Velvet Turnaround
I went to see a Velvet Underground tribute band tonight, called, rather imaginatively, the Underground Velvets. James’s friend Sam from university is their John Cale-esque keyboard player and so we trekked along to Camden’s The Dublin Castle to see the art rockers represented by some skinny kids who weren’t even born when Andy Warhol’s wet dream came true.
What struck me most about the band was the sheer naïve fervour of the lead singer. I thought they did well not to attempt any costumes or looky-likey bollocks, but this was at the expense of that knowing, ironic distance perfected by better tribute bands. I quote from the band’s official website:
What do WE promise? No tacky outfits, no ridiculous makeup; no
Warhol lookalike pretending to paint soupcans in the corner of the
stage. Tribute acts can go to Church as far as I’m concerned. We cover
the greatest songs written in the history of modern music. When Andre
Previn or Yehudi Menuin conduct a philharmonic orchestra to deliver the
works of the great masters like Beethoven and Bach, no-one calls them a
tribute band. In the same way, I conduct my incredibly talented Velvet
Orchestra.
Ha ha! Seriously!
