ZANG TUMMM TUMB ARTICLES “the first draft of history”


London Hammersmith Palais

ABSENCE OF 21st Century energy. No chills. No frills. Just detached, aloof, indifferent coldness. No noise. Some Poise. Dignity. High young Tory count. Popshow. Horrorshow. Death to Hack- Tradrock. Rock Kills.

The souvenir (‘broughsureZTTspeak) carried the day, effortlessly containing as it did, vid-stills, sundry quotes, colour and Penman on ‘Style. The gulf between this artefact and said performance was pretty goddamn wide… say ‘bout a thousand miles.

Blame the session musicians. That infernal Kevin Armstrong, again I (last seen with Prefab Sprout) axegrinding beyond the call of duty; Derek Forbes (ex U3) adding a Duranesque edge and an atrocious soundmix to boot. Depressing as hell. ‘Dream Within A Dream was ugliness incarnate-a real throwback to ‘71 regression.

Couldnt ruin ‘Doctor Mabuse (and ‘Duel) though—Lord knows our Kevin tried his damndest. Two shimmering splinters of unpure beauty and ‘Jewel, “song of the evening”; potent electro-punk prototype, with Suzannes excellent non-singing adding an edge to an already jagged, devil-maycomplain Fairlit fiasco.

Its an extremely sad illusion of life-fighting fire with words—hoping to rearrange the flea-ridden ‘system from within; predestined failure is mocked by former ardent supporters the auld “I told you so” routine. OK, Ill spare ya the quarterbaked existential cowdung; PROPAGANDA were CRUSHINGLY ORDINARY. It brought tears to unseeing eyes. Shit, dont misconstrue this missive as partnparcel of some fictitious ZTT ‘backlash Im just telling the true lies—Propaganda were a major disappointment.

I wanted to rave a little, foam at the gills ‘bout ZTTs positive action, unchallenged supremacy. Heck, I figured I was in for some serious sinnin, Yknow

THREAT… Unhappily, ‘twas business as usual. dodgy business. Propaganda. Botched swindle.

Paul Morley should cry too. How could he allow such gratuitous ‘rockism? Where are the ‘new schemes? New ways of seeing live acts? Wheres the ‘power ofthe imagination?

Dele Fidele