A friend plays in a band called the “The Grateful Dads”. However he is annoyed that they did not get first dibs on the name of another local band - “Parental As Anything”.
In the 90s, “Dad Rock” was a label that snobbish and childless UK weekly music press journalists used to describe indie bands who recycled the classic sounds of 60s and 70s rock music - e.g. Ocean Colour Scene, Kula Shaker, and the most unrepentantly reactionary of all, Oasis. These bands were massively popularly in the UK at the time. And while some journos were sniffy about them, many others lapped them up (yes, Paolo Hewitt, that’s you). And such bands were given regular front cover slots on NME and Melody Maker as they were popular with the readers. What was widely known but less frequently stated was that whenever these publications would put a black artist on the cover, sales would take a dip. Whilst you might style yourself as cross-cultural and avant-garde, your readers are basic bitches with a racist streak.
The home of Dad Rock was the Creation label that operated out of Glasgow. The story of Creation is the story of UK indie music in the 80s and 90s, for better and worse. Creation was a label founded by music nerds. The first single that they put out featured a rando mate - who 10 years later would be a music journo in a gonzo-esque relationship with the global stars of grunge. The 12th single was by a pair of brothers from the soulless “new town” of East Kilbride outside Glasgow. Like the rest of the Creation roster, Jim and William Reid were music fans. And they had an idea. They only ever had one idea but that’s one more idea than most people ever have. The idea was this. They liked classic 60s pop like The Shangri-las and Motown. They liked The Stooges and The Ramones. But what if you played both at once? And what if rather than trying find some kind of compromised middle ground, you accentuated the most distinctive and conflicting elements of each?
The result was both catchy and cacophonous. If this reminds you of Glady Knight and the Pips then you are exactly right. The saccharine melodies (their lyrics are diabetically fixated on sugar, candy, honey, sweets) contrast with, and are enriched by, the ear-splitting feedback. Either alone would be unbearable. Together they are amazing.
The Jesus and Mary Chain (as the Brothers Reid christened themselves) had a highly stylized look that seemed to be a kind of drag performance of rock n roll - leather jackets, sunglasses, lots of black. Almost like mods pretending to be rockers. In their obsession with image and their maximalist aesthetic, the Mary Chain were as much a quintessence of the 80s as Madonna or Prince.
Fun fact: We have a Jesus and Mary Chain teatowel.
The most Dad Rock artifact known to man
This mixing of tunefulness with avant-garde noise could be found in America with bands like Dinosaur Jr, Husker Du, Sonic Youth and Pixies. In America, this eventually broke through into the mainstream via Nirvana. In the UK, it reached its apotheosis in another Creation band - My Bloody Valentine. In their most extreme moments, MBV dissolve the sugar that obsessed the Mary Jane in the concentrated sulphuric acid of the studio mixing board. Actually that’s incorrect. Concentrated sulphuric acid doesn’t dissolve sugar. It dehydrates it into alien black pillars of carbon. Which is what MBV did to pop music. Unlike every band mentioned so far, MBV will never be “Dad Rock”. Their music is post-gendered and disturbing and very, very sexy. Doubtless if Rick DeSantis ever heard it, he would seek to ban it. Is MBV the future liberals want for your children? Well, yes.
Teenage Fanclub also came from Glasgow. Their members were parts of various indie bands in the late 80s. As we shall see, their career has been marked by high levels of both ambition and apathy. Their first album in 1990 was a Dinosaur-ish slovenly stream of noise. Their second album in 1991 (released on Creation) was… full of pop songs. Proper 60/70s style pop songs like The Byrds and Neil Young might do. There was still a background buzz of noise but there was no mistaking what was going on. Over time, the noise was reduced lower and lower and the melodies amped up more and more.
While still in their 20s, Teenage Fanclub made music that could appeal as much to the dads as their kids. There was and is something profoundly unthreatening about this band. They are nice. Like a cup of milky tea and a bourbon biscuit.
Their finest moment was the Grand Prix album that came out in 1995. An album eclipsed that year by another album on Creation. Perhaps the ultimate Dad Rock record: Oasis’ What’s The Story. There was no reticence, no diffidence, no niceness to Oasis. Tea was for yer gran, where are the lines? As far as the Brothers Gallagher were concerned, they were the greatest musicians the world had ever seen and therefore they deserved to be the biggest band in the world. And for a while, the world agreed. This meant lots of money for Creation. The music nerds became rock stars (let’s not talk about Primal Scream). Obviously it all ended messily.
I hadn’t thought about Teenage Fanclub in many years until my mate John presented me with two tickets to see them. My wife demurred so I went with John. Many years ago, we shared a number of apartments in London in the 90s. Now we are dads. And sometimes dads like to rock*.
The support act is Euros Childs. Back in the 90s, Childs was the main driver behind Welsh psychadelic indie kids Gorky’s Zygotic Munci. On tracks like The Patio Song and Lucy’s Hamper, the whimsy was undercut by a raw emotional honesty that somehow connected with the audience. Thirty years later, Childs is still Childs. Yes, he’s a Dad - but the kind of Dad who tells you outrageously grotesque ghost stories and then cooks you blue porridge with chocolate for dinner. He’s all sinew and veins and probably walked from Wales to New South Wales with a backpack and compass. And lets not forget his 21 solo albums.
Teenage Fanclub’s Norman Blake loves his job. He never stops smiling on stage. Not the showbiz smile of false teeth and desperation for acceptance. Just a solid expression of happiness. He and the band have a bunch of happy songs that will make the audience smile and sing and dance. There’s nothing complex or challenging here. But that’s fine. There’s lots of complex and challenging things out there. You have permission to be happy for 90 mins.
Someone next to me says the band look like GPs. Which is not the diss that I think was intended. Then they say music is simple. Which is also true and again, not the diss they seem to believe it is. The band have towels on stage because you don’t want to be overly moisted.
One of the nice things about being a Dad is that you stop caring about what people think of you. There’s lunches to be made and someone needs driving to football practice and precious little gratitude along the way. But you get on with it. You are embarrassing but that’s your job.
Blake deploys a little Verfremdungseffekt. “We’ll stop in 3 songs and pretend it’s over. Then we’ll wait in the wings just over there. Then we’ll play 3 more songs. Then we’ll all go home.”
They end with Everything Flows, slacker Dads that they are. There’s always the towels if it flows a little too much.
The masculinity that Teenage Fanclub offer is defiantly non-toxic. It is warm and supportive and accepting. It is vulnerable and stoical. It neither rejects its feelings nor is overwhelmed by them. It offers you a hug and a smile and will race you to the swings.
Dad Rock is not a slur.
*Mums also like to rock. And everyone likes to Disco sometimes.