Perhaps taking lessons learned from the Pixies, the Wedding Present steadily developed a bouncier pop step and heightened insouciant flare to hedge against the elevated lovesick melancholia their next few full length recordings fully exposed. Seamonsters’ dissonant sonic rumble, “Lovenest,” and murkily feedback-drenched flange, “Carolyn” (plus Hit Parade’s scoffed-up revving of the Monkees’ breezy “Pleasant Valley Sunday”) also deployed a headier grunge-informed pounce.
“Actually, Seamonsters was recorded months before we knew grunge had hit big. The reason it sounds that way is grunge producer, Steve Albini, whose work on the Pixies breathtakingly wonderful Surfer Rosa I’m a big fan of,” Gedge admits. “We were probably trying to get away from the jangly Velvet Underground sound and become rockier. That ambition and Albini’s skills made it sound like one of the early grunge records – very aggressive, very intense.”
Thereafter, ‘94s Watusi widened Gedge’s musical range further, placing acoustic 6-string and piano into the scratchy circular lullaby “Spangle” and debonair ballad “Gazebo” while utilizing climactic multi-part harmonies for joyously surging Farfisa-based chant “Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah.” Furthermore, he burns down the house on ass-shakin’ spitfire scrum, “Shake It.”
Gedge claims, “Watusi was a very strange album in a way. A lot of folks don’t like it. It’s different – a sidestep away from the wall of noisy guitars. It was more pop with a nod to retro ‘60s pop, surf, and a cappella. It’s experimental in many ways. But I don’t want to make the same album over again like some bands. That’s stultifying.”
Although ‘96s Saturnalia paled in comparison, wispy-voiced euphony, “2,3 Go,” and soothingly uplifting postcard, “Montreal” are topnotch, offering a convenient holding pattern.
Along with ex-girlfriend Sally Murrell, Gedge took another sidestep with the equally rewarding band, Cinerama, whose ’98 debut, Va Va Voom, brought an orchestral restraint to melodic flights of fancy. Then, ‘05s Take Fountain, originally slated as Cinerama’s fourth album, became Wedding Present’s triumphant re-entry, re-igniting the excitingly fast-paced 3-chord scurry of yore. Three years hence, the rampaging follow-up, El Rey, further substantiated Gedge’s prolific career.
“By Take Fountain, Cinerama had changed. The first album was very poppy, reliant more on keyboards and orchestration than guitar. They evolved into more guitar-based music, which I love.” He adds, “That filtered its way back into the arrangements. It went back to our original Wedding Present sound. We did a London session with the late John Peel for BBC radio, came in as Cinerama and they said, ‘David, it sounds more like Wedding Present.’ We used to have string sections and trumpets, but went back to just guitars. People would’ve been disappointed if it was a Cinerama LP. It created confusion so we switched back.”
Never losing focus on what’s most important – making aggressive music out of a few concise chords and well-constructed arrangements – Gedge continues to get sheer joy creating a harrowing frenzy. His splashy guitar assaults, bolstered by rail-bending bass and rat-a-tat drum patter, are easily digested, if oft-times skewed by quirky dissonant reverb.
Presently splitting time living in England’s southerly coastal town of Brighton and oceanic California haven, Santa Monica, I spoke to the inimitable Gedge during a snowy winters’ day in February.
DAVID GEDGE: In ’07, our label in England wanted us to do a 20th anniversary re-release and mentioned the idea of playing the whole album live in its entirety. Honestly, my first reaction was ‘no.’ I’m more of a forward-thinking musician not dwelling on nostalgia. But everyone I spoke to said, ‘You got to do that. It’ll be brilliant.’ I’m now glad we did it. It’s quite surreal putting yourself back two decades, forgetting all you learned afterwards. You remember yourself as a naïve youngster. It was natural to do Bizarro next. We didn’t do George Best in America because it didn’t have the popularity of Bizarro, which was a better album.
“Don’t Take Me Home Til I’m Drunk” from El Rey certainly retained the ecstatic charge of yore. But “Santa Ana” had a fresh dramatic fervor confronting the usual hit-and-run blasts.