International Language of Screaming

The only thing left to find is the sky. Five minutes to takeoff at Heathrow Terminal. One and the multi-headed ragged groove machine that is Primal Scream and their ever-increasing entourage has broken loose from its chains and is moving slowly and uncertainly towards its latest airborne flight into rock'n'roll Valhalla care of flight BA942 to Dusseldorf. Achtung maybe!

"Where's the talent got to?" roars exasperated tattoo-heavy tour manager Molloy to no-one in particular as he realises that a certain Mr B Gillespie, socialist militant and pop star, has gone missing again somewhere in the terminal building, later to be found cradling a telephone downstairs, burbling maniacally about last-minute alterations to future Scream release plans. Upstairs the rest of the crew are amassed in various shades of disrepair in the airport bar, finishing the first drink ofthe day and steeling themselves for their latest journey into the eye of the storm. In the middle of them all sits latest star recruit Mani, peroxide of head and wearing a gleaming new Man Utd away shirt for the occasion.

"I'm on the wagon!" he shouts to anyone who'll listen as the band trundle along in haphazard fashion towards Gate 50 and takeoff He's recently had confirmation of the annulment of his marriage, which lasted an entire 20 days, and is feeling the effects from last night's misadventures where he'd gone on a bender involving a 'nine-pill nibble'. Admittance to the Scream, it seems, has clearly seen his 24-hour party credentials upgraded to first class.

"I went on holiday to Turkey last week and i was pissed I fell off me chair," he declares, baggy-swaggering along the moving walkway."

...And I hit me head on the side of the table, it nearly took me f*ckn' eye out. I really ripped up me arm though..."

Throb, meanwhile freshly divorsed himself and, in the scramble to board, an impressive blur of flowing locks and combat regalia decides to make a last-minute diversion to buy a T-shirt bearring the legend 'Selfridges Sale' from a duty free shop to celebrate his return to Scream tour duties.. Undil, that is, he realises it's a leotard.

"F*ckin' hell.. you' he a picture weaning that!" roars Mani derisvely, tearing himself away from scrutinising some porno playing cards in a lads magazine. Which only leaves us to report on the whereabouts of a glazed looking Duffy. already sweating profusely behind dark shades and whose first utterance ("Is William Burroughs still dead?") serves as a pointer for his behaviour throughout the trip.

As for media recluse and technological wizard Innes, he is reputedly still 'busy in the studio' and will fly over to join the merry skanksters in Cologne tomorrow.

Paul Mulreany, drummer and general lad about town, has, we are cooly informed, left the band and will not be travelling with the party. When you're flying this high. It seems, when someone falls out the emergency door you never bother looking to see where they landed.

BUT THEN this is Primal Scream, a group who, to mix advertising slogans, no ordinary band looks like or tastes like and which most definitely likes to say yes. Over a decade on from their beginnings in the darkest corner of the indie jungle, and the Scream, despite sometimes overwhelming odds, are still with us, hammering out brilliantly distorted variations on their apocalyptic psycho-delic punk-dub rock'n'roll blueprint whilst most of their contemporanes withered away into careerist cuchedom years ago. And in the '90s, through the turn of the decade-defining Screamadelica' (one of the very few records allowed the epithet 'incandescent'), the unrepentant boogie of 'Give Out But Don't Give Up' (still, significantly, Throb's favourite Scream LP) right up to the amazing bleak-bleat armour' show that is 'Vanishing Point' and its forthcoming dubbed-out accompaniment piece 'Echo Dek' an album so beautifully frazzled you almost have to will it to the finishing line they've radiated the sort of ragged glory you'd only truly expect from a band that began at the dawn of Creation.

Fitting then, that we join them to acknowledge the release of 'Burning Wheel' as a single, a song Bobby happily announces as, "the best thing the band have ever done" and one which captures more than any other on the epic space jam of 'Vanishing Point' the frail beauty the Scream possess as they travel relentlessly toward the millennium.

Members come and go, the message seems to be, but the Scream's plane just keeps cruising on at warped-speed, no matter how much turbulence it suffers and no matter how much excess baggage goes along with being the coolest group on the planet. Just don't expect them to land Lutton Airport. That's all. The questions which truly concern us on this flight however, revolve around the latest set of conundrums the Scream have managed to inevitably put our way.

