Throwdown

Bonded By Blood

Considering how much they have common, it's kinda strange that metal and hardcore haven't fostered closer relationships. It's only the opposing doctrines of punk and heavy metal that have kept the two seemingly natural bedfellows apart. Sure, there have been nods towards a crossover, in the mid-1980s when acts like DRI, Cro-Mags, Circle Jerks and Suicidal Tendencies began turning up in metal 'zines. Even the notorious Stormtroopers of Death made gestures in both directions.

Later, in the mid 1990s, numerous acts on the American Roadrunner label played a form of metal that severely trimmed the fat off the genre. Such mundane trappings as interminable soloing, falsetto screaming, and homoerotic imagery were dispensed with in favour of a bludgeoning heaviness by the likes of Biohazard and Sepultura, whose 1996 Roots album profoundly moved metal forward.

In the last few years the line between metal and hardcore has blurred, introducing a host of aggressive acts that have breathed new life into forward thinking head banging communities. Hatebreed, Lamb of God, Killswitch Engage, Shadows Fall, and Throwdown are just a few of this emerging legion. The latter hail from that recent soap kingdom, California's Orange County, a privileged area you wouldn't think capable of breeding such antagonism.

But the Throwdown boys are actually pretty well adjusted, young, straight (edge) living, and intensely committed to their music. This has seen the five piece move forward from the bitter lyrics of 2003's Haymaker, to a more positive outlook on the recent Vendetta. That doesn't mean they've mellowed any, as the title track suggests - "This is war. This is pure hostility. This is vengeance. This is all that's driving me. This is a Vendetta." But these lyrics seem more of a nod towards their heroes in Sepultura, Hatebreed and Pantera than the harbouring of any real disaffection with society.

As bassist Dom Macaluso explains, vocalist Dave Peters outlook has altered since Haymaker. "All his lyrics are based on first hand experiences from life. Although there's a bit of animosity and anger on that record, I think he's been able to vent a lot of that, and in the course of this new record been able to mature and branch out, and sing about things with more substance. We're all really happy about the musical and lyrical progression."

Part of this progression came about because of line up changes, along with experiences like touring internationally, and as part of major packages such as OzzFest. "Before we were more of a hobby band and we would do tours in between work and in between college," elaborates Macaluso. "We just wanted to establish that for our private lives, and once we'd done that we went out and did the band fulltime. It's been a real rewarding time over the last year doing this."

Vendetta was started in January this year, only a week or so after Throwdown had returned from a tour of the UK. They wrote at home in Huntington Beach (also the home of such luminaries as Pennywise) throughout that month before heading East to Hadleigh, Massachusetts. Here they hooked up with producer Zeuss, a man that Macaluso only has good things to say about. "In the past we had a handful of bad experiences as far as recording engineers being flaky, and wanting to record on their time and their schedule. Zeuss was exactly the opposite, he was very business minded and worked day in day out to help us create a really great record. And he had a lot of creativity, he knows the kind of music we're going for, especially (having worked) with Shadows Fall and Hatebreed and bands like that, he had a good idea of what we were trying to do."

Having inked a deal with Roadrunner Records since Haymaker, Throwdown are now enjoying an increased audience, something they first noticed while on that UK tour late last year. A benefit of their expanded profile is the ability to tour in such exotic locations as Japan, and of course New Zealand. The band has now made two trips down here, and it seems they'd be keen for more. "Oh yeah, by all means," enthuses Macaluso. "It's kind of ridiculous that we can go to a place as beautiful as New Zealand, and essentially have the trip paid for. And it's a great feeling also to be on the other side of the world, be it Europe or Japan, and seeing kids that actually know our lyrics, and we're bonding with them on that level."


Gavin Bertram.

Success, Lies and Videotape

Outlaw Filmmakers Rewrite the Rules During the ‘90s.


"... a man stood up and asked, 'So how do you justify all the violence in this movie?' The director replied, "I don't know about you, but I love violent movies."

This was the scene when Quentin Tarantino's artistically plagiaristic tour de force Reservoir Dogs showed at the conservative Sundance Festival in 1992. The director, a blunt, driven operator, was not the deferential emotion merchant the hand wringing audiences at Robert Redford's showcase of independent films were used to. Here was the brazen new face of the indie universe, and they didn't like it. In fact, Redford himself commented that year that he'd seen some of the violent films in the festival and "I could barely eat for twenty-four hours because they were so loaded with violence."

