Drug freak nutters Hawkwind have been cruelly misrepresented for years as hippy-drippy prog-rock bollocks. If the fact that they were actually named after saxophonist Nik Turner's coughing and farting habits doesn't blow their cover, then try this snatch of lyric from 1973's greasily groovy 'Urban Guerilla' single: 'So lets not talk of love and flowers and things that don't explode/We used up all our magic powers trying to do it in the road.' This well-aimed kiss-off to the flabby thinking of the post-'Sgt Pepper' Beatles generation got their follow-up to massive hit 'Silver Machine' banned by the BBC because of sensitivity around the IRAs bombing campaigns. Which conveniently sums up the constant, tragicomic chaos surrounding Notting Hill's quintessential counter-culture rock band.
Admittedly, this compilation goes steadily more pear-shaped from the moment in 1975 when future Motorhead leader Lemmy was fired ostensibly for preferring speed to acid. But the opening seven tracks demonstrate exactly how The 'Wind (ahem) provided the bridge between Brit psychedelia and Brit punk. Essentially rough-arsed twelve-bar boogies coated with daft synth effects, cosmic apocalypse lyrics, and an ever-present penchant for violent revolution, they represent perfectly the gloriously bikered-up intellectual dumbness that led them to feature sci-fi guru Michael Moorcock and an enormous-breasted dancing girl called Stacia when they played live. For those who already know all this, a triple-CD '30 Year Anthology' is also available. For those who don't, grab this little slice of pharmaceutically inspired cultural history. They were one of Johnny Rotten's favourite bands, you know.
Epoch Eclipse * * * * *
The 30th anniversary compilation as either a double CD or three-CD boxed set. HAWKWIND made a big bad nasty sound in the early seventies, and despite their reputation as wispy-hippy progressive dilettantes, managed to record some of the most compelling rock'n'roll of the decade. Fronted variously by Dave Brock, Nik Turner, Bob Calvert and Lemmy, tracks like "Master of the Universe", "Brainstorm", and "Brainbox Pollution" were three chord masterpieces unashamedly tackling the business of "simulating the acid experience".
Hawkwind cited the Velvets' "Sister Ray" and Michael Moorcock as influences, and this boxed set finally achieves what a hundred previous compilations have failed to do. It samples every era of the band from 1970's "Hurry on Sundown" to the astonishing 1999 KLF remix of "Silver Machine" which, one hopes, will finally re-establish the credentials of the only truly space rock band.
The auditorium itself is so full of herbal fumes you can barely make out the no smoking signs, hee hee...Anyhow, onto the review:
Hawkwind emerge in party mood. Having waited 25 years to gain acknowledgement as the gnarled overlords of Brit-psych, there seems to be little point in spoiling things now. The punk- acid blues begin. Hours pass.
It becomes clear that not only were Hawkwind building sonic temples when Ian Astbury was busying himself with sandcastles, but that everyone from Mogwai to Jason Pierce (Spiritualized) to The Music owes these pan-generational wastrels a favour, whether they admit it or not.
"See ya in another 25 years," growls Dave Brock at the close of a murderous final 'Hashish'. The psych wars will rumble on, but tonight the Hawks won out.
Three or four brandies later, Hawkwind take the stage. A soupçon of amphetamine from a passing hippie enabled your loyal correspondent to remain vertical and pay strict attention This is what you might call the new model Hawkwind, and one that I've never seen before. Lemmy has of course gone and been replaced by ex-Pink Fairy PauI Rudolph. Bob Calvert has returned to take up the vocal chores and play trumpet along with Nik Turner's tenor on what I guess must be their new single,"Kerb Crawler."
There's no doubt the new model is a good deal more sophisticated than any of the previous combinations. One of the band's major advantages was always its unstoppable rhythm unit. Now with drummers Simon King and Alan Powell, plus Paul Rudolph on bass, it is, to use a well worked cliche, shit hot.
The top line is still shaking, however. Keyboard man / violinist Simon House has done a lot to replace the original Hawkwind clank-honk-tweet with slightly more advanced melody lines, but the content above the rhythm is still a fairly limited blur. One of the high spots of the set comes when House takes over the bass, and Rudolph actually plays some guitar. There have been times when I've heard PauI Rudolph stretch out and demonstrate, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is one of the best guitar players in the Hendrix tradition that we have around today. Unfortunately that's when he stretches out. He's one of those individuals who, for most of the time, would rather stay in among the boys than strut his stuff as a guitar king.
