Shelley and Dan – Song Dedication
By Kris | August 17, 2004
A message from Shelly and Dan, to whom Ginger dedicated a song at the Bulldog Bash: “Ginger sang my future husband and I a song at Bulldog 2004, but we couldn’t make it!!! and had to be satisfied with hearing it over the phone. I would be eternally grateful to anyone who taped the Wildhearts set, and could let us have a copy. Thanks Shelly and Dan”. If you can get in touch at website@thewildhearts.com and we’ll pass on any messages
Clinging By The Skin Of Our Teeth – Succeeding By The Thickness Of Our Skin
By Ginger | August 15, 2004
(or: An exercise in name dropping) – Summer Sonic 2004 · Words by Ginger · transcribed by Kris Coverdale
Tuesday, 7:00 pm. and I’d had an awful day. Decided not to take a holiday to the Philippines, but have instead sat at the computer and wondered what to do with the coming weekend.
The phone rings, and it’s our agent asking me if I have any plans this weekend and if The Wildhearts would like to jump on a plane and step in for The Darkness at the Summer Sonic festival, in Japan. It seems that Justin’s ‘acid reflux’ is playing up again. I hate to take advantage of his predicament. And I have yet another reason to thank those guys.
God closes a door and opens up a window.
Since touring the world with the Hawkins Bros. I have been scratching my head as to why we aren’t playing Japan. The one place that we traditionally visit at least once a year. Ironically, I will find out in less than a week that we were to be dropped in Japan and this visit would buy us back our reputation as a live band, as well as remind people that we have great songs, the merits of which can easily get forgotten in a market saturated with dreary, whining nonsense. ‘Songs’, it would seem, are of greater significance than they have been in a long, long time.
Ever put on an old album by, say, Bowie, Sabbath, Ramones, The Stones (or ‘insert classic band here’), and forgotten how much better it is than the stuff you’ve been listening to for a while? As good as you remember it, it’s just that somewhere along the line you stopped needing things to be so good. Ever gotten someone into a band you used to like as a kid and have them show that exact same childlike excitement on hearing the music for the first time?
I watched The Dead Zone recently, one of Christopher Walken’s best performances, and realised that not everything ‘ages’. That movie could have been made this year. It crams in as many twists and turns as The Wildhearts career.
The Wildhearts get better with age. People age. People in this business, however, live in a semi-suspended state of denial when working in a genre predominantly infested with youth, on both sides of the screen.
Here is where our secret weapon seems to lie. We appear to be able to erase the line between the last generation and the current one, delighting the (shall we say) ‘older’ people and surprising the shit out of the young.
A strange choice of replacement, we initially think, what with the plethora of pre-facially-follicled groups currently swarming about the planet, but hey, what the fuck, eh?
_____________________
I couldn’t give a fuck about age by the way. Young or old, you still deserve a break if you’re good. You still deserve to make a living. And I detest, with a fucking passion, the obsession that this business has towards the young. Wake up you stupid, stupid fuckers.
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Anyway, it’s nice to visit Japan. It’ll be good to see old friends (got to stop using the ‘O’ word) and it’s always a pleasure to play to a new, younger audience in the hope that they will have their blinkered ideas of ‘shelf life’ in music shattered.
And CJ lives in Japan, which is handy, otherwise we couldn’t turn over this feat in time. I mean, come on, how many bands could get word of a visit to Japan and pull the whole shebang together within 24 hours, be on a plane in less than 48 and play to a sold out Tokyo Summer Sonic audience within three days of receiving the call?
_____________________
When your band pulls out, and there’s no-one about, who you gonna call? The Wildhearts! (sung to the tune of Ghostbusters)
_____________________
To many, this band is a lifeline. Right now, we feel the same love for this indestructible ball of confusion and sonic majesty as anyone ever has. Against the odds, yet still the most reliable bet in the running? Well, think about it. Year in, year out… new faces coming and going… money employed and success stories destroyed… and still we stand.
You can’t kill us. You can’t even stop liking us. Admit it.
Even the huge cockroaches of Tokyo are dying in the streets. No-one knows why. In hot, humid conditions these fuckers fuck and flourish, and as The Wildhearts walk the streets of Roppongi we try to avoid treading on those ‘other’ things that you supposedly cannot kill, as they squirm pitifully on their backs.
In Chiba, Tokyo, crammed between Pennywise and Sum 41, we shakily churn out our set to an audience mostly too young to know who we are, and definitely too punk to have all of our records in their collection.