Yet it wasn't the violence itself that was so shocking about this new frontier of low budget film. In many ways it was that they had been made at all - that was enough of an affront to the complacent, elitist knobs that patronised ‘art house’ cinema during the 1980s. To make a trite comparison, 1980s indie film was flatulent prog rock, and the 1990s zeitgeist was punk rock, come to wash away crimes of interminable boredom with youthful enthusiasm and rampant creativity.

Two recent books offer in-depth exposés of the phenomenon of 1990s independent film, a loose movement that offered a spicy flipside to the white bread contributions coming from Hollywood. Peter Biskind's Down and Dirty Pictures and Sharon Waxman's Rebels On The Backlot uncover the filth and the fury, the intrigues and punch-ups, the backstory that made the '90s such a fascinating era in cinema.

Just as Biskind's 1999 tome Easy Riders, Raging Bulls: How the Sex 'n' Drugs 'n' Rock'n'Roll Generation Saved Hollywood lifted the lid on the excesses of 1970s cinematography, so does Down and Dirty Pictures get beneath the skin of the '90s. It draws a line from Steven Soderbergh's genre defying debut sex, lies, and videotape through to such recent successes as 21 Grams and Cold Mountain.

The intervening years spans several thousand reels of celluloid, covering everything from Richard Linklater's Slacker to Gus Van Sant's Good Will Hunting, Kevin Smith's Clerks to Larry Clark's Kids, Todd Solondz' Happiness to Tarantino's smash Pulp Fiction. The directors are only one aspect of the story, a hefty chunk dedicated to those with - and without - business acumen who drove the independent industry, and those who unwittingly sabotaged it from within.

The key figures here are Redford, the passive-aggressive Sundance impresario whose dealings were legendarily patronising, and the Weinstein brothers, Bob and Harvey. Miramax's familial junta stomped on many heads in a riot of bullying, manipulative antics. Yet the company’s role in seizing power from the embedded Hollywood studio system was pivotal to the developments of the decade.

Harvey Weinstein was the Miramax heavy on any given day, though that role was interchangeable with his brother. Although he claimed a deep love of film, the reality was quite different. As Biskind's book recounts, Chris Mankiewicz (son of legendary producer Joe) was drafted into the Miramax ranks to sort out the mess the brothers had created. His observation of Harvey was that "Whether he was going to be making films, or donuts, or machine gun parts, it was a product, and there was just a sense of ferocious ambition. He was a guy who wanted to have a career or make a lot of money."

That blind ambition established and shattered many directorial careers, Weinstein often involving himself in the artistic lives of those whose films he financed - earning him the nickname 'Harvey Scissorhands'.


"We don't want to grow up and be another Walt Disney." Bob Weinstein, 1989.

"I'm not looking to make an NC-17 movie anymore...The mantra at Disney is to keep the ratings 'R', and I'm happy to do so. I don't want to cause Disney any problems. Why ruin a perfect relationship?" Harvey Weinstein, mid-1990s

Indeed, Miramax entered into a consortium deal with those masters of filmic dross, Disney, in 1993. This mutually beneficial arrangement allowed Miramax to claw their way out of a financial mire and blitzkrieg the independent film market, though it put the brakes on their more creative urges. This is plainly illustrated in Harvey Weinstein's comment above, emphasising his commitment to the dollar over artistic integrity.

Biskind is adept at digging up anecdotal commentary from those at the centre of this tumultuous galaxy, and pulls no punches in relaying the dirt. His portraits of the key players do them no favours, and just as with Easy Riders, Raging Bulls he's no doubt burnt a great many bridges. You can't write a book like this without losing friends or breaching confidences, or without having an insatiable journalistic curiosity and steel balls.

On all levels Down and Dirty Pictures pushes the buttons. It leaves the reader with the overwhelming impression that the 1990s independent film phenomena had to happen, to revitilise and refresh the rapidly stagnating ditch that Hollywood had become. Sharon Waxman's Rebels On The Backlot covers the same period, but delves deep into six of the key directors responsible for the overhaul.

Quentin Tarantino, Steven Soderbergh, David Fincher, Paul Thomas Andersen, David O. Russell and Spike Jones were those six, auteurs that created markedly unusual films that were lapped up by discerning audiences. Waxman asserts early on that Tarantino almost single handedly created a template for succeeding through alternative channels. "(He) very early in the decade broke every rule in moviedom to the roaring acclaim of critics, audiences, and (finally) the Hollywood establishment, then brought his irony-tinged violence and retro-cool ethos into mainstream culture."