Visually Hawkwind are still the mutations you know and love. World War I aviator goggles seem to be the order of the day. Turner wears them with a Long John Silver tricorn hat and Dave Brock with the debonair grace of the first man to swim the Atlantic. Bob Calvert, however, must take the prize. In black leather jodhpurs, riding boots, headscarf and flying helmet, he comes on as a cross between Biggles and Lawrence of Arabia, with definite S&M undertones.
"Where have you been for the last three years?" shouted someone from the audience when members of Hawkwind took their places on stage, March 6
The band has seen some organisational changes with Bob Calvert returning on lead vocals after a brief solo career, and Paul Rudolph, Alan Powell and Nik Turner departing. Now with a new LP "Quark Strangeness and Charm" on Sire Records and a U.S. tour, the band is back in action and its' fans seemed pleased with Hawkwind's new show and sound. Playing mostly new material in its 75 minute show, Hawkwind did about 10 songs. The compositions run together and titles were never announced so it was difficult to keep count.
Hawkwind, immortalised in Michael Moorcock's novel "Time Of The Hawklords" played a heavily rhythmic sci-fi rock. Though one of the original English hippie bands, in recent times the band's vision has turned darker and at this show it did songs about cloning ("Spirit Of The Age"), nuclear and ecological holocaust ("Damnation Alley") and the energy crisis ("Hassan-i-Sahba").
Limited by the Bottom Line's rather small stage, the five-man band still put on a top stage show, with singer Calvert making a number of costume changes. Calvert has a strong distinctive voice, well amplified, so the lyrics were easy to understand.
Hawkwind has been around a long time now, and it is encouraging that they are still out there trying. After all, Pink Floyd and Genesis were both cult bands for a long time before breaking into the mass audience.
Twenty-four years on and Dave Brock still hasn't mastered the business of selling his music. Whenever you ask him to explain his art, he'll sound stumped and issue a wheezy "search me" kind of a laugh. It is probably as it should be, creative-wise. In Italics- Don't think; do, man. Music criticism is the sound of one hand clapping, dig?
So, like, wow, we salute ye, oh Hawkwind, ye loose aggregation of Ladbroke Grove anarcho-squatters who were born to play benefit gigs and free festivals. What the Guinness Encyclopaedia of Popular Music describes as "chemically blurred science-fiction" rock has endured. That which was somewhat tatty to begin with shall never wear out, it seems. Ambient, perambulatory psychedelia is in style at last.
Hawkwind's twenty-second LP It Is The Business Of The Future To Be Dangerous, came out on Castle last week. The sole Scottish date on their wide-ranging European tour is at Glasgow's Barrowland on November 20. Yet things weren't always so ongoing.
At one point, founding member Brock lost the rights to Hawkwind's very name. There's also been a 10-year royalty battle ("no money yet, but it's close to being resolved"), while a massive 18 album surfeit of Hawkwind anthologies, collections, compilations, and live in-concert mementoes on a plethora of labels has tended to obscure the fact that the band are still in action, creating new material.
What about the new LP? Dave umms and arrs, laughs and splutters. "Explaining a record is like explaining a light show. I dunno. It's got some long tracks, 16 and 17 minutes. There's no need for 40-minute CDs anymore. It's trance-like music...the sort of thing Can, Neu and Kraftwerk started."
"At our shows we get all ages from 12 to 60. It should always be all ages. If you go to reggae clubs, especially in the Caribbean , you'll get lots of mums and dads. But sometimes music gets tribal - 'this is only for 15-year olds, not the forties.' That Guinness book's description of us sounds about right."
Never fashionable, Hawkwind have nevertheless carved a niche for themselves. "We've done things and then been noticed for them five years later. Our light-show ideas get used by other people. We get sampled by other bands, big ones - I don't like name dropping, I don't have to."