Surprise, then, when they acknowledge the older tunes like a distant memory from an older brothers/sisters stereo. Relief, then, when they embrace the new songs with polite, but honest enthusiasm. Elation, then, when we finally get to the final song and escape with merely out of tune guitars and hastily rendered versions of the songs that a month off-stage guarantees.
And I had another guitar strap snap right in the fucking middle of the leather. How come I keep getting lumbered with thin skinned cows?
Today will not go down as one of the better days, performance wise, but will go down as one of the most delightfully bizarre as regards after-show.
We have a dressing room next door to MC5, but don’t have the nerve to talk to them!
A stumbling, pencil thin, sun bleached guy trips into our dressing room and reveals himself as Evan Dando, Lemonheads singer/guitarist and current frontman with MC5, along with Mudhoney’s Mark Arm.
Evan is married to a Geordie model, and is attracted by the familiar lilt of the voices coming from our porta-cabin. Plus, he isn’t allowed to smoke in his room. Evan is a marvel. You only ‘hear’ of survivors like Evan, or they crop up in American movies set in the ’70’s and speak like they were fed narcotics since birth. He’s gentle, funny and immensely likeable. And he introduces us to the band!
On walking to meet our guys and grab a quick bite, I happen on a Brides Of Destruction riff being played solely by a bass player and a drummer, up on the ‘Rock’ stage, one of the five erected. I run to see if it’s someone messing about or if this is actually the soundcheck for The Brides Of Destruction, and on reaching the side of the stage I see Nikki Sixx soundchecking for their show later today.
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Now I don’t know who’s the coolest of the cool for you, but Nikki Sixx rewrote the rule book for cool as far as I’m concerned. When I was younger (got to stop using the ‘Y’ word) I could never get my hair to look as cool as his (check out this months Classic Rock, I will say no more), I wanted my entire band to look and dress like him. Fuck, I even lost my first girlfriend to the singer of Motley Crue at a show of theirs, yet still managed to find another girlfriend by the end of the night. Motley WERE the guys that the girls wanted and the guys wanted to be. And Nikki Sixx was the coolest member of Motley. Which means that when I was young Nikki Sixx was the coolest guy on the planet.
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Fortunately, for me, their A&R guy is our A&R guy (Hi Nobby!) and agrees to bring Nikki to meet us in the catering room, post soundcheck. Unfortunately, for me, I have never met Nikki in the flesh. We are cyber-buddies, and the closest we have ever got is via telephone and mentions in the press.
What if he’s an ass? A bighead? Or worse still, stupid.
Seconds later a mountain, dressed in black, sits next to me, and we both say, in unison “YOU’RE REAL!!!”
It is with great relief, and even greater pride to report that Nikki Sixx is the fucking man, the shit, the bomb, the tits and the dogs bollocks all rolled up.
He’s a massively warm, and generously affectionate man who immediately makes you feel at home in his presence. He has the kind of eyes that shine from seeing so much. They remind me of Lemmy. And anyone out there thinking words like “arse” “kissing” and “motherfucker” can motherfucking kiss my arse all the way to Memphis, baby. I love having dreams come true.
When legends turn out to be much cooler than most of the people inspired by their effect then you know there’s a God, and he loves Rock n Roll.
After catching a few scorching selections from The Damned’s set (opening with ‘Melody Lee’… woah, fuck), quickly talk some crap to MTV in a studio so hot that a sauna afterwards would have been a relief, and say a quick “HI” (“people are talkin”) to NiteBob, who is the tour managing soundman for Silvertide (really sweet guys), it’s all I can do to grab a bottle of red wine and head out to watch ‘The Brides…’, before we are hastily gathered and flown to Osaka this evening, in readiness for tomorrow’s show.
Drink a couple of shots with Tracii Guns, pre show, only to find out that he’s the nicer than you could ever imagine. A sweetheart as well a fucking blinding guitar player, as I will find out during the ‘Brides..’ set. He does things with his guitar that my guitar would just flatly refuse to partake in. I swear. Like bending the headstock so far forward that the note drops about eight semitones. He makes the fucking thing talk. If I tried any of that stuff you would hear a guitar talk alright, but it would simply say “nope”.
