Why The Days Of 'Rock Star Behaviour' Are Over

The days of what was shorthanded as ‘rock star behaviour’ have largely passed. It’s now boiled down to left wondering how Keith Richards is still alive, if he indeed actually is. Most of his contemporaries are already dead, retired to their country castles, or at the least a little addled and/or industrially deaf. But most of the current ‘big names’ seem to be at home updating their Instagram accounts, or investing in tech start-ups.

Some are still trying to live the old-style lives of excess. But it’s never quite convincing. Case in point: Pete(r) Doherty. Sure, recurring bouts of drugfuckery, followed by recurring bouts of rehab. Messy relationships with other ‘celebrities’, break up and reform the band as supply and demand allows. In the ‘I’m a solo artist’ division of the cycle, The Whole World Is Our Playground (Clouds Hill) is a title with the correct amount of sneer and nihilism, but the other part of the equation remains a problem – that being songs that just aren’t real impressing. It runs on that line of extreme Englishness – a bit 1957 skiffle record, through 1967 Kinks, with maybe a hint of 1997 Blur. Hungover, world-weary, and maybe just a little too close to being a pastiche of himself.

Similarly, The Kills. Even allowing for the overlap in the Venn Diagram with Pete that is Kate Moss. Jamie Hince just craggy and wasted enough looking to be credible. Heart Of A Dog (Domino) is suitable messy, with enough of a tune under there somewhere to hold your interest musically. But like the ‘antics’ of the clip – ‘Yeah, here we are jumping on the car! Yeah! Rock!’ there’s this odd feeling that their hearts just aren’t quite in it. Somehow, even this long into their career, they remain that 10% off the truly great song. Maybe I’ll still just wait for the next Dead Weather record.

A lot may depend on from what musical era you choose to take inspiration. The worst excesses of ‘80s synth pop could often boil down to a clashing of the pastels in your parachute pants and your Jenny Kee knitwear jumper. Client Liaison keep walking their tightrope – no, not a fashion one, although that could be another issue entirely – but never fall into parody. World Of Our Love (DotDash/Remote Control) has all the ingredients of the era it’s invoking, but never forgets it’s actually a well put together pop song, whichever century you may think it belongs in. A Paul Young ballad as performed by Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark is a description that people of certain age and taste will appreciate.

Stonefield go back a further decade, and things can get a little confused. The Findlay sisters retain their uncanny ability to make big classic rock of an even earlier time. This leaves them with the odd conundrum of lighting up festival stages, but songs like Stranger (Wunderkind) - as proficient and sincere as it is - will again probably struggle to find the right radio playlists or other outlets to give it that bit more exposure it probably deserves. Conversely, it deserves better than just being used to soundtrack a footy highlights package.

How much does an audience want change? Anything Hope Sandoval does will immediately get Mazzy Star, perhaps even more specifically Fade Into You, as a reference point and benchmark. And the newest Warm Inventions offering, Isn’t It True (Nettwerk) is absolutely familiar. Her voice is typically gauzy, and melancholic, while Colm Ó Cíosóig’s percussive noises fill the background, much as he used to in his My Bloody Valentine days. It all lands lightly, to be exactly what the enthusiasts would want it to be. Whether that’s enough will likely come down to your own knowledge and history with the artists involved.  

Conversely, Fleet Foxes fans might be taken a little aback by what Robin Pecknold delivers under his own name. Different again than his White Antelope guise, Swimming (Sub Pop) is a fuzzy wall of guitar noise, specifically designed for film soundtrack work, with his counterpoint percussive racket coming from Bill Callahan/Joanna Newsom foil Neal Morgan. This might not tell you much without the visuals to go with it, but his eye and ear have usually proved true. 

No-one’s really sure what ‘punk’ means anymore. But what Camp Cope do is certainly of the model. With their strident mix of the personal and political – and the personally political for that matter – they could almost be the female alter-ego of labelmates, that band from Smith Street. Jet Fuel Can’t Melt Steel Beams (Poison City) is suburban angst folky-punky, with a sidebar despairing point at the Americans, their guns, and conspiracy theories. Honest, angry music to enjoy on a lot of levels. 

A growing live reputation final sees Gordi signed to one of those record company things, allowing her to make the bigger modern pop that’s probably always been in her. Wanting (Liberation) retains a slightly folkish edge among some electronics and a lot of melodic sense. It previews a coming EP, and more of her already assured style likely to follow. Consider this the overture.