Ask Dave about the oddest scenes from Hawkwind's long strange trip and he can oblige with a famous name, however: "The Baader-Mienhof gang. I was once arrested naked in bed early one morning in a hotel in Paris on suspicion of being a member." Something to do with a dummy gun used in an on-stage bit of symbolism.
Hawkwind's current stage line up features Brock and two musical associates, Alan Davey and Richard Chadwick, plus "a couple of dancers, some fire-eaters." Unreconstructed males of a certain age still yearn for Stacia. "A very nice girl. Large. Statuesque. But we did a single with Samantha Fox recently, you know."
As for the future, Dave plans a renewed collaboration with science fiction writer Michael Moorcock, and envisions "an even-more-wonderful stage show for '94; mime, lights, music. We're going to be auditioning contemporary dancers - applications from Scotland most welcome".
(Thanks to Alan Taylor for finding & retyping this article)
Hawkwind's Dave Brock, 61, played with his band at the first-ever Glastonbury. He says:
"That first Glastonbury was very small. There were only a few hundred people, most of whom seemed to be dancing about half-dressed or in the nude. You have to remember that the Sixties had only just been and gone, so flower power was still in the air and it was a pretty innocent occasion, very different to the monster that Glastonbury has become today. It was all very basic. The toilet facilities were almost nonexistent - there were two trees with little bits of wood attached between them which you had to try to balance on.
We played Glastonbury again in 1981, when they had the first Pyramid Stage. At the time, Michael (Eavis) was having problems with the police becasue there was a midnight curfew. When it got to 12.15am -we were running late- he came on stage with a police superintendent and said 'I'm very sorry but we're going to have to end the show.' Everyone just went bananas and started smashing up the stage. If I remember correctly, the Pyramid Stage got burnt down.
We played Glastonbury again in 1989 and 1990, and we'd like to go back again some time, but I think we disgraced ourselves the last time we were there by playing a free festival in the traveller's field. Personally, I prefer Glastonbury the way it was when it started, but for all its size, it's a real tribute to Michael that it has become such a success."
***
This is a single-disc compilation culled from the 30th anniversary box set of material by these remarkably durable space-rockers who formed back in 1969 and have been through countless line-up changes since. The sole constant has been Dave Brock.
Their most famous hit, Silver Machine (1972) these days sounds little more than boogie rock on acid and with lots of whooshy noises (which is exactly what it was, come to think of it) although it tellingly gets a remix at the end by KLF's Jimmy Cauty which brings them into the contemporary world of trip-hop and dance.
Hawkwind's longevity can be attributed to their out-of-this-cosmos quotient, free-jazz improvisation (they made it up as they went along) and simple riffing which nailed down their most fanciful of musical flights. Oh, and that whooshy noise stuff which lifts the top off well-prepared heads.
Of course, they occasionally fall into that old Spinal Tap trap of taking themselves too seriously (Michael Moorcock's lyrics on Sonic Attack sound kinda silly) but when they rock out (Psychedelic Warlords, Lemmy's song Motorhead, Night of the Hawks) they are an awesome beast.
They play Auckland this weekend, so here's your primer if their career these past three decades has somehow passed you by.
"Legendary space-rockers Hawkwind play the Powerstation on Saturday February 5. Expect a Sonic Attack from these Psychedelic Warlords which is full of Quark, Strangeness and Charm - and other such references to song titles from their thirtysomething-year career, from a time when LSD wasn't a drug but "a sacrament," according to saxophonist and singer Nik Turner"
They were also referred to as "ye olde English cosmic rockers, Hawkwind"...
Hawkwind always conjure up an image of festival hell. You'd be frozen, rain-sodden and starving, and just when you thought things couldn't get worse, they'd put Hawkwind on stage: a thrashing rhythm section, rambling widdly-wop guitar solos, irrelevant electronic interjections, suitably cosmic sci-fi lyrics (anyone who rhymes 'human race' with 'outer space' is, let's face it, in need of professional help): Hawkwind's audience lap it up, but then one suspects that their audience are in need of serious medication. For the rest of us, it's head-scratching time. The '79 set of greatest hits is bad enough, but the 1985 'Chronicles of the Black Sword' tour album is beyond belief: a concept show based on songs about dragons, wizards and the like, with a great deal of narration necessary to explain the plot. It's 78 minutes long, and it feels like days; stick these guys in a dungeon and send in the dragon
-Peter Hogan
Hawkwind are a PHENOMENON! They had rotties on ropes tripping out of their blunt and toothsome skulls when Clint, Wayne, Adam, Stig, Smelly, Shy Ted, Smeggy and Ugly Ned were still being bottle-fed meths and left in Stourbridge parks by desparate parents who hoped that the council would find them and take them away and wash them. [This sentence refers to fans of the early 80's New Wave Of British Heavy Metal!] It is no coincidence that they are currently undergoing a revival with younger crusties: they are, after all, The Ned's Atomic Rusty Nuts what can play their own instruments.
