Caught by the Fuzz... A talented band struggles to grow up.

by wesLONG


Off the top of my head I can conjure the names of a small handful of bands who came into this world good-n-snotty and drew air long enough to see their music mature into something unexpected; at times, brilliant. There's an alchemy involved here more complex than the mere passing of years. The Rolling Stones have been together since the dawn of the troglodyte and still churn the same barroom slurred stew they’ve reheated for the last thousand years. I’m not ripping the Stones, or leftovers for that matter; just honing a point. Time alone does not make a band great, adventurous or groundbreaking.

So what are the other elements involved and is it even possible to quantify those that enable a band seemingly out-of-the-blue empowerment to achieve a sound that you’d wager a lifetime’s happiness against? Though formed in the early eighties, The Flaming Lips stumbled into mass consciousness in 1995 with the infectious and nearly ridiculous "She Don't Use Jelly." Four years later they'd somehow acquired the ability to buoy our imaginations with startlingly original and - get this - challenging music; The Soft Bulletin and 2002's Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. Mid 90's whiskey & nicotine Wilco was served straight-up with Big Star aplomb, and while much of that early material was worthy of an Alex Chilton nod not even Jeff Tweedy's staunchest fan would refer to it as groundbreaking. Fast forward seven years to see Tweedy and company create what will certainly be revered as one of the better albums of the decade; Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. This breathtaking effort created atmospheres hitherto unreachable by the formerly Pabst Blue band, or anyone else for that matter; and Tweedy evolved into an insanely grand lyricist. Wha' happened?
Have Supergrass made a Flaming Lip-like leap with their latest album Road to Rouen? Well, no; but Lip-like leap is fun to say, aint it? That's alliteration, Holmes! The early Flaming Lips albums are pert-near unlistenable to these ears, while Supergrass have always made enjoyable, albeit somewhat frustrating music. Why then did I go to all the effort to unveil the epiphanic changes of two of my favorite bands if said information sheds no rays on Supergrass? Good question by the way; nicely worded. Here's why, my impatient friend; I never expected brilliance from those bands but I've been anticipating it in Supergrass since 1997, making their leap all the more difficult.
Gaz Coombes (guitars and vocals), Mickey Quinn (bass) and Danny Goffey (drums) pricked up my ears one evening in mid 1995 when I chanced their video for "Caught by the Fuzz" on MTV. As much as I loathe the corporate-above-all-else leaning of this particularly impotent so-called "music television" station, they have managed to turn me on to a few grand things over the years (Jeff Buckley included), though most of the illuminating information they provided unfolded long before they went Real World on us. But I digress. As a child of urgent three-minute stabs of music, I found Supergrass interesting, perhaps a bit better than adequate; certainly unspectacular. I'd long since gained interest in more complicated music, my love of punk-pop remained firmly intact, but mainly through the bands I'd first heard do it; Elvis Costello, The Buzzcocks, XTC. Some time later a friend turned me on to I Should Coco, the album that spawned the video I'd seen, and as it unfolded I realized the depth of influences went deeper than the punk, post-punk, pop-punk

cliche's I'd initially pegged the band with; I heard The Kinks, The Beatles, Elton John (of all things) and glorious Bowie-esque Mott the Hoople glam, just to drag a few into the light. I heard these things not across an entire album, but within individual songs. Short songs. Of the four main attractions on the album, "Caught by the Fuzz," "Mansize Rooster," "Alright" and "Lenny" the longest player clocked in at three-minutes and two-seconds; the shortest two-minutes nineteen. I was impressed. Then I found out these three Oxford, England lads were barely in their twenties.

Whatever successes eluded the band in the states were eased by their excesses and the near hysteria that greeted them back in England. Steven Spielberg took notice and pitched a television series to the band based largely on their cartoonish exploits; which they thankfully declined. Instead of selling out, they dropped out of the spotlight and into the studio and emerged in 1997 with the accolade studded and ironically titled In It for the Money;

displaying a quantum leap in maturity from these still young musicians. A brief two years later, mind you. Gone was the overly frenetic pace of I Should Coco, replaced with slower tempos and great big lung-busting bong hits of Magical

Mystery Tour psychedelia (deep breath, ahhhh). The nearly five-minute epic-in-comparison "Late In The Day" alone displays just how far they'd come; Supergrass was suddenly a relaxed band, fully aware of it's talents and not overly eager to please. The multitude of changes cloaked beneath numerous layers of exuberance on I Should Coco were shoved to the foreground; these fuckers could play. I mean, really play. If you discovered yourself missing the angst-driven fury of the opening act in 1995, look no further than "Richard III," as piston-poppin' as anything on their debut backed by shards of gut-gripping harmonies. Mature angst? Wow.

