Formed in 2011, you may not have come across The Aristocrats, but this good-natured fusion trio features rock and prog royalty in the form of Guthrie Govan (Steven Wilson. Hans Zimmer, G3); Bryan Beller (Joe Satriani, James LaBrie, Dweezil Zappa); and Marco Minnemann (Steven Wilson, The Mute Gods, The Sea Within). To date, the band have released five full-length albums, no mean feat considering the individual output of these talented musicians, with a sixth due this September. A band formed around a shared and eclectic love of music, and maintained via a remarkable chemistry that makes itself apparent from the moment they step on stage, The Aristocrats may comprise three virtuosos, but the music has a twinkle in its eye, and witnessing them in the flesh is a huge amount of fun.
Tonight, roughly half-way through the UK leg of their Defrost tour, the band take to the stage at Coventry’s HMV Empire, a fantastic venue, with friendly staff, a much-appreciated balcony bar and a strong sense of atmosphere. There’s also a surprisingly decent turnout, considering that it’s a mid-week gig, and the weather is scorching. And scorching is the word. The Empire is dripping, as are attendees within minutes of entering the building, but the band keep things light, bounding on stage and jamming along to the music still blasting out of the house PA, before kicking into Stupid 7 (from Tres Caballeros), which immediately gets the audience on side.
It’s a strong opener and, with the band explaining the background to each and every song, they elicit cheers, laughs and, in the case of a song detailing the theft of Bryan’s gear, the odd boo (for the thieves, obviously), making the night a hugely enjoyable one that blazes past in the wink of an eye.
As befits a band who take themselves a lot less seriously than they take their exceptional musicianship, The Aristocrats have some great stories. Marco Minnemann tells the fun tale behind the oddly-titled Hey… Where’s My Drink Package, before the band launch into a dizzying jazz nightmare that crams in Miles Davis attitude, Frank Zappa sound effects and riffs a plenty. Sergeant Rockhopper, meanwhile, is Guthrie’s extended tale of a policeman penguin, which is impressively heavy from the outset. A jazzier, slower number that kicks off on a lounge trip, Bad Asteroid sees the band admonishing the naughty piece of earthbound rock that wiped out the dinosaurs, while the The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde is an emotional rollercoaster that details the theft of Bryan’s instruments, the apprehension of the thieves and the acknowledgement that, despite this, the instruments were never recovered (hence the boos!) However, it’s the brand new Aristoclub that closes the first half of the set on a high. A glorious pastiche of 90s dance music (Bryan absolutely nails those bass lines), it segues into an extended drum solo from Marco. With Guthrie and Bryan patiently watching on, Marco explores his kit, demonstrating not only his remarkable skill, but also a sense of humour that keeps this showcase from becoming self-indulgent. The crowd cheer at every possible moment, and you can feel the energy flowing from the audience to the stage and back again.
Having so comprehensively demolished his kit, Marco leads us through the stories behind Through the Flower and Ohhh Noooo, two songs played back-to-back. The latter, Marco tells us, was heavily influenced by Judas Priest’s Metal Gods and, with that information very much on our minds, it’s impossible not to hear that same sense of groove, despite the awkward timings the band mischievously indulge. It’s over to Guthrie for the sneaky and subtle Furtive Jack, a dynamic trip that is extended when the PA gets confused. We remain with Guthrie for Last Orders, the tragic tale of the tolling of the bell – signifying the end of all things and, in particular, time at the bar! Told, as always, with a tongue firmly in cheek, it is, nevertheless, a more emotional piece, with some poignant guitar work, providing a neat end to the main set. Happily, the band don’t leave it there, and return for one last song, in the form of Blues Fuckers, much to the absolute delight of the crowd.
The Aristocrats are one of those rare acts where it’s all about the love of the music. You can see it in the way the band interact on stage, encouraging one another and looking elated when a given member launches off on some new tangent; and you can hear it in the music itself. Broad in scope, kaleidoscopic in nature, The Aristotcrats play a unique fusion, that allows them to incorporate any aspect their perma-spinning minds can conjure up, from 90s dance to metal, via blues and prog. It’s endlessly entertaining, all the more so because it’s such a pleasure to listen to them tell the tales behind the music, and they successfully made a 90-minute show feel half that in length. Beg, borrow… steal if you must, but if you love great music and astonishing musicianship, you need to see The Aristocrats.