And then, all too briefly, we are onboard a tiny aircraft bound for Osaka. We are armed with wine and we are sitting in front of ‘Peaches’. We continue to get progressively drunker. Talking too loud. Annoying the other passengers, including, presumably the Peaches band, who seem decidedly less friendly towards us as we gather to collect our luggage at the other end. They will forgive us by tomorrow, but for now Stidi and CJ have managed to fall out over a bag being dropped on the foot on one of Peaches dancers.
The evening is rapidly spiraling out of order.
Still, we have managed to commandeer a video of today’s performance. On the bus from the airport to the hotel we gather around the screen to see just how bad the guitar tuning was today. And it was reasonably awful, but in a good way.
Like old Aerosmith.
_____________________
An industry insider tells me that Aerosmith have split up, today. Just when they were starting to Rock again too? I pray for it to be the work of a bored rumour mill.
Aerosmith, allegedly, R.I.P.
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I can’t sleep, a mixture of jet-lag and excitement forcing my eyes open until morning. Thoughts like, “I wonder if I can get every major star on the entire bill to appear on camera tomorrow” keep my head spinning in amphetamine-like torment. Imagine having Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry next to someone like Belinda Carlisle talking about your band? You wouldn’t give a shit if they liked you or not, right?
The best thing about having crazy thoughts, ones that border on the impossible, is that once they have been mentally churned over then they have been ‘born’. They are technically real. They are, therefore, possible.
Imagine a world where you always acted upon the after-drive of impulse?
Fuck it, I got nothing to lose, I’m going in…
The dressing room set-up in Osaka is vastly different and much more communal than Tokyo. The bands and artists are forced to mingle with each other. The breakfast servings are hamster friendly portions, which I guess goes toward keeping everyone thin for the MTV cameras present at the show. The infamous Rock Rock bar (hey Seji, hey Yoko!) have a set up in the hospitality area, and bands are drinking all day. It’s nice to see who is on the bill by actually seeing them walking around.
No one receives special treatment, or rather everyone does.
Our performance is measured, well paced and fucking marvellous! I give one of my guitars to the audience, as a means of thanks for being so gracious. Seconds later, as I attempt to climb the 10 foot stage, I am shocked back into thinking that surely a fight will ensue for the guitar, the victor being the last man down.
As I turn around in panic, ready to settle the argument I see the two guys holding my BC Rich with one hand while playing “Paper, Scissors, Rock” with the other. I am amazed to see a fair settlement made, amid the oppressive Osaka heat.
At this very moment the rest of the world seem to be barbarians compared to the new breed of Japanese youth.
We leave the stage bemused and happy. It’s a great feeling to ‘know’ that you just kicked major arse, and all that is left to do is climb up the long hill of drunkenness, fighting off adrenaline with every mouthful.
Later I will get on-stage with ‘The Brides…’ and play “Shout At The Devil”, while looking Nikki Sixx straight in the eye and feeling like I just became 16 again. He will then smash his bass AND both monitors to tiny pieces. I will later receive advice from this same man, as he slowly turns from animal into agony uncle.
We will watch as Sum 41 actually look 41 with all energy lost as they bake and melt in the heat.
We will gather later at the Rock Rock bar, where memory and eyesight will slowly fade and nothing will be left but a smile.
We will wake up drunk, and in the airport, on our return to Tokyo, we will see Random’s skeleton as he puts himself through the X-ray machine. Surely the most dangerous thing you could do to yourself in an airport? I have no idea, I never met anyone crazy enough to do it before. Even ‘Jackass’ don’t go that far.
We will continue to drink for the remainder of the day, in celebration of the victory of this weekend. Blissfully unaware of HOW important this was to our future in Japan. And we will find out that we are likely to be returning in December, such is the turnaround of attitude toward the band, and of our past mishaps in Japan.
The final incident will come in the shape of a phone call to Willy, our tour manager, as we once more find ourselves stepping over dying cockroaches.
We have been asked to headline the Bulldog Bash in two days time. It seems that Chuck Berry has pulled out and we are top of the list to replace him, making this our 4th (or is it 5th…) consecutive appearance in a row at the Bash. We won’t even have time to unpack our bags. And CJ just happens to be in the country at that time too.
For a band that constantly seem down on our luck, we certainly seem to get a helluva lot of luck!
This story isn’t at the end and it would be naive to expect anyone to believe that it has just begun. It is, however, at that great part of a movie where you can’t figure out how it’s gonna go, and instead are going to give up trying to second guess the director and just clutch onto your popcorn and enjoy the ride.