To wit, what was the reason for the last-minute postponement of their UK tour, culminating in the long-avvaited open-air show in Victoria Park?; why has drummer Mutreany left the band and so become the latest addition to the Scream's ever-growing missing personnel file?; and how are the Scream, absent for so long, going to cope with reproducing the high thrills of 'Vanishing Point' live, a record 2,000 light years from the no-nonsense boogie of last time around? Nothing for it, but to fasten seat belts and prepare to find out.

ON ARRIVAL in the land where Kraftwerk are so big they've named their motorways after one of their records, the first glitch appears on the radar. Self-appointed 'psychedelic stormtroopers' the Scream may be staying in Cologne in preparation for the following night's appeerance at the opening night of tIne annual Pop Komm festival but NME, on the other hand, are forced to stay in Dusseldof owing to hotel overcrowding brought on by, the assembled legions of the German music liz. Two harrowing Autobahn rides later, we catch up with the Scream in a Mexican restaurant where thee' are busy setting about demolishing Cologne's alcohol supply lines, Man and Throb are holed up in a corner ordering champagne, Duffy is engrossed in a conversation concerning his avalibility for photo opportunities ("Snaps? I thought you said Are you available for Schnapps'") and Chairman Bobby is, unnervingly picking at a plate of vegetables and drinking a cup of cappuccino. Time to interrogate the newly installed horn section of Jim Hunt and Duncan Maclay then, who were carted away by the police a fortnight ago at the Scream's reputedly not-so-hot gig in Sweden, on the mistaken assumption they were paid-up members of the band.

"Oh yeah," they chorus eagerly. "Eveyone was on the hunt for drugs but they stopped us two. They lust kept us in for a bit and fined us. We'd have been sacked straight off for it if it was any other band. With this lot. when we carne out they just said, 'Welcome to the Scream'..."

By now Duffy has got into a heated rant about the qualities of Aston Villarelated singles released over the years.

"There's lust so much energy in them, so much belief." he enthuses through a haze of strawberry margueritas. "They're pretty much my favourite records... (breaks into song). 'We're going up up up!'... they're like gospel records really..."

Mani lurches over. So, Mani, why the peroxide bouffant?

His trademark ever-present grin broadens still further.

"Well you know... I just loooed in the mirror one morning and I said to myself (assumes voice oran irate sergeant major), 'Mounfield... you're not looking dangerous any more... For a millisecond and for the only time on the trip, he pauses for thought. "No-one else seems to like it though..."

IN THE midst of such chaos, in a corner of the bar away from prying eyes, Bobby G is quite happy to present the sober side of the Scream for scrutiny. Not a complete surprise, tho'. After all, this is the man who eulogises the glory of existentialist speed-freak road movie Vanishing Point but still can't drive. As Bobby well knows, sometimes the leader has to watch over his troops. As long as the beliefs there, so tie thoughts of Captain Bob go, why bother with tie reality? In preparation for interview duties he pulls out a dexedrine diet pill ("A pure mod drug, crushes it into perfect crystal lines with the aid of a little opener and a 50 Deutschnnark note and begins.

You've recently said tIe band 'were likely to split up before you recorded 'Vanishing Point'. How close did it get?

"Aye, pretty close. I tell you why, it's only because this band cares so much about making music that we might have had to stop. Up until last summer, between the last LP and last summer, right, I wasn't very well. I was pretty depressed, and I had to ask myseIf why we were doing this. I wasnae sure we were going anywhere, and we weren't making any at all really. And anything we did try and do wasn' going anywhere.We were in a hole...

"It didn't sound new and it didn't sound exciting... it was devoid of energy. And I guess we stopped for a while and went away and. . . I dunno. I guess what makes a good band is what any individuals bring to the band, right, and I think we went away and everyone got a lot stronger and came away with new ideas. And listened to a lot of stuff on our own which we then brought back to the band. We just remembered why you get into music in the first place."