Their third album, the eponymous Supergrass (1999) displayed yet more exhilarating song craft and enjoyed the same commercial success as most good pop albums; it quickly sank from view. What a shame. Though this is easily the most uneven of the first three releases, it has moments nearly as praise-worthy as In It for the

Money. The band wasn't wading in particularly new waters this time 'round, but at this point who the hell was asking them to? Flip Supergrass to a '97 release and In It for the Money to '99 and it would make a bit more sense; for the first time their music seemed surprisingly labored and somewhat forced. The fans who'd hung on past the early days of

madness, as well as those who'd climbed aboard in '97 were expecting another glorious upping of the bar here; instead, what they got was just another good outing by a band who disturbingly realized the words "has-been" were appearing at an alarming rate beneath their images in the musical press.

2002's Life on Other Planets put a sock in that pie-hole, proving to be a nearly perfect mix of the bombastic I Should Coco and the seemingly effortless In It for the Money; with all the latter's motley influences intact and swarming. Gone was the over-anxious band who reached too far with Supergrass, in it's place a muscle-flexing psychedelic pop machine eager to engulf you in joyous ear-candy. Sound over the top? Listen to the album. It opens with strains of cheesy space-age synth and evolves into a pure saccharine-sweet piano stomping glam-rock confection named "ZA." Followed closely by the most Supergrass of all Supergrass tunes, "Rush Hour Soul."

We're talking two-minutes and fifty-four seconds of adrenalin dressed in the most perfectly compressed ballsy riff you're likely to hear; and the foot only eases off the gas a couple of times to revel in a harmony-laden chorus that would make a Wondermints song regret and retire puzzled, just before derailing into chaos and coming back out the other side unscathed. If any one song screams Supergrass, it's this one, and the video is nearly as grand. I could rave-up this

album the rest of the night; it's T. Rex induced "Brecon Beacons," the ultra-groovy "Can't Get Up," and the drop acid and worry about it later Syd Barrett-ish "Never Done Nothing Like That Before." Then there's "Funniest Thing," and I can't leave "Grace" out. Whew - enough. If you've not heard the album, or the band, check the videos and proceed from there at your own discretion.

Now then, where were we? Oh, yeah - so I'm sitting on the couch and talking to my new best friend on a bad cell connection; both of us attempting to inject the other with sufficient pep to endure the first three-quarters of Jay Leno's insipid version of The Tonight Show so we can catch Supergrass performing the first single from Road To Rouen, "St. Petersburg." One of the guests - the other so vacant as to not even register with me at this point - was Matthew McConaughey; a life-saving testosterone laden tool who, when asked if he were a gambling man replied "I like to bet on myself," with not so much of a

wry smile on his insanely overconfident alpha-mug.Finally, seemingly days later, Supergrass took the stage and as the final strains of the solid, but ultimately uneventful moment faded, I found myself struck by the dichotomy between McConaughey's cockier-than-though attitude and the newfound maturity of the band. I wanted to like Matthew; after
I've got five bucks that says I can whip the crap outta Supergrass.

all, he's a good actor - he just picks crap parts. His attitude was so over the top that it made the top completely disappear from view. Supergrass, on the other hand, has every reason to be cocky at this point; and they came off relaxed and confident. There were no pop-star posing's; no microphone chucking, guitar or drum-kit demolishing of any sort. Certainly, there's a place for that; and this band could pull it off. Still, there was no need for it within the confines of this song, just as there was no need for McConaughey's endlessly powered self-stroking ego-machine.

Road To Rouen is easily the most mature music Supergrass has created to date; in fact, it's their first fully-formed album. This is no mish-mash collection of tunes tossed together for seemingly no reason; there's a definite flow to this recording, a sense of purpose. With the exception of the wonderfully melancholic"St. Petersburg" every song ebbs and flows; evolves or devolves and does so in a slow-burning manner. The opening track, "Tales Of Endurance (Parts 4, 5 & 6)" comes off like a deep-cut album tune recorded in the 70's, with long minutes of densely orchestrated Supertramp-vibed music that leads you to the edge and back several times, teasing you just prior to the drop into a skanky Supergrass romp that smacks of Led Zeppelin's "Trampled Underfoot" in all the right ways. The sultry "Sad Girl" slinks headfirst into a chanted middle section with vocals that evoke both Pink Floyd and white-era
Beatles .The ever-lovely six-minute plus "Roxy" morphs into a frenzied Radiohead type trance in the final moments that will leave you equally exhausted and elated; but ready for the brief comic interlude pallet cleansing of "Coffee In The Pot," before plunging you back into the fray of the title track, "Road To Rouen" and the return to classic Supergrass "Kick In The Teeth." This album amalgamates every worthwhile aspect of each of the Supergrass recordings; and while it's not comparable to the brilliant Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, it's compelling as all get-out music created by a band one step closer to creating their masterpiece.