Shit, do I really have to *listen* to this? The Hawks always wanted to be the soundtrack to a scary science fiction movie where space dolphins fought mind-power wars with satanic Cosmo-bikers from the planet StRaNgE. Most of the time they sounded like the BBC Radiophonics Workshop weekend rock band on bad mushrooms. And, to be fair, sometimes they bleeding well RAWKED!!!!!!
Despite everything, some of this stuff -like Master of the Universe- verges on the epic. Both of these CD's [the other one being a Diamond Head album also being reviewed] have fantastic Heavy Metal chicks covered in some bugger else's blood and wielding chainsaws, samurai swords and massive machine guns which are really beyond evil and cool.
...The build-up to Hawkwind’s appearance was really quite emotional. Late afternoon with a chill in the summer air, 10,000 or so multi-occupational music devotees, from mohicaned punks to bedraggled hippies moved to the edge of the Palace's pool - quite an extraordinary sight by anyone's standards. No hypocrisy, no belligerence, just a casual well-meaning tension which reached saturation point as Hawkwind lumbered into the throbbing pulse of 'Coded Languages' and 'Angels of Death'. Both songs provided mainman Dave Brock with ample room in which to flap his crushed velvet lapels and thrash out forceful, if fairly basic, riffs and endless fuzzed single-note solos.
Bolstering Dave Brock's mental leadership stage right was Huw Lloyd Langton who employed some lean and convincing heavy duty axemanship, neatly providing a counterbalance to the wild antics of bassman Alan Davey who really is the perfect replacement for Lemmy. Ah Lemmy! For the encore of 'Brainstorm' the man-in-black dutifully provided extra Metallic weight with his customary and thoroughly unique bass technique. Between sun and steel the power-gliding space ritual gently ebbed away to a final cosmic bleep emanating from an abandoned oscillator. Like, it was really far out, y'know...
-Derek Oliver
...So what if Hawkwind's mission-out-of-control centre stage set had all the plausibility of a Blake's 7 deep space pile-up, just check out those lights -watch out, laser attack!- and those spooky back-project pics. Hawkwind have stuck to their attack phasers over the years. Despite these 'futuristic' fascinations, though, the Hawks' 70's-period sci-fi angle combines with the band members' "seasoned" appearances to produce a nostalgic set-piece with all the appeal of a Dinky model of Captain Scarlet's SPV tank.
Paradoxically then, their set draws lightly on their vault of golden oldies. Certainly the majority of the songs don't come from the Hawkwind period I know (pre- '25 Years On...') But, despite this positively cavalierly modernity, the Hawks themselves swing us back into Antiques Roadhawkshow territory. It'd take a better man than me to differentiate today's Hawkmanführer Brock from the 1970s version. The ever-present wash of synth texturing completes the feel of comforting familiarity.
As another funnel of laser casts over the Odeon, Hawkwind are as time-warped as a Roger Dean sleeve. But there's still a whiff of crusty outlaw romance about their fantasy world, and the way the media largely ignores them. They call it Hawkwind and it'll put a smile on your face
-Roy Wilkinson
Verdict: Still crazy after all these years.
Nobody can really quantify what it is about Hawkwind that allows them such endurance, and here they are celebrating 21 years together. Under vocalist / guitarist Dave Brock they've weathered and probably fathered the Punk and Grebo fads, as well as taking in a few lessons in raw dynamics. The melee of light and sound still weighs heavily in the Hawkwind plan, with bassist Alan Davey filling ex-member Lemmy's shoes easily as the band open with 'Needle Gun'.
