| Smells like Nirvana
While the similarities between the guitar intro to
Nirvana’s Come As You Are and Killing Joke’s Eighties have
been widely noted, fewer people have noticed that Smells Like
Teen Spirit sounds a lot like a song called Mystery Train on
U.I.C.’s Live: Like Ninety (OG) LP released two years earlier.
U.I.C. guitarist Fred Robinson, who was originally pitched
Mystery Train by the composer, Richard Carstens, then of the
Wammee, remembers.
“Just after our Live: Like Ninety album came out in 89, the
Young Fresh Fellows played a gig at Lee’s Palace and crashed
at our place afterward. We gave them a copy of our record to
take back to Seattle with them.
“If you listen to Smells Like Teen Spirit you can
definitely hear similarities. The first time we heard the
Nirvana tune, we were, like, ‘Whoa! That’s bizarre!’ Young
Fresh Fellows front man Scott McCaughey, who at the time was
writing his influential Searchin’ USA column in the Seattle
Rocket, is currently in South America and unavailable to
discuss the matter.
Nirvana’s management did not respond to a request for
comment. “It got even stranger when we saw their accompanying
video,” laughs Robinson. “The whole high-school auditorium
thing with the kids going crazy looks just like our Strange
Sin video.”
TP |
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| THE CHICKENS with WAYNE
OMAHA, DALE MORNINGSTAR and RICHARD
CARSTENS, at the Horseshoe (370 Queen West), Friday
(January 19). $7. 598-4753. |
| |
forget what you heard
aboutthat crossing the
road bit. These Chickens ain't no joke. Sure, the
knuckleheads in the Chickens know how to have a raging good time,
but there's a huge difference between being a novelty act and having
a sense of humour. There's no corny shtick involved.
The Chickens kick out high-decibel rock-and-roll action with the
same sort of sweat-soaked intensity that once came roaring out of
U.I.C. And that isn't a coincidence.
Not only do the Chickens boast the propulsive rhythm section of
former U.I.C. drummer Murray Heywood and bassist Dan Preszcator
along with the devastating firepower of U.I.C. guitarist Fred
Robinson, but they also have the megacity's most exciting microphone
mauler, U.I.C.'s Dave Robinson, fronting the band.
That's right, Exeter's answer to the Stooges have clawed their
way back from obscurity to kick ass with a vengeance. So why the
name change? Well, despite the fashion-world dictate, the 80s are
over and the Chickens aren't a nostalgia act.
The songwriting savvy of former El Speedo guitarist Ken
Mikalauskas has added a sharper pop edge to the compositions, as can
be heard on the Chickens' cranking new Prepare To Plug In
(Egg-cellent) album. Brilliant tunes stacked with massive melodies
and ripping riffage -- clever, concise and crushing without
ever having to resort to intimidation tactics.
"We discussed the name thing a lot," groans Fred Robinson,
shaking his head. "In fact, we just jammed together for about a year
and a half before we played our first gig because we couldn't decide
what to call ourselves.
"We went through about a million names and even contemplated
going back to U.I.C., but it didn't click. Ken has contributed so
much to our sound that this really feels like a new group. Besides,
none of us really liked the name U.I.C. anyway."
So the Chickens it is, but the brothers Robinson can't escape the
influence of the high-energy Detroit rock sound. It's right there in
the twin guitar wallop of the Chickens just like it was in the
battering blitz of U.I.C. The only difference is that, thanks to
Scandinavian thugs like the Hellacopters, Backyard Babies and
Gluecifer, the Detroit thing is cool like it never was during
U.I.C.'s run.
"The Detroit sound was never a contrived thing for us," explains
Fred Robinson, tilting a large lager. "We came about it naturally
from growing up in Exeter. It was easier for us to go to concerts in
Detroit than Toronto. We'd listen to the FM radio stations from
Detroit because the reception was really good across Lake Huron. So
of course, we'd hear a lot of Ted Nugent, the MC5, Bob Seeger and
Alice Cooper. I had the Stooges albums as soon as they came out."
