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Daisy Chainsaw |
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You're
natural stars, and we mean it, really |
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This artifact, which I no longer possess (it fell victim to the purge of '93, ending up in Norman's Place, probably, for at least 75% more than he gave me for it), was created by the glammed up crusty couple (grusty? crummy?) of Katie Jane Garside and Crispin Gray. Katie Jane was all dirty doll dresses and sunflower beaming face, wide-eyed and trying to look like she'd just got out of an asylum, artificially eccentric (she's still like this, of course, so maybe she's a good actress, or really is nuts). Me, I just think she looks like she's permanently catching her parents having sex. And still trying far too hard to be like Kat Bjelland. |
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I recall being that wrapped up in and rapt by them for all of 3 minutes that I bought the cheaper 7-inch first, then went back and swapped my hard-earned paper round money or something for the CD single too, just for the extra song. This may well have been the onset of the end, as the last song, 'Get Real Pleasure' was a pretty turgid affair, as I recall. Katie Jane groaned and moaned, apparently all seductive and semi-orgasmic, but she actually sounded somewhat like a cross between an asthmatic Robert Smith and a little wee baby bird chirping for it's mother to come and regurgitate some food down her throat. Looking back, it seems this was a sign of things to come when Queen Adrena reared it's ugly, monotonous head a few years later. I'd completely missed the last spattering breaths of the Chainsaw, not even realizing, till the other day, during the course of my as-ever extensive journalistic research, that there are two albums floating around out there somewhere. Oh well, at least the Dogs D'Amour are touring again, eh? |
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Really, we're only concerned here with the opening salvo of 'Love Your Money', an absolute dirty, nay, filthy n' fun frolic in the fields of crusted mud, a manic motorway pile up, if a motorway pile up involved being catapulted headfirst into your own individually exclusive favorite things, be that bourbon, breasts, or erm, beef and ale pie. It really hinges on its being hung together with perhaps the best bassline in the whole world ever (along with that bit from the beginning of 'Sweet Child O' Mine' and Thin Lizzy's 'Dancin' in the Moonlight'...oh, and I guess old Harris from Iron Maiden), volume 1, part 7. It sounds like you're driving pell-mell headlong into a rather severe meteor shower (though I kinda think any meteor shower would be severe, really, but just to make ma point). Anyway, it's akin to falling down the stairs then, followed by being repeatedly hit sharply about the head with the stack of un-sold Daisy Chainsaw albums. It is a rare pop gem, along the lines of Mud's 'Tiger Feet'. That one also had an absolutely scorching, brittle-sharp machine gun rattling guitar sound, and |
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an apt summary of the evil music biz that they were to fall foul of in the lyric department (tho the wise among you will have figured out that I ain't talking about Tiger Feet no more), which is always a good thing. I can't remember what 'Sick of Sex' goes like, but judging by the sounds on the 'Get Real Pleasure' track, she evidently wasn't lying. |
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I persevered with them tho, mainly cos I'm a fair guy, and like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Also, I think that I'd heard the single 'Pink Flower' as part of a Radio One Evening Session they did, and was rather impressed. Anyway, suffice to say I bought this too, and also no longer have it. And no, I can't remember what the hell it went like. Which isn't very helpful in a piece on Daisy Chainsaw, but is a neat way of summing up the fact that 'Love Your Money' is a priceless piece of genius and the rest of the stuff isn't. They also made a great performance on Channel 4's The Word, which was a suitable late night return from the pub environment for their forced art-school insanity, all whirling vomit coloured backdrops, and the like. The only other thing of interest to this chap is
to hear Queen Adreena's run through of 'Jolene'.
Apart from that, I've had the displeasure of catching them twice, once supporting The Cramps, and
again just
the other night. Well, last night, in fact, opening for The 80's Matchbox
B-Line Disaster. Both times the impenetrable turgidity put me off
worse than the smell emanating from my beautiful pink creepers the night
of the show...which was, admittedly, disgusting. |
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Further: Queen Adreena fansite
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-Stu Gibson
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I can't remember my first hearing or seeing of
Daisy Chainsaw...I imagine it would have been by word of mouth at
school. Then again, I used to credit the music papers like
Sounds and Melody Maker (strange how things turn out isn't
it? NME is the only one left today, and it was always the last of
the 3 when I was a lad) with dynamiting monstrously-sized chunks of earth
away from the surface, to allow the hordes of bands out there the chance to
breath fresh air for a while. Ah, the sweetness of youth. Or maybe it's
just that they used to employ people that could actually write, at
least a little bit, and not just concern themselves with being an insipid
indie gossip column taking labels' money to ensure their Camden cocks get
on the cover.