Hope you enjoyed the Bulldog Bash. Go and rent “The Dead Zone” from your local video store. We will definitely be seeing you around… soon. And I am delighted to say that I have no idea when, or where, or even how that will be.
I just know that we outlive cockroaches, so I don’t see any reason why we won’t be around for a fucking long time yet.
Arigato, Matane
Ginger
The Wildhearts – Bulldog Bash 2004
By Kris | August 10, 2004
The Wildhearts are to headline this Saturday night (14th August) at the Bulldog Bash. Chuck Berry has had to withdraw due to ill health and The Wildhearts have stepped into the breach to make their 4th consecutive appearance at the Bulldog Bash. For full details check out www.bulldog-bash.co.uk
Ginger’s Larry appeal
By Ginger | August 2, 2004
A quick message from Ginger following his ‘Larry The Cable Guy’ appeal: “Thanx so much for all the Larry The Cable Guy stuff, but I am now getting repeat copies of the same stuff, so stop already!
Thanx… you lot are too cool by far!”
Wildhearts Azkena details
By Kris | July 29, 2004
In addition to their appearance at the Leeds / Reading festivals, The Wildhearts have now been confirmed to play at the Azkena festival (in Spain) on 11th September – check out the lineup on the official website: www.azkenarockfestival.com
Ginger says: “It looks like we will be playing the festival on Sept 11th. I’ll be going to the whole weekend as it is the best bill I have ever seen since I’ve been attending festivals. Matthew Sweet? Redd Kross? Urge Overkill? Hoodoo Gurus? Velvet Revolver? Fuck man, I am too excited to be any more specific about exact details… just go for the whole weekend and we’ll see you there at some point!”
Ginger Says – Faceless Music in a Lifeless Industry
By Ginger | July 23, 2004
Having just got back from America, I have to admit that I have managed to somehow rub the brilliant sheen of the experience almost completely away.
Reality, and London, have stripped me of all the joy and hope I had for this upsetting little system of power games that we call a ‘business’.
I will not refer to it as the ‘music business’ any more, as the beauty and life enhancing properties of music are the last thing that motivates those bereft of taste, especially those in the position to dictate it.
Before I toured America I imagined that it’s heritage would lift it above the UK in my estimations, and true talent and conviction would conquer all in the land of opportunity.
What utter balls.
They’re as shit fed as we are.
The business over there starves its youth of dreams just as effectively as ours. It forbids ‘the unique’ the luxury to dream of being publicly accepted – special, even. Rewarded for years for being the oddball in school, and a social outcast on leaving.
Where music has been the best friend to the lonely in an unjust, uncaring and unforgiving World, music could be the one thing that may, more than likely, serve as a curse in later life. Musicians may be forced to change their personal style, or be cast into the flotilla of unappreciated talent. But unappreciated by who exactly?
Music is made up of two teams.
Those that will bend, emulate and adapt to whatever is going on around them: Let’s call them ‘Moths’.
And those with a born talent and a reason to live and spread life through music: Let’s call them ‘Rats’.
Now, the Moths are the ones you see on TV. They clog up the radio with song after song after identical song. Strange, yet perfectly fitting with the A&R department, whom we will call the ‘Ticks’, and their current idea of what represents ‘now’.
Whatever the guise of ‘now’ appears to be, at any given time.
The Rats, on the other hand, are the bands and players that people talk about with respect. Those maverick types held in high esteem by people that may later take the torch and carry it to the next Rat, bound yet bonded by talent.
The Ticks are the chess players. The string pullers. The makers of the success stories, and the sworn enemy of the Rat.
The Ticks live on the host known as the ‘Managing Director’, for whom there is no animal or insect worth insulting enough to share its name with.
Without the Ticks there is no business as we know it.
And herein lies the problem.
The Ticks have redesigned the shape of adoration with a loveless generation in mind. Knowing how easily guided this new generation are, the Ticks flood the market with sub standard fodder than can be duplicated with ease. Restricting the Rats from causing unnecessary creative unrest within the game, while moulding the Moths into whatever is needed to obtain the annual business earnings expected of Tick – thus keeping the ‘business’ afloat, year by year. The essential sum is met, and the Ticks survive another annum. The Moths are presumably dropped from their lofty position, only to redesign themselves for future use. And the Rats?
Well, the Rats actually come off better than the Moths and the Ticks.