Nostalgia features heavily as 'Time We Left' and 'Master of the Universe' are stripped of all their acid-crazed glory while images are tattooed across ever-shifting back-screens providing stunning visuals. Renditions of comparatively recent classics such as 'Levitation' and 'Night of the Hawks' make up for the fact that many poor souls at the back of the hall couldn't understand a word being said - then, doffing a respectful cap to the late Hawkwind stalwart Bob Calvert with his 'Ejection', they were gone.
25 years would've made a more sensible landmark to celebrate, but don't bet against them managing it eventually. Hawkwind still live up to all expectations.
-Alan McCrorie
It was 1969 when a bunch of guys from Ladbroke Grove formed a band they called Hawkwind. Within a couple of years they'd discovered the voltage controlled oscillator and the rest is history.
My first Hawkwind gig was 16 years ago when they were supported by an unknown band just recording their first album - Roxy Music. Over the years Hawkwind have had a pretty impressive line-up of support bands, including Rush, and tonight the honours fell to local Bournemouth band The Mysterons...
...There was just time for a drink at the bar before the lights dimmed and a back stage projection of Stonehenge left no-one in any doubt as to who was about to come on stage. Hawkwind are not the sort of band prone to outrageous displays on stage, and for most of the time they hardly acknowledged the audience's existence. Alan Davey on bass and vocals, together with relative newcomer Richard "Little Big Man" Chadwick on drums laid down the driving rhythm behind the guitar and keyboards of Huw Lloyd Langton and Harvey Bainbridge to create Hawkwind's unmistakable sound. Dave Brock, the only original member of the band, occasionally appeared from behind his bank of oscillating synths to don a guitar and add a few lines of vocal before scurrying away again. The set was a mix of more recent material, including 'Heads' and 'Lost Chronicles', plus a healthy sprinkling of hardy perennials such as 'Levitation', 'Dreaming' and 'Assault and Battery'. I can't really say the audience were whipped into a state of uncontrolled hysteria. Some danced, most didn't, content to listen and watch the swirling cosmic images of the lightshow.
Hawkwind may be a rock dinosaur and just going through the motions on stage, but any band that can play for nearly two hours and still leave 'em stamping for more is far from extinct. In fact Alan Davey assured me that they are already confidently planning next year's 20th anniversary tour. So if you miss them this time, there's always next year, or the year after, or...
-Pete Trott
Being far from an initiate within this Church of Hawkwind, I can only guess at the place that this release will occupy within the lore of the Hawk.
From the opening track, the hauntingly oriental 'Levitation' onwards, this born-again Hawkwind stand revealed, surprisingly, as one of our most socially acceptable heavy rock bands. Despite some rather hackneyed swirling sound effects and regrettable lapses into instrumental self-indulgence, they nonetheless manage to fit plenty of driving, bouncy rock onto each side.
There are, thankfully, no ballads, no club-footed token blues pieces, and no drum solos. There *are* touches of social and political comment, Lemmy (on the splendid 'Night of the Hawk') and, to close, a couple of dips into Nik Turner's nasal post-punkery. An unexpected gem.
-Roger Holland
Hawkwind are one of those bands who despite (or perhaps because of) a distinct lack of media attention, just keep right on going. Always good, tonight, as Mr.Wilding might say, they were 'happening bad'.
And with the thoroughly mediocre Ozric Tentacles out of the way it was time to find out if new drummer Mick Kirton had made any difference to the Hawk sound. And fear not, cos the only changes have been for the better. Hawkwind have never been a Speed band (thank God), but the arrival of Kirton seems to have slowed them down a smidgeon, and to good effect. You're no longer left with that sneaking suspicion that they're over-keen to get to the next track.
One of the things I like about Hawkwind is that even if there's no new album to promote, they're still prepared to tour. And those kinds of gigs always provide the chance for a band to play what they like, rather than have to purely sell vinyl. So tonight they were plenty of old and not so old favourites, but anyone expecting a vast tribute to Bob Calvert would have been disappointed.
Anyway, there were loads good songs including 'Master of the Universe', 'Levitation' and 'Motorway City' as well as 'Moonglum', a song which never made it onto 'Chronicles of the Black Sword' although the live reaction proves it should have every time. They finished off with Harvey reading 'Government Spies' from the Furry Freak Brothers, 'Assault and Battery' and 'The Golden Void'. The crowd would probably have let them play all night, but even the best of parties has to end eventually.
