The Dublin Castle, London
16th October 1998
+Penthouse;
Stoke Newington, London
17th October 1998
There can be few experiences as strange or as wonderful as when Bobby Conn and band show up in town in a flurry of wigs, imposture and post-Glam Rock attitude. Truly an eventful, landmark kind of proceeding, where the atmosphere rocks by itself, and the band play on as if they were the only group in the world worthy of an audience’s complete attention. Blasting off on at the Dublin Castle (which must be the ultimate in too-hip Camden rock boozers), Mr. Conn is suitably clad in leather trousers and aggression – hence the opening salvo “Rise Up!,” which only left “United Nations” to inform the crowd that they were in the presence of hardcore, in-yer-goddamned-face Rock Opera.
Dramatic as the opening was, it had a downside in that what followed couldn’t quite match the full-on glory of those two incitements to insurrection and conspiracy-busting; however they gave it such a close call that the point is basically moot. With a bass player gurning and Funking like some weird hybrid of a Death In June escapee and a Skatecore straight-edger, a Roger Taylor-lookalike on drums (complete with outrageous [faux?-]gold chain), DJ LeDeuce of Rome to phatten up the keyboards and the demonic-comic violinist which is Monica BouBou, how could Bobby fail?
If the pub night was an appropriately alcohol-fuelled thrash session, then the Saturday session was one for grooving and smoking. Held in a warehouse conversion which wouldn’t seem out of place in New York as much as in what’s left of Stoke Newington’s seedier Victorian industrial past, the gig inside the party could spread out and take its time. First up were Penthouse, with a surprisingly good take on the Shellac method of Blues-deflected stomp, but the real buzz came when Bobby and crew filtered onstage. Go-go dancers added just a tinge of retro kitsch to the scene as the Conn-man himself, clad in a remarkable white jumpsuit, stared down a milling throng in a series of poses to put the ghost of Jagger past to rest.
As with Iggy Pop or Gibby Haynes, Bobby Conn is a master of posture and demented attitude, swinging from the girders and damaging the light fittings with the best of them, with mooning included. With a style so convincing, and an act so bizarrely and completely engaging, the evidence presented by two excellent albums is comprehensively proven by the live Conn experience – an Anti-Christ Messiah has come down to earth.
-Antron S. Meister-
