It would be an understatement to call Love one of the most important bands of the sixties. Like the Velvet Underground (with whom they had something in common in that both bands evoked the dread that underscored the euphoria of the late sixties, though in completely different ways), their legend only grew long after they had disbanded. Formed in Los Angeles in 1965, the band’s first and class line-up released three albums of increasing inventiveness (and, at the time, decreasing sales) before falling apart a mere three years later, having delivered its enduring masterpiece, Forever Changes. Frontman and creative lynchpin Arthur Lee went on to helm several different iterations of Love before embarking on a sporadic solo career that was constantly interrupted by personal problems until his sad and premature death in 2006.
Love’s music is hard to describe and better descriptive powers than mine have faltered in the attempt. Try to imagine, if you can, a musical summit meeting between Jimi Hendrix and Johnny Mathis backed by the Rolling Stones’ rhythm section and you may get the first idea. Soft acoustic textures are suddenly ripped apart by screaming, feedback-driven guitars, mariachi bands appear as if by magic in the middle of introspective ballads about loneliness, while Lee’s voice crooned, cajoled and screamed over it all. If there was a soundtrack for people determined to snatch some pleasure while waiting for the bomb to drop or their draft cards to arrive, Love provided it.
In 2019, the touring version of Love (the Love Band) consists of original lead guitarist Johnny Echols and a group of somewhat younger musicians who clearly have the band’s music in their bloodstream, having previously backed Arthur Lee under the name Baby Lemonade. The authenticity element is provided by Echols (who nowadays looks a far more affable figure than the man giving the record buyer the death stare on those 60s album covers) but the sound is faithful. Those who are familiar with the recent version of Captain Beefheart’s Magic Band, fronted by original drummer John French, will know that young musicians who grew up on this stuff can bring something really exciting to the table.
For fans of the band, this farewell British tour is a bittersweet moment as it may well be the last time a band with a connection to the original group plays these songs in a live setting. At the splendidly intimate Brudenell Social Club, the Love Band created an immense sound that reminded the capacity audience what an astonishing and varied catalogue they created. Opening with the nightmarish psychedelic freak-out 'A House Is Not A Motel' and proceeding with their startlingly aggressive cover of Bacharach and David’s 'My Little Red Book', they proceeded to play a huge chunk of the Love repertoire, including the bulk of Forever Changes, with detours into the debut album and the follow-up Da Capo. Of course, it’s not possible to tour with an orchestra or a mariachi band, but guitarist Mike Randle (a dead ringer for Arthur Lee himself in a certain light) did a very effective job of replicating them with his highly tremeloed guitar solos. Vocals were shared amongst the group members with rhythm guitarist Rusty Squeezebox providing the majority, with bassist David Chapple taking over for the Dylanesque 'Bummer In The Summer'. Johnny Echols himself was also given a vocal showcase for 'Message To Pretty' and a particularly fine reading of the despairing 'Signed D.C. Echols' demonstrated a fine, bluesy drawl. David Green was a powerhouse on the drums throughout.
Other set highlights included Love’s most well-known song outside America (‘Alone Again Or’), founder member Bryan MacLean’s bizarrely ironic love song Softly To Me and the psychedelic ‘deep cut’ 'She Comes In Colours' which clearly inspired Mick Jagger (and, later on, Madonna). The set climaxed with the chilling ’The Red Telephone’ with its eerie refrain ’They’re locking us up today/They’re throwing away the key/I wonder who it will be tomorrow/You or me?’ Enthusiastically taken up by the audience. They returned for 'August' - a nighlight of the post-Echols era of the band, though Johnny returned for the barnstorming finale which could only be Seven & Seven Is - Love’s pun-prophesying single 1966, an incredible two minute adrenaline rush which can only be stopped by a nuclear explosion (though it got a nice bluesy coda in this live version).
Support was by Elk. aka Joey Donnelly, an emerging singer-songwriter from Leeds who, at 21, evinces a considerable talent. Accompanying himself on acoustic guitar and pre-programmed keyboards (the Love Band’s Dave Green supplied drums on one track), he presented a selection of delicate introspective songs from his just-released debut album Beech. It’s never easy to play a support slot especially to a band as well-loved as Love, but Elk did well to maintain his concentration despite the clanking of beer glasses and counted conversation from people who were only there to see the main act. Although his style is naturally diffident to go with his music, he might think about developing his stage presence more to draw the audience in. A bit more of an engaging stage personality might encourage people to listen more closely to his very fine songs.
Reviewer - Richard Ely
on - 1/7/19
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