Culture Clash Live! will have you coming back to it because it is so damn entertaining. Don’t ask.Ĭoncert DVDs are a hit-and-miss affair, often to be watched once and shelved. Beller’s bass mastery is jaw-dropping, covering everything from bone-crunching chords to right into the upper register, becoming a lead instrument when required. There is a drum solo on the DVD that has the crowd on its feet. Govan’s incendiary flights of fretboard fancy are a marvel. Where songs overlap they contain different takes – the CD is not simply the audio track from the film. Even when the time signatures are so zany you can’t clap along (as illustrated to hilarious effect by a Minnemann anecdote on the DVD) there is so much good humour infused in every bar that every track is a delight, a charging rhino in a pink tutu.īoth discs have been lovingly chosen to represent the band at their best. Here is where this set is so engaging – it’s never a difficult or challenging listen. The variation in upbringing and in musical backgrounds allows The Aristocrats to play with all sorts of styles and listener expectations, often to comic effect worthy of Zappa himself. The titular culture clash comes from the nationalities of the band – Marco Minnemann (drums) is German, Bryan Beller (bass) is from the US and Guthrie Govan is an Essex boy. It has the drive of blues-based American hard rock, veering into a dalliance with metal, but played with the agility and fluidity of jazzers. This trio’s brand of heavy jazz picks up where Dixie Dregs left off. It’s here, at the heavy end of the spectrum, that you will find The Aristocrats. Some of that music has the heaviness and power to pin you to the wall. I’m thinking of Mahavishnu Orchestra, the various incarnations of Miles Davis’ and Frank Zappa’s bands, King Crimson at their improvisational peak. Those of us who like this stuff know that when you get exceptional musicians jamming with rock ferocity you get some of the most intense music imaginable. Their response involved a preference for mutilating their genitalia with splintered glass. While listening to this live set I mentioned to someone on Twitter that I was playing fusion.
Mention jazz fusion to most people and they will run a mile, their head full of images of be-mulleted guys in Miami Vice jackets fret-wanking and gurning in masturbatory petites morts.