LITTLE WHEELS OF PRAGVEC & THE NORMAL

Suffering from TVOD? Into names that no-one can make head or tail of? CHRIS WESTWARD is. Take it away Chris.

PRAG VEC is the fluid which slops outta the nostrils of a pregnant female Mongolian ferret when the tiny mammal is choked by chicken wire. If you believe that you'll believe ... the rest of this article.

Confront the individual members of Prag VEC, ask about the band-name, and they feed you all manner of contrived baloney. Examples...

Sue Gogan, vocalist: "The name's derived from the local brew of North Kensington." Uh oh. I thought there might have been some hidden meaning...

"There is, but it's very esoteric and cannot be divulged." Next. Nick Cash, drummer: "The name comes from an East European computer system."

David Boyd, bassist: "It's Polish for toilet cleaner."

John Studholme, guitarist: "It's newspeak for foolishness." This is all a fad, a mock-esoteric gag, if you will. There is little more to the band than meets the eye (I think) ... though Nick Cash, explains Sue, did once have his own moniker "ripped off".

"We call him the Real Nick Cash, because he once did an audition for 999, and when he told them his name the guitarist said 'Ah, that's a good name - I think I'll use it'.

"If we believe what we're led to believe, then this cold-blooded crime should not escape unnoticed or unpunished. But do you believe? Not sure if I do...

All these incidental asides merely lead up to the fact that Prag VEC are playing two dates, one at Manchester, one at Liverpool, and that I'm going along with 'em, braving the Mancunian rain-pelts and the Liverpudlian snow drifts over a weekend. Also present: Daniel. Miller (The Normal) and Robert Rental (Robert Rental), whose single appearance together at Throbbing Gristle's last London gig (The Cryptic Club) has now branched and sprouted into something more substantial, ultimately a series of some 20 dates with Essential Logic during the early part of this year.

Some hell-cold Friday morning I find myself standing side-by-side with a little blue Rough Trade van, down on Kensington Park roaq, This little blue Rougfl Trade van is a shoddy, shabby affair, the only thing holding it together being the rust. It is our transport. Peter (our driver) is busy, hauling "seats'" out of Rough Trade (the shop) into the van, before we "hit the road" and look for the collective members of PragVEC.

We crawl up to some typically urbane council flat-block and the band emerge carting drums, guitars, amps, sweaters and sundry which are promptly loaded up. No roadies. no plush record company PR-cars to help with the finances, .no 17 gear vans, umpty froo road managers and "expensive" lighting systems. This is strictly small-time. hand-tomouth. lovable life on the road with an independent. band. Nothing like it, I tell ya. Experience is the word. Painful is another. And cold. tiring, oc- casionally dull ...but for the most part, en• tertaining. More words.

The rundown...

Prag VEC have emerged, via a John Peel session and a thoroughly sturdy EP, as a band who've never quite delivered the bacon on stage, but've always exuded that something, that spark that suggests greater possibilities, chance of fulfillment.

Daniel Miller recorded the phenomenal 'TVOD' in his bedroom, literally. One of the best electronic records to emerge in years, it was both grotesquely serious and lUdicrously tongue-incheek...

"I don't need / a TV screen / I just stick the aerial into my skin / And let the signal run through my vein / TVOD... "

Depending on frame of mind, the idea of a dude mainlining himself with a television aerial is somewhat grotesque but, simultaneously, silly and laughable. Whichever way you took it, the lyrics remained pointed and sharp... in, perhaps, a Ballardian sense. His music is crisply "visual" , the result of a background of film and TV work. He's just completed a brief soundtrack score for a Thames TV heroin addiction documentary.

"The joke of it was," he confides at one point," that I was given a specific clip to work from, by the time the final film had been edited, that piece had been dropped, and they stuck the music in somewhere else, randomly."

Robert Rental release another independent record during the latter part of last year, 'Paralysis' being the title. Another in a chain of 'underground' synthesizer discs, I assumed ... until Robert explained that "the whole thing was recorded with just guitar and a stylophone, nothing else."

The single has grabbed attentions in and out of the country, as has 'TVOD' (The Normal single now being handled by Sire in the States, where interest is steadily increasing).

The journey towards Manchester is tiring, dull and typically odious. Stops at occasional transport cafes are supposed to re-charge batteries, while the weather becomes progressively wetter and mistier as we travel.

Early evening, and Manchester looms up. After a brief search, we find the Russell Club ("The Factory") where we survive the boredom of a soundcheck and the insistent Tony Wilson who's flogging his Factory label to willing listeners (Daniel and Robert, in the main) whilst enthusing about loads of bands he's probably never even seen.

The night, though is tragic. The Russell club is one of the most excruciating, band-killing venues I've ever encountered since The Venue. The Normal and Robert Rental play to an empty dance-floor while the punters sit obligingly at tables, staring obsessively into their drinks and neglecting all onstage activity.

The music: six fluid numbers held together by a backing tape, over which spontaneous improvisation takes place. The atmosphere, as is often the case, is wasting, though . . . the set concludes and there is light applause.

"The worst thing," mourns Robert, "is that danc e floor. You're conscious of the fact that no-one's crowding up to the stage . . . all you can see is an empty floor space."

The same problem befalls Prag VEC's set. Loose, flowing, bass/drum postures, jugular, angled guitar motifs, Sue's strained, excellent voice. Again wasted.
Scarce reward for the little people, eh? At least they get paid. Now this is what small-time is about; not having a three-star hotel waiting round the corner from the gig, studiously packing up your own gear, then shooting straight off in the van after the gig, Liverpool bound. Sleeping ten on a floor in a derelict house . . . no furniture, no beds, a measley gas fire burning up no heat, and snow settling outside. Great, huh?

The next day it's to Erics in Liverpool for two sets . . . one under-18 "matinee" and one "proper" set. Liverpool central five years dead; no movement, no life.

"Christ!" yowls Prag VEC manager, Steve. "If this is Liverpool on Saturday I wouldn't like to be around on Sunday."

We pass a derelict shop, and in the window a sign reading "ERICS HAVE MOVED TO . . ." and nothing else. Finally, we emerge on Beatle Street ("in memory of four lads who changed the world" or whatever it says up there).

Erics is more like a rock and roll venue, being internally like those basements that sell real ale. Soundchecks are problematic, but with the manager of the place. hassling to get the first sets sewn up by 7.30 the sound is far from perfect. The kids pull all the chairs away from the tables and line un in front of the stage. Unfortunate.

Meanwhile Peter's tracked down a hotel, to which we head between performances. Daniel signs in as 'Normal, The.' Robert as 'Rental, Robert.'

Twiddle thumbs until it's time to return to Erics. Something you ought to know about Liverpudlian night life: there is no Liverpudlian night life.

As we make way inside the club, the doorman says something very typical: "You playing the singles then? No? Lotta people gonna be disappointed (wak).

"And this audience is very punk-like, very lively. The Normal/Rental improvisation works out fine this time, receiving a real healthy reception. The proceedings also find their way onto tape; a useful document.

Prag VEC again have problems: Sue, being unused to playing three gigs in such quick succession finds herself parting company with her voice. Such are the traumas of life on the road, eh?

Afterwards, in the dressing rooms, two "fans" ask what Prag VEC means. Sue .laughs, and someone, I think, mutters "East European computer system."

This is the completion of the first ever Prag VEC tour. By and large it's been a fine experience. More dates could make them more than just "promising".

The Normal/Rental entourage may pass your way soon. Both are worth time and attention.