The

Mick

Sinclair

Archive

The Reflections

Felt

August

1981

Sounds

live review

 
 
THE REFLECTIONS

FELT

London Moonlight Club

FELT LOOK gloomy and introverted. On the Moonlight stage the twin guitarists, with their identical guitars, stand in murky shadows, while the drummer is stooled to their left in absolute darkness. They're nervous and wondering how to play without the missing bassman.

Any spells which may be cast by the intricate, individual sound are hexed by the Starlight Club upstairs sending down ceaseless beatings. A coarse reminder of regular and charmless musics. I’m told Felt dislike being spoken of in the same breath as the Velvet Underground but it's a comparison that's hard to avoid (but not one which makes them a 'new' VU).

The monochromatic drum rumblings are vintage Mo Tucker. The prickly electric guitar partnership is well Loaded but could just as easily be Jansch/Renbourn with amplifiers and hallucinogens.

Felt songs are private and personal and very shyly offered to strangers. There's no movement (on stage or off, where I swear a few souls are Felt-struck) and no great variations, just one intent flow adorned with a vocal so low and modestly delivered that it is indecipherable.

Felt music should be beheld on record, then embraced in the live setting. Tonight was a bad gig by normal standards but then again, Felt just aren't normal.

The Reflections are the inverse of the new Alternative TV. Where ATV now pride themselves in their rehearsed capabilities, The Reflections it seems, are the outlet for Mark Perry’s more rabid rantings. They're shakey, shabby and inherently more formidable in their cheekily messy way.

Nag takes the bulk of the mic duties. Mark sings a bit and scratches at a guitar, here and there finding room for a death-defying one note solo. Pal Dennis Burns basses, except when executing a wriggly wail on saxophone, a move which prompts the cry of ‘Blurt' from one observer. Lemon Kitten Karl drums and irrelevant wombat Paul Platypus adds some shapely guitar fills.

Like a trail of sewerage en route to pollute the sea, they're smelly, dangerous and hard to ignore. I liked them a lot.

 

© mick sinclair

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