Okay, so the Rats are forced to scrape a living out of tiny pieces of fortune, awarded them by virtue of their specialist trade. A trade so increasingly rare, that every year it looks more and more in danger of extinction. Fortunately extinction can never happen, as the people who appreciate the Rat’s stimulus can get satisfaction from nowhere else. The Rats have a job for life. It doesn’t pay as well as the Ticks and the Moths, initially, but it is by far the safest position to be in. The business will never kill the Rats, it will just make them more resilient to setbacks, and more determined to survive.
The poor Moths, however, are lost in a strange sea just as soon as the umbilical cord of the ‘business’ deems them unfit for employment, and superfluous to requirements.
The Ticks sit back and gloat, blissfully unaware that they are, in fact, in the most dangerous position of survival of all involved.
For, in years to come, the annual budget will no longer suffice when faced with a more demanding and less patient market, and more revenue is needed. This must come in the form of ‘back catalogue’.
It is at this point where the seemingly indestructible Ticks will panic, as the Moths have left them no back catalogue in which to exploit. They didn’t really get much chance as they were discarded after their first/second album (subject to TV appearance and cheekbones/haircuts). Just as well really, as the Moths didn’t have any more songs in them, having covered every inch of their emotional spectrum in their material to date.
Leaving the Rats as the Ticks only possible best friend.
And then justice is served cold and well past its sell-by date.
This is the day that I pray will not be ruined by greed, desperation and the underlying need to be ‘accepted’.
The Rats will own the world. Potentially.
But will the lure of fame prove too much to resist? After all, there are years of standing on the sidelines, watching the game progress, to take into consideration.
Is it a human trait, buried deep within us all, to turn away from the mine as soon as the gold turns into sterling?
Is the promise of success within the business the most addictive drug known to the musician?
Or will ‘Indie-Man’ arrive, just in the nick of time, and save the world from a fate worse than MTV?
Well, he’d better get his fucking skates on (or rocket powered boots, for better effect), and pronto, as the day is surely coming. And if Indie Man isn’t checking out the richest businessmen that he can possibly come into contact with, and using the might of Universal and Clear Channel as a catalyst – and nothing more – to a brighter, more controllable future (one that favours the artist and the listener), then he may just be a little late arriving at the party of the Century.
If Indie Man does not save the day, then the Rats may be forced to peddle their supreme trade to an unloving audience who feel robbed of the cheekbones/haircuts that they demand as an essential part of the overall package.
Will the Rats be forced to water down their trade, as the majority of their new public will not understand the difference between good art and a bad video?
Maybe the Rat will have to learn how to ‘act’? Say thank you to people who never say please, and shake hands with limp-wristed Ticks. And wear a tutu. Maybe.
They ultimately will not be adored as they had imagined. And then the drug-like cycle will begin, first with loss of confidence then loss of self, until only loss of life is left, appearing like a beacon of escape in a loveless business that promised so much, yet took away much more (Hi, Kurt!).
So, in summary, what do we do?
Well, the Ticks cannot help the way they are made, and actually do not mind the destruction of a once glowing industry, as change in Capitalism is as important as stability.
The Moths (bless ’em) were kind of designed to be meat for the masses. Any species that exists for the adoration of a camera will be more than happy to be locked in a room with only two mirrors. One small to sniff off and one large to look at.
Indie Man? Does he even exist? We have dreamed of his presence saving the dreams of thousands, even millions of kids seeing/hearing something that will steer them into wanting to emulate some grand talent, and inject the existing energy with a shot of their own special sauce. What if these potential influential would have found a reason to believe at the end of a Burger, a Beer or a Bottle of Whiskey? What if they didn’t even need Indie Man? Maybe they had actually invented him, if only as a figure of faith?
Which brings us finally to the Rats. The dreamers. The survivors. The product of not being suppressed nor impressed by the glossy promises dished out by the Ticks. The Rats live in pity of the Moths, knowing their fate is manifest destiny, as handed down by the many history books that Rats have educated themselves on. After all, how can you be a Rat unless you’re smart, and how can you be smart unless you read a book?
The Rats will still be here when the Moths have ran out of support, the Ticks have ran out of ideas and Indie Man was last seen riding the back of the Loch Ness Monster.
The moral of the story, boys and girls?
If it smells of shit, stands to reason that it probably is.
Keep yer nose up, and yer head on.
