GET OUT MORE...GIG REVIEW

The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band, Wolverhampton Civic Hall

14-11-2006

It's 40 years since the Bonzo first sallied forth with their unpredictable prankster pop. Martin Longley checks out how well they've immatured.

Will the young people ever be likely to pick up a ukulele again? Or play
the spoons? The washboard? Croon sweet vaudeville numbers? Or caress The
Leg, a wired-up home-made calf-section that can be stroked in the manner
of a theremin?

Probably not the latter instrument, but actually, across
the Atlantic, there are a growing number of youthful artists who are
looking back to the era of 78rpm cracklings, plucking banjos, vocalising
with clear enunciations or parping their kazoos. Not much happening over
on our own shores yet, so if the nostalgist yearns for any of these
quaint sounds, that need can be fulfilled on the current fortieth
anniversary tour of The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.

Don't look to these geezers for respectful authenticity, though. Even
back in the late Sixties, this Dadaist collective were intent on mocking
the music of old, lambasting the English trad filtrations of Stateside
jazz, poking fun at music hall pomp, undermining psychedelic rock and
anticipating Monty Python's Flying Circus.

The most well-known Bonzos are Neil Innes and Vivian Stanshall. The
former was an honorary Python and a mop-topped Rutle, the latter is
dead. The absence of Stanshall leaves a gaping maw, but if he still
existed, chances are that the difficult old scrotum wouldn't have joined
in anyway. Innes is here, though, acting as frontman and semi-sensible
conduit through to the audience. The line-up also boasts a pretty
complete Bonzo complement, with Roger Ruskin Spear, Rodney Slater, Sam
Spoons, Bob Kerr, Vernon Dudley Bohay-Nowell and 'Legs' Larry Smith all
present.

Wolverhampton is the fifth date on the tour, but things are still
nicely chaotic. This might be an illusion, as the show's strong
theatrical element must demand some intricate co-ordination. Lying
somewhere between a gig and the kind of mega-comedy spectacle
popularised in recent times by the Bottom and Little Britain tours, the
Bonzos are operating on a more crankily intimate scale.

From a later generation, Bonzo acolytes Adrian Edmondson and Phill
Jupitus take on some of the parts previously inhabited by Stanshall. Ade
is a surprisingly good singer, tackling I'm Bored with aplomb. Jupitus
seems slightly out of place, but acquits himself when he's carried out
to perform the hiccough-ing Elvis Presley impersonator for Canyons Of
Your Mind.

The repertoire remains the same, with classic tunes lifted from their
Gorilla, Tadpoles and The Doughnut In Granny's Greenhouse albums, all
from the late Sixties. The band is augmented by a core of sensible
musicians who hold down the structure whilst the Bonzos cavort. Roger R.
Spear has dusted off some of his robotic creations, devices that are
part musical instruments, part sculptures. Sam Spoons slaps the spoons,
and nearly does himself an injury. Ade Edmondson tries to play the
trumpet. Phill Jupitus swoops down to frighten the audience.

Following the interval, both audience and Bonzos are more relaxed,
this second part wilder, particularly once Monster Mash and I'm The
Urban Spaceman top off the hit single section of the evening. The
advance doubt before witnessing this show was the problem faced by
trying to replicate the anarchic spirit of decades past, turning that
old spontaneity into something that die-hard fans will be mouthing the
lines to, predicting the quirks. There's a certain amount of this, but
the Bonzos are clearly enjoying themselves, powering their performance
with an enthusiasm that overrides any risk of routine.