomon Cole Band. They took a different approach to the obvious classic-rock theme of the night, backing the otherwise predictable screaming guitar solos with danceable post-punk beats. The result was entertaining, though the emphasis on blues-rock guitar virtuosity seemed out of place over much of the music, and they were sadly plagued by a muddy mix and crackling amplifiers. To their credit, this didn’t negatively affect their performance too much.

Supersuckers took to the stage shortly before 10:30, wasting no time in launching into their fast-paced brand of dirt-road rock. The headlining three-piece played together with effortless solidity, something the opening acts were missing. After all, they’ve had the practice – the first incarnation of the group formed in 1988, though lead singer and bassist Eddie Spaghetti is the only original member remaining. As the vocalist told the crowd, with just a hint of bitterness, “we’ve been doing this for a fucking long time, and this is all we get”, referring to the size of the venue and the number of people. But he made sure to thank everybody for coming along, calling them “people of impeccable taste”.

The kind of one-sided rock-or-nothing attitude implied by that comment was evident in their music as well, for better or worse. The group played with stubborn dedication to their well-established sound, so much so that their refusal to deviate from the same old building blocks of their Motorhead-channeling rock’n’roll (growled indecipherable vocals, breakneck drumbeats, distorted bluesy guitars and endless shredding) was their weakness.

However, within the parameters of that specific sound, they played the part to perfection, a part well recognised and well rehearsed. Each song was recognisable by its musical classic-rock references, cutting chord progressions and riffs out of a lineage of similarly stylised groups, climaxing with the inevitable front-of-the-stage shredding from guitarist “Metal” Marty Chandler, and finishing with the rehearsed guitar-in-the-air pose. If they’re a parody they’re unbelievable actors. If not, they’re a solid band at least.

For people who had bought tickets for such a specific style of music, I expected the crowd to be more enthusiastic than they were. While a few dancing gig-goers buzzed with energy down the front, the majority hung back statically, only hesitantly acknowledging the guitarist’s gestures to come forward.

Supersuckers are openly and proudly a one-trick pony, so of course the enjoyment of their live set rests very much on your stomach for classic bar-rock, but for those who came to see just that, I can’t think of a band more devoted to their sound and complete performance package. Their stylistic boundaries are self-imposed, and within them they delivered absolutely. It’s nothing new and it’s nothing special, but it’s rock’n’roll.

Ruben Mita.

Click on any image to view a photo gallery by Ivan Karczewski:

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