THE TUBES | LIVE REVIEW
The Globe, Cardiff, Fri 14 Oct
Just under two hours passes between a bloke next to me at the bar beaming “Let’s get fuckin’ hanging” to his mate as protopunk glam-prog oddities The Tubes kick off their set, and the band’s frontman Fee Waybill enlivening signature song White Punks On Dope by simulating suicide with a length of rope. Now over 40 years not out as touring artists, the artier, quirkier side of this San Francisco group is clearly no barrier to soundtracking a few hundred middle-aged fans’ boozy Friday night singalongs.
As performers, The Tubes are both professional and enthusiastic; the show is theatrically entertaining, if uneven. The opening two songs are a Waybill-free instrumental and a cover of Chuck Berry’s You Never Can Tell, neither of which bode especially well – but save for a few time-filling disco and pop interpolations, plus a jaunt through The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (a tribute to the cowboy culture of Arizona, where The Tubes originate), they mostly sidestep the wedding party stuff.
Twenty minutes in and Waybill darts offstage, leaving the four musicians jamming in his wake. What’s he doing back there, and is it safe for a 66-year-old to indulge in it? Aha! It’s his first costume change of the evening – a straitjacket and grotesque bird mask, which stays on for new wave goofs Mr Hate and Amnesia. Conversely, Turn Me On is preceded by a long rant about big pharma and an explanation of the singer’s T-shirt, which pays tribute to Quaaludes. Golden Boy, introduced as being a blues song about Marlon Brando, features a ripped white vest and a Streetcar-referencing bellow of “STELLAAAA!”.
This schtick is likeable enough, but not The Tubes at their zenith. Neither is (Love’s A Mystery) I Don’t Understand, a synthy ballad vaguely akin to Queen, or zingy powerpopper She’s A Beauty, which closes the show in encore form. That comes with What Do You Want From Life?, a marvellously OTT jab at American consumer culture that’s like a US equivalent of the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band, and of course White Punks On Dope – remarkably prescient for 1975 and blessed with one of the best keyboard riffs ever. By this time, Fee Waybill has donned 18” platform boots, towering over his band and audience in much the same way The Tubes’ finest moments tower over some passable padding.
words NOEL GARDNER photos LIZ AIKEN