-El Rose
Hawkwind were the first rock band I ever interviewed. Yeah, back in the nappy-soiling days of '79 when I was still naive enough to believe in the power of rock'n'roll as a force of some influence on the dimensions of reality, I encountered Messrs Dave Brock and Harvey Bainbridge at their publicist's sty in dimmest Westbourne Grove.
Four hours of electric interchange and brainwave deciphering led me to the puzzling conclusion that I didn't really understand exactly what made these very strange gnomes click their heels to the starving beat of universal alienation. I liked the music, all right. But in those days I wasn't phased, dazed or crazed enough to appreciate that HW dealt in random scraps of musical hallucinogens and had no desire to be seen as anything other than defining anew the borders of acceptable artistic consciousness - I was looking for a significant message in a non-existent bottle. I now know rather better.
Hawkwind no longer remain an enigma because somewhere in my swinging mind machine I've come to terms with their approach and its endemic anathema to documentary realism.
'This Is Hawkwind, Do Not Panic'. I mean, what a title! Visions of ants crawling over sugar lump mountains trying to escape the fluctuating fluxes of paranormal rhythms abound as the spirit of spontaneous combustion runs amok amidst the stony hearts of Salisbury Plain. This is live, speeding to the surface all those bad dreams which would bring down the slumberland democracy... "It's all right Mama, I'm only freaking".
Honestly, this is arguably the best 'Wind product to emerge from its liquid sac since...well, since Mick Wall grew his extra limb and began dancing on rave graves. What you get is four sides of pure flowerpot poetry in noise a la the manner of true psychedelic pandemonium. 'Psy Power' lifts off into the realms of stardust sanctity, before the likes of 'Levitation' and 'Shot Down In The Night' rally the forces of darkness. 'Stonehenge Decoded' reaches for levels of free form jazz/rock strata few bands would ever contemplate, let along execute, whilst Nik Turner's 'Watching The Grass Grow' is bedlam pulling on a well-stocked reefer. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Madness still has a tone all its own and when Hawkwind come visiting like this you'd better make sure that the gingerbread man caged in your soul gets parole for the day.
-Malcolm Dome
Considered by many to be the finest space rock band in the country, if not the world, Hawkwind have been creating psychedelic sounds for the last 24 years. Through the success of songs like the anthemic rock classic Silver Machine in the early Seventies to their highly popular albums Sonic Attack and Chronicle Of The Black Sword, the Windies have retained their integrity.
Refusing to cash in on early fortunes, they gained slow-earned respect within the music community, and the right mentality to fight for control over their musical output safe from the clutches of commercially concerned record companies.
Now the sci-fi-to-music supremos are beginning a new venture. Gimme Shelter with none other than Page Three model-turned-Euro-pop goddess Samantha Fox. And it's all for charity, folks!
Frontman Dave Brock, the band’s only remaining original member, speaks of his dislike for the structure of today's society and of possible remedies for Britain's desperate homeless situation. From the tranquil surroundings of Primrose Hill in north west London, the ex-squatter points across the street where several empty houses, potential homes for the homeless, are rotting away from neglect.
"There are always people who want to get it together and do a place up but unfortunately you come up against this hierarchy of paper work and all the shit that goes with it", he explains. "What we need is a strong opposition party that can actually make an impact when the Government messes up. I always consider governments to be like mafia-style organisations. We don't really have any say. If you fight against them you find yourself in all kinds of shit."
Hawkwind's message is one of peace of freedom. Let's hope Gimme Shelter injects some new urgency into those redundant flower power terms.
-Paddy Bird
...Hawkwind get prominent billing because they are the only name group [on this album]. Deceptive. They also slide things into life with 'Brainstorm 88' and it's a shortened version, no two day stints here. As tight as Hawkwind can ever get, we're offered a decidedly tougher, heavier rendition, more guitar less synth, and it's not half bad. Unfortunately 'Blue Dreamer' is the Hawkwind I could never get to grips with, all spaced out warbles and inebriated attempts to pick up various long wave police frequencies...
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