IF you want to know how a British band is really doing in the States, check out who else is playing the venue they're chuffed to pieces about selling out. And a quick glance at the Electric Factory's forthcoming "attractions" tells its own story: Rollins Band, Dio and, one week today, the might Motley Crue. You sure aint in Camden no more, boy.
According, half the crowd also hails from the American ROCK! heartland. Sure, the usual Anglophile casualties are here in their Chelsea shirts and Reni hats. So are the massed ranks of squealing cheerleader-types for whom Damon has worldwide appeal. But there are also huge roving packs of alternative rock types, wearing baseball caps and constantly hollering "Wooooh hooooh" : the only words they know to the only Blur song they know. So far.
This audience split ensures faintly surreal scenes in the moshpit. Whenever Blur play something from their new album, the Anglophones sneer "sell out" while the others crowdsurf. Conversely, when they launch into a pre- "blur" classic, the former go Britpop bananas while the latter stand around looking pierced and puzzled.
To interloping British ears, however, it all sounds rather magnificent. While occasionally troubled by more feedback onstage than even Graham Coxon would actually want, Blur adopt the sensible policy of trying to get both sections of the crowd to meet halfway. Consequently, the formerly Elastica-esque "Stereotypes" is re-invented asw a straight-ahead rawk number, while a sweet-and-simple version of "Country Sad Ballad Man" irons out most of the awkward sonic wrinkles of the recorded version. A brand new song "Swallows In A Heatwave" contrives to sounds like Parklife-era Blur, with added weird bits, while a very old song, She's So High, sounds like....well, Oasis actually.
And , when in doubt, Blur simply take their liveliest, most punk rock tunes (Jubilee, Popscene, Bank Holiday) and rock the living shit out of em. And it's great. No, really. And so, by the time the encore, Song 2, arrives in all its grunge friendly MTV-munching, continent-conquering glory, the crowd have forgotten their differences and sort of merged into one huge, hyperactive, Wooooooh hooooooh-ing whole, their asses surely kicked, their wolds undoubtedly rocked. And Blur are looking nothing short of triumphant.
Motley Crue? By this time next week, it's unlikely America will be able to spot
the difference.
MARK SUTHERLAND