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Rating: In July 2009, two major groups played in Italy, the first at the beginning of the month (Tuesday 7 and Wednesday 8), and the second on the last day, Friday 31.
These were U2 and Killing Joke, respectively. But why compare them?
What do they share, besides the coincidence of visiting the Belpaese around the same period? Upon reflection, they do share some points: both contemporary and of the same age, the two bands were born, albeit with stylistic differences, under the sign of the new wave; both debuted on record in the same year (1980), and both have been highly influential for succeeding generations. But that's where the similarities end, as an abyss divides the world of U2 from that of Killing Joke: nowadays, the former are glossy billionaires omnipresent in the music scene, while the latter continue to be a rather elitist group, and their bank accounts are nowhere near those of Bono and company.
The most recent events perfectly demonstrate this enormous gap. The former performed in the usual big city (Milan), at the usual big stadium (San Siro), on a super expensive and futuristic stage, with two performances in front of a total of about 150,000 spectators. The latter didn't even play in Venice but rather in Tessera, a small suburb of the lagoon city, on a field (Forte Bazzera) the size of a football pitch... Yes, but from a small provincial village, not San Siro! Even the stage, although well set up, was modest in size, and the attendance was about a thousand people. Moreover, to see U2, it was necessary to purchase tickets well in advance to avoid sold-out issues, of course paying a lot of money. None of this was necessary for Killing Joke, for which there wasn't even a ticket; instead, it was 18 euros to enter the event.
But what is it that Coleman, Walker, Youth, and Ferguson have to envy about their Irish colleagues, if not exactly the profits?
Nothing, if anything, it's the opposite. The famous "Dubliners," under the guise of good men, civically engaged, pacifists, environmentalists, ambassadors, Christians, and so on, are unscrupulous businessmen, more attentive to their wealth than to the value of their music, as, in my humble opinion, they haven't released anything decent in many years. The Londoners, in contrast, have always remained true to themselves and have consistently maintained at least decent levels, even considering the natural stylistic evolutions that sometimes led them to experiment with more commercial solutions than their dark post-punk beginnings.
So why does such a valid group continue to not have the same fame as some very overrated others?
The question is certainly rhetorical, and also quite banal—after all, it's not U2's fault if so many people continue to ignore the Killing Joke—but sometimes it spontaneously arises from a certain indignation. The same indignation I felt at Forte Bazzera in Tessera, seeing a turnout at times less than what the usual Vasco and Ligabue tribute bands get at any Beer Festival. But aside from the bitterness caused by these inequities, the show revealed a band still in form, capable of engaging from the first to the last note.
The group entered the scene to the introductory notes of "Requiem", which Jaz Coleman sang wearing a mask: volumes at their highest, power to spare, and a sound that's terribly modern even thirty years after its debut. At the end of the song, Coleman removes the mask to reveal his face painted, as usual, in black and white. Then he warns the audience with his unmistakably "British" accent that a war is about to begin, leading into the legendary "Wardance", one of the cornerstones of industrial. The setlist favored the first, mythical album, from which only the complex "Tomorrow's World" and "S.O.36" were excluded, and it included some early hits, such as "Madness", "Love Like Blood", and "Eighties".
Coleman remains the same; his voice, though devoid of particular flights, is always effective, sometimes seductive, more often aggressive. Geordie Walker, always immobile, seems to want to preserve his energy to convey it only to the guitar, the few basic chords elevated to the power of ten by granite and, at the same time, jangling distortion, almost excruciating. Bassist Martin "Youth" Glover alternates between essential, driving lines and cold, robotic funk rhythms. The same can be said of drummer Paul Ferguson, who is also skilled at navigating between punk rhythms and less aggressive funk-derived beats, sometimes brushing against, thanks to the occasional use of a double pedal in more intense moments, the edges of metal.
The addition of a fifth unofficial member, a young keyboardist—a solution that seems to have been adopted just recently—relieves Coleman from playing the synthesizer. To be precise, and wanting to be a bit snarky, there were a couple of goofs: Coleman messed up the lyrics on "Love Like Blood", singing the second verse first, and the band got confused for a few seconds in "The Wait", but these were nonetheless minor issues that didn't jeopardize the overall success of the concert. If we really want to find a flaw, perhaps we could complain about the somewhat too short duration of the performance (not even an hour and a half). But perhaps, in hindsight, it's better that way, considering that for the next two days the ears were delightfully ringing.
Returning to the earlier discussion, if honor and dignity are practically useless, maybe even detrimental, to those for whom success is the main goal, they are nonetheless two qualities that must be considered when judging an artist's substance. Therefore, returning to the unlikely and pretentious comparison above, in terms of honor and dignity, Killing Joke easily outshine U2.
P.S. I learned about this event a couple of months ago through DeNotizia "Killing Joke veneziani per un giorno (orco can)". So thank you Debaser, it's also thanks to you that I spent one of the most unforgettable evenings of this summer on July 31, 2009.
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