"After that it was like a new band. But up until we started recording 'Vanishing Point' last summer I gave it six months, and if by the end of the year... what year is this?"

1997.

"Aye, if by the end of '96 nothing had changed I thought we had to split up. . .I knew we had to split up and I mean that..."

Why, specifically?

"Because if you've got nothing left to say, give up. . . just don't say it. Otherwise it's just career rock, and we ain't career rock, we're punk rock."

Did you ever think what you might do personally if you split up the band?

"I dunno, I was pretty lost really, I dunno.

Bobby suddenly brightens. He has remembered the band members amassed in a state of disrepair on the other side of the bar.

"I feel different now, totally. We feel stronger than we ever did. We've got the most amazing band right, we've got the horn boys, right. we've got Sherwood at the controls, right, and we've recorded two absolute massive new tracks. And I want to release 'em next week, right. . . I want to release them before 'Burning Wheel' I'm so excited!

"I've got jaki Liebezeit on one of the tracks, 'Five Years Ahead Of My Time' (a cover of an obscure psychedehc classic first released by the Third Bardot). We're just so strong...

Isn't that the track you recorded the night Liam came down to the studio?

"Aye. . . Liam came in, it was magical. That was insane. Before Liam came in Jaki was playing drums and we did three songs, and then. . . it was good. I was singing, Liam played piano, Andrew was on guitar and Michael Karoli from Can was on guitar. There's about an hour of it. It's a like a velvets thing, a repetitious thing. It just happened one night... y'know. that's how we like it, people just drop by. We met Jaki the last time we were in Cologne. Me and Mani met up with him and we gave him a CD. He loved 'Kowalski' and he rang us up when he was in town and said, 'Friday'. He was there from five in the afternoon till four in the morning..."

The Scream has been going in all its myriad forms longer than most bands dream of. Does he feel like an elder statesman?

"No, I don't feel older than I did, but I think I'm wiser. I feel pretty strong and focused. I think I've got my energy back. If you think about who you are and what you're doing too much you get selfconscious and if you do that then you just don't make good records.

"If you'd told me when Primal Scream started that we'd make a record as good as 'Burning Wheel' I wouldn't have believed you. That was my dream, to make that record. When we mixed it, it was like.. . totally schizophrenic psychedelic. . . it's totally LSD 25 - strength through the centre of your skull music. . . It's like taking acid without It's like taking acid without taking acid..."

He pauses.

"Maybe that's demeaning the record, I don't want to take it all back to drugs. The same thing with 'Kowalski' as well, that f-ng dark, totally metallic, junkyard sound. We've always had that in us but up until now we've never been able to make that record. . . we just wanna make our own records, because after the band's dead that's what we'll be judged on. I just want them to be loved, y'know. . . I don't know what's gonna happen next week, we might go on tour and give up. We'll stop. . . I don't think it's healthy to be tied to the same thing and the same people all the time. But (suddenly lightening) when we bring in other musicians it's a great way to work. . . Kevin Shields (of My Bloody Valentine) came into the studio the other day and he plugged in and it was like a sound of a squadron of let fighters coming out of the speakers. The same with George Clinton. Throb was playing six notes and he said miss out the first three. . . Henry was playing bass at the time and George said, 'just play one'... then suddenly there's all this space. He said to Duff, 'Go to church' on the organ, and he did. . . the track was called 'Lost Dog'...

A PROBLEM. Much like the canine in question, Bobby's judge-like sobriety and speed-fuelled focus gets in the way of him discussing anything other than a track-by-track analysis of what makes 'Vanishing Point' and associated Scream projects so amazing. As if on cue Duffy walks over. By tbe looks of him gospel choirs singing Villa terrace chants are reverberating around his head whilst what's left of his mind appears to have ricocheted off somewhere to the left of Saturn. Cogent thought, at this stage of the evening, is not his strong suit.

What does he make of the Scream's place in the hierarchy of things?

"Did you ever see Jesus walk with a skunk?" he declares; apropos of nothing in particular.

"I' ve seen it many times before".

How about the prospect of touring...does that excite him?

"Touring. . . it's 40 days in the desert!"