This differs from Biskind's ordainment of Soderbergh's sex, lies and videotape as the evolutionary flashpoint that sparked a new species. The coverage of Soderbergh's career in Waxman's book focuses on the making of Traffic, a film that allowed the director to traverse the gulf to big budget filmmaking. Traffic was made in a largely improvisational manner, shots being set up quickly. "The whole movie should feel as though we showed up and shot and there was no design. By the end of the film the more real it feels and the less it feels like a Hollywood movie, the more the audience will connect with it."

While Rebels On the Backlot doesn't unearth the same kind of salacious detail that Biskind is so practiced at, it does a creditable job of revealing the tribulations experienced by some of the best filmmakers of this generation. Such as New Line chairman Bob Shaye whining about why Spike Jones' Being John Malkovich couldn't be called Being Tom Cruise.

While you’d think that the outrageous success of Tarantino, Soderbergh, Jones, Linklater, Smith and peers would have erased this kind of thinking, it would be fanciful. But as these two books show, despite the villainous subterfuge that riddles the film industry, there will always be those willing to tirelessly pursue an artistic vision.


Down and Dirty Pictures: Miramax, Sundance and the Rise of Independent Film
- Peter Biskind (Simon & Schuster)

Rebels On The Backlot: Six Maverick Directors and How They Conquered the Hollywood Studio System - Sharon Waxman (HarperCollins)


Gavin Bertram.

Peter Frampton

Coming Alive Again

Ah, the excesses of the Seventies. The muscle cars, bell-bottoms, double live albums in lavish gatefold packaging - perfect for skinning up on. And no live album is more synonymous with the era than Frampton Come Alive. This slab of classic rock history was the highest selling album in 1976, going on to reach over 12 million sales.

This world conquering success came as a surprise, not least of all to Peter Frampton, who had been involved in the music business for well over a decade in the mid-1970s. Having achieved relative success with both The Herd and Humble Pie, the overnight success tag did not sit comfortably, and neither did the fact that he was suddenly the biggest act in the world.

Frampton had difficulty dealing with this success, and with the attendant record industry bullshit. Management and record company interference and greed, some bad decisions, and a horrendous car crash ultimately moved the spotlight on, yet he remains in the game.

For someone who once ruled supreme over the world's music charts, Frampton is particularly friendly - and approachable. This interview was arranged virtually overnight, which is a pleasant change from chasing people around the globe for weeks or months. About to embark on a Floridian holiday with his daughter before heading to Australasia in May, Frampton is relaxed, humorous and charming when we speak on the phone. This too is a pleasant change.

There are various reasons why Frampton is heading to the antipodes, despite having been off the popular music map for some time. Firstly, it's being billed as the 25th Anniversary tour for Comes Alive, though the timing seems a little off for that particular celebration. But he's also still pushing his most recent album, 2003's Now. And lastly, it's been 18 odd years since he was last in these climes, as guitarist on David Bowie's Glass Spider tour in 1987.

Now is the best of these reasons to go see the show. Generally these types of career revival albums are pale facsimiles of past glories, but not in this instance. For anyone whose only exposure to Frampton has been tracks such 'Baby I Love Your Way' or 'Show Me The Way' from Comes Alive, Now is a revelation. Quality song writing, and not in the mothballed realms of Golden Oldies radio fodder either. White boy blues of the late '60s British variety abounds, and there's a real authenticity about it. But then, as Frampton concedes, Now was a very selfish project for him.

"The pressure of Frampton Comes Alive has long since left, now it's a case of when I want to make some music, I don't even plan it, it happens when it happens. I didn't really think about anything apart from 'Am I going to have fun recording this song? Do I like this song enough that I want to record it? Do I think this will sound good with the band.'"

One of the reasons he was able to approach the album with this freedom was the fact that it was not released on a major record label. In fact, it was released on his Framptone Records label, and distributed in a fairly loose manner. The reasons for this were fairly simple.

"You probably know by now the record industry is in deep shit," he laughs, albeit in a sagely philosophical way. "It's just a fact that as we get to different decades in our careers, especially with the record labels getting in so much trouble as they didn't embrace the internet straight away, that unfortunately they got in so much trouble financially, it's very difficult to get a major label. It was pretty frustrating. But there is a happy ending. Perhaps because I'm still around and that Universal have my entire catalogue, including the Herd and Humble Pie, the next album is going to be on (Universal sub label) A&M Records, which is rather nice."

