Roy Jurgens on April 25th, 2019

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Failure and Swervedriver share many things in common. Both were birthed in the late 1980s — Failure in Los Angeles and Swervedriver in Oxford, England. Both broke up in the late ’90s amid label issues only to reanimate approximately 10 years later. Both have been critically lauded while commercial success has largely evaded them. Both are pushing new releases. And both entertained a very engaged audience at the Fonda Theatre on Wednesday night.

Failure and Swervedriver also carry another commonality: the inability to be pigeonholed into a specific genre. Swervedriver are largely deemed as a shoegaze band, and yet some purists argue that they veer from that depiction, as they are equally prog rock and psychedelic, with their songs often lacking choruses while meandering into the seven- and eight-minute range. Failure were too hard to be power-pop, not hard enough to be grunge and too pop to be lumped into the industrial rock camp, and yet they burned along the edges of all those genres to come up with what they called “space rock.” 

The Swervies, as they are affectionately known, took the stage at 8:35 p.m. sharp and launched into a set heavy with songs from their last two albums, “Future Ruins” and “I Wasn’t Born to Lose Y0u.” While this decision is understandable from an artistic standpoint, it was disappointing from a fan’s standpoint. “Raise” (1991) and “Mezcal Head” (1993) are two epic albums, and hearing a combined four tracks from those two seminal albums was rather disheartening. Any Swervedriver set sans “Son of Mustang Ford” and “Raise Down” should raise some eyebrows. Alas, perhaps one should be more forgiving, as the band did play those two albums in their entirety at the Teragram in 2017. (Pro tip: If you ever find yourself under a desert sky while under the influence of hallucinogens, “Mezcal Head” serves as a wonderful soundtrack.)

Swervedriver have calmed down over the years, (yours truly got thrown out of the Hyatt on Sunset with them in back in 1991) their stage antics reserved to the studious guitar interplay between Adam Franklin and Jimmy Hartridge. With vast analog pedal boards that would make a 1970s MIT grad blush, the two skillfully wove in and around one another, laying texture upon shimmering texture against the pulsating wall constructed by Mikey Jones and Mick Quinn. They were at their hypnotic best, keeping the Gen X crowd swaying dreamily throughout their 75-minute set. A raucous “Last Train to Satansville” was the highlight of their set.

While Swervedriver certainly delivered the goods, the belle of this ball was Failure. They had home-field advantage, with a crowd filled with longtime fans, friends and family. Lead singer Ken Andrews acknowledged as much early in their set, endearingly calling out his family who were safely ensconced upon the balcony. As loose, organic and wandering Swervedriver came across, Failure was the polar opposite. Teched out at a maximum level, they routed all their instruments through a complex digital rack interface that would make a 2020 MIT grad blush. Hence, the muddy sound experienced during Swervedriver’s set was not replicated. It’s a wonder that more heavy guitar acts don’t implement the same technology, or at least some variance of it.

Failure’s set was largely built upon tracks from their latest “In the Future Your Body Will Be the Furthest Thing From Your Mind” and their opus, “Fantastic Planet.” The newer songs fit nicely within the old material, their obscurity being the only point of contention. “Undone” and “Frogs” off “Magnified” and “Stuck On You,” “Another Space Song,” and “Heliotropic” off “Fantastic Planet” drew the familiar cheers. Andrews and Greg Edwards did their standard “look how musically gifted we are” swap of guitar and bass duties throughout the set, while Kelli Scott was a standard beast behind the kit.

The band followed their 15-song set with a three-song encore, including a stirring version of “Macaque” from their debut, followed by “The Nurse Who Loved Me,” a song that has always highlighted what was best about Failure, their ability to merge Beatles’ melody with Bowie’s phrasing, conjuring up some sort of futuristic space rock from the past. Closing out with the crushing “Screen Man” (a sonic reminder that Failure were common openers for their pals Tool), the trio proved that they aren’t yet ready to hit the casino circuit.

The Los Angeles show was the ultimate in the joint 31-date tour for the pair of bands.

Photos by Michelle Shiers