Before he can continue, Bobby intervenes to row the conversation back into saner waters.

Bobby; "I want to deconstruct the idea of a group. . . there's no given roles with us. We're not trying to copy Funkadelic but we're into bringing in new people and experimenting. Having that straight line-up is OK for some people but not us. What I'm saying is, there's no conventions in this band. The only limit is the limit to your own imagination...

Duffy: "And when your imagination runs out the desert runs out!"

Right. You've already said that 'Vanishing Point' would be a great last album by the Scream. While you were making it did you think it would be?

"That's what I thought for a while that it would make a great final statement, but McGee came in (to the studio) the other day and he heard the new stuff and he said it was darker than ever, which is great..."

Suddenly 'Vanishing Point' has disappeared into the distance and Bob is enthusing about the next Scream project.

"... I want to make a record that sounds like Britain feels like to live in today. Concrete, steel, f*king spray paint. f*king violence, tower blocks, overything...claustrophobic, paranoid. You know, a place where there ain't no sunshine or smiles. Something like 'Metal Box' by PiL, that sounds and feels like Britain did in 1979 lust after Thatcher came in to power."

"We want to sound like Bill Withers with machine guns..." adds Duffy by way of explanation, but there's no stopping Bobby.

"...It's f*cked, Blair's right wing, man. It is not a good future, man. Blair's a Thatcherite, right, and things are just gonna get harder and harder. But we can dig deeper. I always think the record you're making is the last record, otherwise it becomes a career... y'know, career rock."

"You're walking the plank with every song ..." announces Duff solemnly.

But back comes Bobby again.

"It's always the unknown with this band. . . you never know what's gonna happen. . .

How about those cancelled gigs? There were a lot of disappointed people...

"We blew them out to give us more time to work some shit out, simple as that. Same with Mulreany leaving. it's no big deal. It was too much. . . we just took a couple more weeks to get some visuals together..."

You've gone on the record as saying 'Give Out But Don't Give Up' was a smack album, is there still any internal conflict in the band?

"Nah. You saw the band sitting around tonight. . . did that look like a band that doesnae get on with each other?" A further pause. ." Anyway, I like that mystery around us..."

A strange look has appeared on Duffy's face. He appears to have the perfect explanation for the Scream's current drug habits.

"This is a smartees album!" he roars.

"A smartees album'. An adult smartees album! D'you know what I mean?" No, but...

"It's mysterious," announces Bobby cryptically.

"The mysterious smartees! Friggin adult!" howls Duffy.

"People get a little too hysterical in rock'n'roll, y'know," declares Bobby, deliberately ignoring Duffy's ramblings.

"They always want us to be out of control. But I like that about the band. Like, no-one knows what's really going on. Is he a serial killer or an assassin? How many serial killers are there in Primal Scream? I can't say. . . All I ever know is that we're the best we've ever been..."

YOU REJOIN us courtesy of MTV. It is late the next afternoon and the Scream have arnved at the Levi-sponsored hell of the Pop Komm launch party at an industrial-looking Club 42 where an orange-haired girl is attempting to badger a be-shaded Bobby into revealing the secrets of their longevity. Thwarted, she attempts to extract some sense from the perma-grinning Mani, stilt celebrating his departure from the wagon 12 hours previously, and who mutters his new-found mantra, "I was born to have it and have it I shall!" at any given moment by means of justification.

Backstage, meanwhile, Richard Fearless and his cohorts in Death In Vegas, the principal support on tontight's bill appear to be rapidly falling victim to a Scream-like madness. Having been proffered a tape made up for him by Bobby of Suicide's second album, Richard disappears into the dressing room; puts a bag over his feet and his head and gets lost in the music. Weird. Naturally, thLs is a move much admired by Captain Bob: "Aye. tremendous. . . that should be the cover of his next album!" Scream manager Alex Nightingale, meanwhile, has arrived with Innes in tow and is happily discussing where the party gets its Red Army surplus gear from.

"I got this shirt off (Ian) Astbury. Throb got a load of stuff off.him too, we all did. He's sold off a load of his old military uniforms. Not the best stuff, he keeps all that, but loads of good gear. This one's great, proper Vietnamese camouflage gear...