Now was recorded in Frampton's home studio, the first album he has had the luxury to pursue in that manner. He says he has been saving pieces of equipment for years with that goal in mind. And although he is an analog aficionado through and through, the album was recorded using Steinberg's Nuendo software - a big psychological step for the musician.

"I was very reticent to go that way - but Chuck Ainley the engineer did the aural litmus paper test, recording the same thing in analog and on Nuendo, and played them back together and swapped between the two, and it was very good."

Amongst the highlights on Now is an emotional rendition of George Harrison's 'While My Guitar Gently Weeps', a fitting eulogy to Frampton's good friend. He not only had the pleasure of knowing Harrison well, he also played on his landmark triple disc solo excursion All Things Must Pass. And as Frampton coyly notes, he wasn't even credited for it - though he generously marks this down as a mere oversight. Other than that, he says that recording session remains a highlight not only of his career, but of his life. He enthusiastically recounts this memory, affecting a fair Liverpuddlian accent when quoting the quiet Beatle.

"The best time for me was when we'd done the tracks and George called me up and said 'Phil wants more acoustics on most of it, would you come down and bring your acoustic and the two of us will track away'. Sitting with George in the big room where Sergeant Peppers was recorded, sitting on two stools looking through the glass at Phil Spector. In between changing reels George and I would jam, and I can't tell you what that was like; jamming with a Beatle is pretty incredible. And I got to jam with Ringo during those sessions and later. And of course when it was my turn to start a jam, I started with a Beatles song, because I could! It was just a thrill, it was probably one of the most special moments of my life."

The next highlight of his career was that great rock monolith from 1976, an album that has coloured his life in both positive and negative ways since. Frampton remembers vividly the flash of realisation that Comes Alive was going to be massive.

"I remember going away for a ten day getaway right after the New Year in '76, then it came out March 17th. We had one show booked in Detroit, about ten thousand seats. Here I am headlining there for the first time, and I went away and came back, and we had four nights sold out. That was the realisation, there it was, the album is zooming up the charts and I'm selling out multiple nights in cities, which was unbelievable."

As one would expect, he allowed himself some time to bask in his fame - three weeks in fact. And in some ways it was those around Frampton, those who should have been protecting him that brought him back to earth so quickly.

"This incredible pressure was put on me - 'Okay Sonny, follow that one up!' It was incredibly difficult to do. The I'm In Me record was done way too soon, I wasn't happy with it at all, the record company and management was enjoying my success and their new wealth shall we say. Which I was enjoying too, but the wealth that filtered down to me... that period was marred by some managerial jiggery pokery, meaning I got ripped off royally. It happens to everyone unfortunately, when you're not prepared for that kind of financial gain, there is a lot of people who start taking the piece of the pie. But they don't ask, they just take. That was very frustrating, to say the least. There were a lot of things that went along with that success that were not as good as they could have been. So, the good, the bad and the ugly, and I wouldn't change anything for the world, it's all been a great experience and I'm still playing what I want to play and doing what I want to do. So, I thank myself, for that wonderful record!"

No question then that Frampton Comes Alive has stayed with him like a tattoo. As has much of the audience he gained from it. Frampton says he gets a broad cross section of ages at his shows these days, from those that grew up with that album, to their children, and even their grand children.

"And they're all singing away!" he happily notes. "It's been rather interesting and very gratifying to see that whatever I've done during my career has stood the test of time. Obviously Comes Alive has helped immensely in that area, but people love Humble Pie as well. I have to be very thankful that the audience has broadened over the years - it could have been the opposite and never overflowed into other generations, but it has which is great."

One of the reasons for this is clearly the fact that Frampton played himself on the 'Homerpalooza' episode of The Simpsons, rendering him forever on the greatest cultural compass of the 1990s. He laughs when he remembers Homer's introduction of him to the crowd. "Hey kids, don't trust anyone over thirty! Now here's Peter Frampton."

"When we went to Australia with the Rock Symphony we did a press conference, and the gentleman who was introducing us said 'And the gentleman on the end - I know him because of Frampton Comes Alive and Humble Pie, but my son only knows him from The Simpsons. That was a big thing for me, to hear him say that. I didn't realise how lucky I am - and honored- until that point. It's one of the better written shows on TV, obviously. And doing it was such an incredible experience, because they asked me what I'd say or do in a situation. It was wonderful, that made it real."


Gavin Bertram.