Cross-pollination between the Anglo and American rock music scenes has resulted in some potent mutations: Britain's Sex Pistols took the energy of America's New York Dolls and Ramones, mixing it with their own working-class angst to create punk rock; the American grunge scene owes its entire existence to the music created by the original line-up of the U.K.'s Black Sabbath. And now we have Britain's Sharkboy, latching on to more Americana in the form of The Velvet Underground--with some overtones of Miles Davis--creating yet another heady brew worthy of serious attention. Suede, it seems, is not the only great band on Nude records.
Led by the striking female singer/songwriter Avy, whose lack of surname puts one in mind of the Velvet's late, great Nico, Sharkboy's debut album Matinee creates an languid atmosphere which is comparable to Mazzy Star minus the junkie nod-out vibe, replacing that with an ominous, edgy atmosphere that suggests much more than it states. "Subtlety" hasn't exactly been a hallmark of the 90s so far, but Avy and company do their best to inject some into a scene filled with chest-beating grungers and rappers of either gender.
Matinee is an impressive debut because it avoids the recent postmodern plague of the "quotation" (i.e. ripping off) of one's influences in favour instead of their emulation. Thus, the Velvets riffs which appear here sound fresh, and are invigorated by the addition of brass, notably trumpets and saxes, which often appear in place of the obligatory guitar solo. Lou Reed has often noted the influence of jazz artists such as Albert Ayler on the V.U., and has employed ace trumpeter Don Cherry on his own records; Sharkboy takes this idea and runs with it, extending a singular and most worthy line of rock and roll into the 90s.
And, of course, Sharkboy is most notable for the talents of lead girl Avy. It's her show, backed though she is by an ace supporting crew. As I said, she's subtle--no Courtney Love victim histrionics to be found here; no Madonna "wait, let me get my tits out again" juvenile attempts at transgression. Instead, we get Avy intoning "I'm sure I can hide/The milky waste I keep inside/I wish I was safe from/The way I feel tonight" in "Crystaline," and it's a million times more effective than anything I've heard from a "female rocker" since the last PJ Harvey album. If we must situate Avy within an artistic lineage (and of course we must) it's Nico, Patti Smith, Marianne Faithfull, and PJ Harvey: women in touch with the darker side of themselves, and more importantly, who can turn that darker side into something meaningful artistically. There's an aesthetic at work here, one evolved far beyond mere adolescent bellyaching, finger-pointing, or posturing. Avy's the real thing, and that's gonna frighten some people.
Ahhhh, but what about the songs?, you say. They're good. Very good.
The highlights are here are many: "Sacramento Child" starts things off with a kind of ominous beat bongo shuffle, listless and engaging all at once. "Do you want me to tell you something I'm not sure of?" queries Avy of the "drifter" referred to in the song's title, thus setting a tone which will characterize the rest of Matinee. "I could never lie to you." Is she going to ask him to come closer, or tell him to piss off? You're not sure, but you want to find out-- and in this sexy ambivalence lies Sharkboy's appeal.
The next two numbers, "My Star" and "Forest Fire," introduce us to the rest of the band. Both songs start quietly and then build towards Velvets rifferama for their resolution. The former song imparts the feel of an impending climax, an upwards spiral toward a heavenly body, while the latter features Avy "climbing trees in a forest fire" (Freudian sexual overtones noted), with David O' Neal punctuating the guitar squall with some inspired, John Coltrane-inspired blowing on the saxophone.
"Razor" gives us sex as an anecdote to boredom. Avy's plagued here by "car wash music" in her head (a great image), and the song itself approximates something close to pure pop heaven. 'I got a razor thin skin/But I keep on touchin' you" sings Avy with a combination of lust and consternation. Get too close and you'll get kissed - cut - or both? Don't piss this woman off, buddy--just give her what she needs. Avy's evocation of a slightly dangerous Karen Carpenter here is quite effective.
"Don't Walk Run" is aural sex, continuing the air of curious ambiguity which haunts this album. Run from what, or toward whom? The band gets a chance to extend things here, and the result is some of the best Neo-Velvets drug trance-rock heard since the mid-80s heyday of The Dream Syndicate and The Feelies. "How did the sky get so blue?" asks a blissed-out sounding Avy. And where can I get some? Adding to the Velvets feel here is some very Cale (as in John) sounding viola courtesy of Adrian Oxaal that works a treat, as the number builds toward a ferocious climax, and then lets you back down again, gently.
The aforementioned "Crystaline" would be a hit single in a better world, an upbeat ode to the Dionysian drives of nature and biology which today's politically correct types would have us deny. "Road" features thick guitar lines that bring to mind the guitar work of Ry Cooder on the soundtrack to Paris, Texas, a great road movie in the American tradition. Some fine Miles Davis-influenced trumpet work here from Nick Wilson as well. Still, the sound ends up being pure Sharkboy--emulation, not imitation. "Sugar" (not a tribute to Bob Mould) features Avy's purest, most impassioned vocal of the album, while the dirge-like "Carrying Some" ends Matinee on a sublime note, the arrangement calling to mind John Cale's work on Nico's classic Marble Index.
So there you have it. A most impressive debut for Sharkboy, almost entirely avoiding the usual pitfalls which befall a fledgling outfit. Only in this way are they similar to their better-known label mates, Suede. Don't walk, run, to your local record shop to buy Matinee.