Ginger
Ginger Messages
By Kris | July 18, 2004
There’s a number of messages from Ginger here that we’ve been asked to pass along, firstly a message of thanks for all the help with Night Calls 411:
“I thank you all for your help tracking down ‘Night Calls 411’. I have had loads of offers that should see me through! Once again I thank you all for being so fucking cool!!!
You restore my faith in humanity, every fucking time!
Now, if anyone has heard of a comedian called (this may be wrong, but it could ring some bells) “Jerry The Cable Guy”. He’s a Redneck stand up comedian, calls panties ‘undergarments’, wears a baseball cap and a cut-off lumberjack shirt, has a catch phrase that goes something like ‘Now that was funny, I don’t care who you are, that was funny’… and is side splittingly hilarious.
I nearly lost a testicle laughing at this guy.
If anyone can help by sending me something then PLEASE include a return address.
I am gonna award you guys with some KICK ASS stuff in return!!!”
Please send any info to the website@thewildhearts account or post Ginger direct using the PO Box address on the website. And another request that the UK based you can probably help with:
“I am re-locating to the Philippines and want to sell my Jeep. It’s a Mitsubishi Shogun v 300 (P reg) and if anyone out there knows anyone from Auto Trader, or knows anything about selling cars, I would be more than insanely happy if they’d help.
And I will hand out a magnificent and suitably brilliant award for duties rendered.
When it’s time to sell up shop, being a part of this huge family comes in REALLY handy.
And don’t worry for a second about the change of environment affecting The Wildhearts. The only thing that will change is that I will be seen smiling a lot more and looking sinisterly healthy.”
ChangesOne Closure
By Kris | July 6, 2004
We’re sad to hear that Changes One – a great supporter of Ginger and the Wildhearts through thick and thin – is set to close.
From importing ‘Tokyo Suits Me’ and ‘Black Leather Mojo’ from Japan, through the opening of the C1 new store, complete with an acoustic appearance from Ginger (see gig report), to the Ginger singles club and more recent Wildhearts albums and singles, owner Ian’s fast and friendly service has made many friends in Wildhearts-land.
Says Ian “I’m naturally sad and disappointed but life is full of difficult decisions . At least I’m choosing to close down and move on as opposed being forced to close down as many small businesses do… I would like to thank everyone who has bought music from Changes One or attended C1 gigs and events. I trust its has brought you some good enjoyment and happiness”.
While we’re sad that Ian is moving on, I hope you’ll join us in wishing him all the best with his future ventures – and you can help him out one last time by checking out his final sale at: http://www.changesone.co.uk
Night Calls 411
By Kris | July 6, 2004
We have a request from Ginger that we hope one of you kind folks out there can come good on:
“Had a great time in USA and it’s good to be back home safely. I am however missing one quintissentially American thing so badly that I wonder if anyone can assist?
On the bus we became avid followers of the Playboy channel and the most bizzarre, hilarious, “did I just see/hear THAT” television programme I have ever seen: something called ‘Night Calls 411, with Crystal Knight’. There is no way that this thing will ever be available here in UK and I am seriously missing this unique and unbelievable show, badly. I gotta prove to people that this thing actually exists!
If anyone has the Playboy channel on satellite and they would kindly record some shows on CDR for me, I will happily trade for something far more rewarding.
Any help? Reply via the web site – website@thewildhearts.com and use the PO Box address on the website for posting.”
Wildhearts – Guitar Wolf Tribute – Wild Zero
By Kris | June 26, 2004
This week saw the release in Japan of the Guitar Wolf tribute album – “I Love Guitar Wolf Very Much”, featuring a contribution from The Wildhearts. Ginger explains all:
“We were asked by Hijaku (guitar Wolf manager) at the tail-end of the last Japanese tour if we would like to record a song for the Guitar Wolf album, and of course we said “arigato”.
Choosing a song would have been impossible, unless I already had designs on doing a cover of “Wild Zero” with The Wildhearts one day. Which I did.
I always thought we’d do an amazing version of “Wild Zero” since I first heard it and hey presto… the proof of said statement is unleashed onto an unsuspecting, but largely deserving public.
Our version is sonic warfare that rivals even the mighty ‘Wolf’ themselves… but alas, nothing comes close to the majestic fury of Guitar Wolf.”
The album, also featuring The D4, The John Spencer Blues Explosion, Snuff and Puffy Amiyumi among others, is released on Ki/oon Records and is available from amazon.co.jp