By Jae-Ha Kim
Chicago Sun-Times
January 15, 1992
The banner behind the drum kit read “Be Silent. Consume. Die.” When Ned’s Atomic Dustbin made a return engagment Tuesday night at a sold-out show at the Cabaret Metro, the five young Brits took a similarly simple, minimalistic approach to their music, assaulting the audience with a barrage of sounds that joyously paid homage to punk, thrash and pop.
The 1-hour 25-minute show quickly swept through the group’s clever debut album, “God Fodder” (get it?) and introduced a couple of new tunes from its upcoming followup. While the English press has lumped the group with Britain’s alternative techno-pop bands (Jesus Jones, Pop Will Eat Itself, EMF) in a category called grebo rock, Ned’s really is a child of punk – even though the oldest Ned was in grammar school when the Sex Pistols ticked off the establishment with their calculated disdain.
Nonetheless, the musicianship is solid, if far from accomplished. As with their haphazard non-look look, Ned’s takes a scruffy approach to music, often substituting speed and wattage for any intricate skills. But considering that this is a band that recruited Mat to be one of its two bassists, even though he could barely play the instrument at the time, and that the average age in the group is barely 20, there’s plenty of time for them to perfect their playing.
More impressive was vocalist Jonn’s dispassionate delivery of their sarcastically passionate songs. Their lyrical sense falls somewhere between Joy Division’s nearly suicidal tendencies and the jarring jauntiness of early Cure. Some of the ambigious lyrics were lost at the concert, with the audible fractions sounding out of place. “When she looks at me in that tone of voice, she don’t need to make no noise,” Jonn sang in “Kill Your Television.” Huh?
Not surprisingly, the band’s live show draws its momentum from the music rather than the words. Nothing drove this home more than “Grey Cell Green,” a song that on record sounds wistful compared to the live version.
Ironically, though, Ned’s full-throttle approach to music became homogenized within its own framework, where the band’s hyperactive assault began sounding the same after the first half hour.
After hearing the same staccato guitar breaks, I almost wished for a ballad to mix things up.
But the predominantly high school and college-age fans dug the caustic atomic sound. The Metro owners were smart enough to figure this as a slam dancing crowd and turned on the air conditioning to keep kids from passing out. For the duration of the show, a steady stream of fans participated in stage diving, the bungee jumping of the concert set.
There seemed to be poetic justice as Jonn sang the final encore. As a frenzied female fan was barred from jumping on stage, he looked into her eyes and sang: “Please be gentle, take it easy. Take it out on me.”