The show, much like Primal Scream themselves, is one glorious mess. Barely two minutes into the opening salvo of 'Burning Wheel' and it's clear that the military theme that runs through their wardrobe clearly doesn't extend to their music. In best guerrilla fashion, they appear to be fighting a valiant rear-guard action against impossible odds. Drummerless, but boosted.by the arrival of On-U-Sound king Adrian Sherwood behind the mixing desk, they lash straight into a towering 'Burning Wheel' and 'lf They Move, Kill 'Em' assisted by a drum machine and two enormous screens featuring a variety of explosions and riots interspersed with Screamapproved icons as diverse as Johnny Rotten and James Brown.

However, faced with an audience who would clearly be happier watching Nena (she of the 99 balloons, and a forthcoming attraction here), the band quickly fall into a mess of righteous indignation and siegementally sullenness. Between songs, Mani, whose bass-playing is nothing short of miraculous all night, commandeers the microphone to remind the audience they're in the presence of, "F*cking Primal Scream. . . the best band in the world!" But aside from those of us aware we're in the presence of true greatness, no matter how ragged, the reception to a set which zips between the astro-melancholy of 'Long Life' and Star' to the turbogrind of'Motorhead' is strictly lukewarm.

Still, if you're a real believer in the cause, none of it ever sounds less than magnificent folIowing a rousing 'Stuka', a truly miraculeous 'HigherThanThe Sun' and an unrepentant stomp across 'Rocks' they trail off nonchalantly with a final blaze through 'Kowalski' and that's it. Eight songs and 40 minutes' worth of the Scream Team, and that's it.

Downstairs in the dressing room all is not perfect. Innes skirts the subject of the show in preference for a lucid rant on the merits of Asian Dub Foundation; Throb, swigging champers in the dressing room, growls "it was shit" to the band's PR; and Adrian Sherwood, having struggled with the acoustics of a converted factory all evening, is too upset to go into a postmortem. Man and Duffy, reassuringly, don't seem the slightest bit worried about the fact that in ten days they'll start their first British tour for two years.

"Wait till Dublin," roars a beaming Man in the general direction of Innes -." They were just suits in there, not Scream fans... wait till Dublin, we'll f*cking have it there!"

TEN DAYS later, and Glasgow has the chance to see the state of its favourite sons for itself. Having already been caught up in newspaper rumours that they were 'too ill to play' the Scream rematerialise on home territory with impeccable uming The city's annual marathon has been threading its way through town all day, and this, combined with the discovery that a surgeons' conference has caused every hotel for miles to be overflowing with 3,000 doctors from all over Europe, provides the perfect setting for a second opinion After all, if there's one band who've gone the distance but might just be in need of a little medical attention, it's the Scream.

And in a vast sky-blue tent the 'wild Scots rockers' (cf, The Daily Record) set about laying the ghosts of Cologne to rest in double time. Having let manic rapno-terrortsts Asian Dub Foundation loose on us already; (crowd reaction; one part rabid limb flailing to four parts complete bewilderment), the Sex Pistols' 'God Save The Queen' splurges from the speakers and the Scream's turbo-charged white-soul extravaganza shifts into orbit for a full 70-minute 70-minute meltdown. The curdled psychodelia of 'Burning Wheel' begins and ends proceedings. but it's instantly clear that any bad medicine still flowing through the hand's system in the wake of Muireany's departure and the show in Germany has disappeared for good.

Still, hearing Man announce variations on, "The Scream are here, and they're the f*ckng best!" in the split-second interval between each song ending and the tumultuous roar that follows it adds a little something. As for Bobby Gillespie, radical chic-wearing soul seeker' and authentic legend, he flits between the band members and wide-eyed wellwishers backstage afterwards, quietly laughing his head off at what a triumph the evening's been.

Having fought a valiant last stand in Germany, the Scream Machine has returned in glorious triumph to home soil. Morale is good. Spirits in the ranks are high. The future looks brighter than ever.

The only thing left to find is the sky.

Originally appeared in NME, 6 September 1997 .
Copyright © IPC Magazine Ltd.

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