Like the Carry On... films, cream teas and Rolls-Royce, THE FALL have become one of the great British institutions. In the current five-minute-wonder climate, they are always there. They don't change. The line-up may change. Main man Mark E. Smith, the "Greatest living Englishman," may or may not wear a glittery silver shirt. They may or may not include a tacky ballet dancer in their ranks. But this is essentially the same experience as it's always been.
Only the songs don't remain the same. All but a couple of songs are from either Shiftwork or the new Code Selfish LP, the band choosing to all but ignore the previous 14 or so years.
"Mr Pharmacist" has become their live standard, for tonight there was very little evidence of what are rapidly becoming known as the Brix years (the Brix in question being Brix Smith, Mark E. Smith's ex-wife, now NIGEL KENNEDY's zit squeezer).
Choice of material is, however, immaterial. The bass lead runs, the nonsensical lyrics, the deadpan vocals, all are The Fall's stock-in-trade, the reason why they are vilified and loved in equal measure. The best worst band in the world.
Chris Collingwood
Riff Raff
July 1992
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