"Since Fred's two and a half years older," continues Dave
Robinson, who co-founded U.I.C. with brother Fred, "that 70s Detroit
rock was more of an influence on him than me. He was always a bit
ahead of the rest of the crowd and listened to a wider range of
stuff, like glam and heavy metal. I was into punk stuff like the
Ramones, Sex Pistols, the Clash."
The younger Robinson's punk inspiration should come as no great
shock to anyone who's experienced his kicking, flailing and bouncing
approach to delivering a song. He'd be a captivating showman even if
he couldn't sing a lick, but Robinson has a full-bodied holler to
match his goofy-grand physical feats. He actually wails better
dangling upside down off the PA or knotted on the dance floor than
standing upright.
It's amazing to see him hurl himself into the crowd at Chickens
gigs. He can't possibly be doing it to impress anyone, since half
the time he ends up tangled in patch cords or flat on his ass.
"Toward the end of U.I.C., I thought, "I'm getting older and I
probably shouldn't be doing what I do onstage any more,'" allows
Dave. "When the band broke up, I took a year off and travelled
around to get away from the whole rock 'n' roll thing. As soon as I
returned from my trip, I went out to see a band. That was it. I knew
I had to get back onstage."
An unexpected offer to join smalltime hoods El Speedo was just
the sort of confidence boost Robinson needed.
"I felt like it didn't matter what anyone thought about me," Dave
insists. "I was going to let loose and have a good time."
In turn, Robinson's revitalization with El Speedo -- where
he connected with future Chickens guitarist Ken Mikalauskas --
indirectly helped reunite the members of U.I.C. as the Chickens.
"Of course, I'd played with Dave for years," says Fred. "but it
wasn't until I saw El Speedo at Call the Office in London that I saw
what Dave was doing from the perspective of the audience. It blew my
mind. I don't think any of us understood what we had in U.I.C. until
we started working with different people"
What the members of U.I.C. also didn't fully comprehend was the
impact their music was making beyond the scene. Shows throughout
southern Ontario were always packed and enthusiastically received.
But apart from two brief exploratory trips across Canada and one gig
in Cleveland, they never toured in the States or ventured to Europe
to connect with the people who'd bought their records on a whim and
caught hoser hysteria.
"My one big disappointment with U.I.C. is that we didn't get to
travel outside the country. If we'd toured the States or played some
shows in Europe or Australia, who knows what might've happened?"
Hey, they might've been Nirvana. But then again, if their first
cross-Canada expedition is any indication, they might've imploded.
With seven dirty lunks squeezed into a tiny Econoline van for a six
week trek, the stench was so overwhelming, manager Patrick Duffy
elected to sleep on the equipment in the U-Haul.
"Most bands get better as the tour progresses," offers Fred
Robinson. "We got worse. Because we had only eight shows booked for
the entire six weeks, we had all this extra time to get into liquor
and other things that completely wiped us out."
"We were so strapped for cash," Heywood remembers, "Ted and I put
on some old clothes and tried applying for welfare in Calgary. But
when they noticed we'd listed a Toronto mailing address, they
started yelling, "You have to live here to get welfare!'"
"Then we went over to the University of Calgary for a radio
interview," recalls Fred, "and discovered that the campus pub had a
75-cent special on shots. In no time at all, we were shitfaced.
Somehow the fire alarm got pulled and the place was swarming with
cops and firemen. We wound up duking it out with each other in a
back alley. I walked off one way and the guys drove off in the
opposite direction.
"The next morning I was stumbling around downtown Calgary without
any money or shoes on my feet and I had no idea where the band was
or where the next show might be. So I called my wife, Joanne, and
tried playing it slick, like, "Hi, honey, you haven't heard from the
other guys lately have you? Oh, no, nothing's wrong....' Eventually,
they called my home and we reconnected. We spent most of that tour
in a drunken stupour."
"We've never made any money at this," toasts Heywood, "but we're
rich in memories."
