Concert Review by Ginger Meggs
From NME (1984)
If on this black and rainswept night you were crawling through
London on bruised knees, you should have found yourself drawn
to the Clarendon, awaiting the onset of And Also The Trees.
The Wonders of worcestershire were predictably magnificent, blowing
out a fierce and frightening set. AATT's music has grown from the
dissident seeds of punk, blossomed through the bewilderment of post-punk
and new wave, and set root in stranger pastures. They have honed their
sound to a degree of near-perfection; a precise, individualistic, territorial
music. It is virtually impossible to accurately describe their music, save
the placebo of labelling it the essence of debauchery.
Debauchery, mind you, not sleaze. Annihilate the cock-strut, lambast,
the lizard kings. Forget the little boy blues and impotent turkeys like
Limahl. Eschew the opate of mediocrity, and allow yourself to enter
the realm of the senses. This music is the milking of the witching hour.
The boys are the real McCoy. The tragedy is that they rarely leave
Malvern.
"The secret sea" parted the set's lips, only to reveal a pearly row
of raw and haunting songs which chilled the nape of the neck, and
mesmerized all faculties of concentration. "Shantell", their first
single, tumbled out on languid, skeletal guitar, an abstracted bass,
and Simon's deep-throat hill-graven vocals which plummeted into a
muscular chorus. "Tease the tear" and "Impulse of man" skewered the
crawly-beast atmosphere of the execreable venue, making the evening an
experience, rather than an enema.
"Twilight's pool", an awesome and godlike song (Yes! Yes! -Live Ed),
was cradled by a bewitching cat-thump bass and superbly sinuous acoustic
guitar. Gonad of the Fortnight Award must go to the mixer, who succeeded
in combining the insight of Conan the Barbarian with the manual
dexterity of The Elephant Man. The microphone suffered a major coronary
during the encore, leaving Simon feeling somewhat foolish in the face
of a perplexed audience. Groupies gawped, and he abandoned the stage
in desperation. Justin shot Budge-the-bassist a startled look, and
plunged into a most impressive break of fluid guitar, saving the song
from an early death. If you are a dedicated hedonist, a sensitive and
intelligent human being, bestowed with incredible magnetism and a pair
of minces that would melt Maggie, you will go and see them. If you are an
amphibian, a lumberjack, or suffer from acute sinusitis, you will
simply buy their records. If, on the other hand, you are a pestilent,
pustule-ridden, ignominous prat, you will ignore them.
Marlon Brando, eat your heart out.
[Ginger Meggs]