UK concert review 

NME gig review
November 30th, 1996
by Paul Moody

  Submitted by Steve Witty

RAVEN,WE'RE RAVEN 

   A dozen crimson rugs strewn across a stage;the waft of incense
burning sweetly from the monitors;an anaemic band clad only in the
finest thrift-store corduroy effortlessly dispensing the
blues...oh,Crispian Mills (Kula Shaker by the way) dreams about this
everynight.
   But stone the...because here The Black Crowes are,landed in the UK
for one night only from their base up in the milky skies of 1974 and
intent on dispensing two-and-a-half hours of blues redemption to all
those who'll listen.Forget.if you will,any recollection of musical
development since the late great Lynyrd Skynyrd got on one private jet
too many and,instead,transport yourself to that scene in The Deer
Hunter where Bob De Niro and Christopher Walken waltz drunkenly around
a pool table in the finest trucker chic while bellowing along to
=46rankie Valli's 'Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You'.Because this,most
certainly,is where the Crowes long to be.
   Just look at them.If we weren't so utterly convinced of the Crowes'
all-consuming love of deep-fried Southern boogie you'd swear blind
they were having us on.Check them out!A keyboard player frowning away
behind an ELP-sized mountain of technology with hair down to his
ankles;an oversize drummer in a tie-dye T-shirt;a bass player who's
managed to squeeze himself into the tightest pair of slacks this side
of The Eagles (and that beard!).And if it wasn't outlawed by every
fashion council the world over,you could almost swear that the lead
guitarist has got a raccoon's tale swinging from one end of his gold
Les Paul.
   But when you get to hear the band play...They do everything.A
cataclysmically extended 'Thorn In My Pride',a stomped out opening
'Nebakanezer',a soul stretching 'Good Friday',during which Chris
Robinson - a picture in a purple  T-shirt and full blown Jesus beard -
croons so sweetly you could almost swear he's Rod reincarnated in
moccasins.They do the lot.There's even a touch of drama too,amid the
hours of mind-boggling instrumental jams and soul-shouting blueserama.
   Just as Chris is getting into his hip-swivelling stride,a full can
of beer hits him bang in the midriff and suddenly the song's brought
to a halt.Chris is skulking around the stage like someone's just
stolen his signed Allman Brothers box set and the Crowes stare in
disbelief that anyone could do such a thing in a place of worship.It
then takes a full minute of silence - during which we
are,presumably,left to mull over our myriad of failings - before they
start up again (in exactly the same spot)and trundle on their way.What
professionalism!What reverence to the music!The Crowes make
self-confessed 'believers' like the Scream et al look
non-committal,and the rest of our fashion -crazed half-chancers
downright stoopid.Having trooped off after an hour-and-a -half for a
short break (sitar music over the PA;looks of bewilderment from the
bouncers),they then return to finish us off completely with a second
set culminating in a cartoon zip through The Byrds' 'Mr Spaceman' and
a final,brain-dislodging 'Remedy',where everything you ever thought
about The Black Crowes gets reiterated in five flared minutes.
   Forget their admirable aspirations to be a white Sly And The Family
Stone - displayed impeccably on 'Three Snakes' - and all that stuff
about Chris hating any band who've ever known a hairdresser.On
tonight's form,The Black Crowes will never break down and confess that
'Sweet Home Alabama' isn't the greatest record ever recorded and that
rock music took a hell of wrong turning just about mid-summer
1975.Because,as Chris well knows,sooner or later everything comes back
into fashion.
   Just ask Crispian Mills.