I noticed Gaz Coombes celebrating an anniversary this weekend. Nope, it wasn’t the 20th – or (stops…counts…yep…) even 30th – trip around the sun for any one of those great Supergrass records. Gaz was delighted to confirm he has now been nicotine and weed-free for a full year, something of a milestone for a guy who called his group Supergrass, you’d have to think. So hats off to Gaz. May his ability to write hooky pop songs in the lineage of Buzzcocks and Blondie never diminish.
Supergrass was always a great band. They appeared from nowhere in the summer of ’95 and in four years had effortlessly given us three damn-near essential albums, their associated singles – Caught By The Fuzz! Mansize Rooster! Going Out! Sun Hits The Sky! Late In The Day! Pumping On Your Stereo! Moving! etcetera etcetera marking them out as one of our classic guitar groups. Even as their popularity declined – in seemingly inverse proportion to them gaining an official fourth group member – they were still releasing interesting records that wobbled and wowed on the fine tightrope that bridged poppy and proggy.
In the years between Supergrass going into hibernation and reconvening for the turn-the-clocks-back I Should Coco anniversary shows last year, Gaz was a fairly prolific solo artist. The more astute gig goers at Johnny Marr’s shows in 2024 would have arrived early to catch Gaz do his thang in the support slots. The gigs seemed a bit like a two-fer; if not quite a double bill, then certainly a great value show. There were no Supergrass songs in Gaz’s set, perhaps to some folks’ disappointment, but with a handful of solo albums under his svelte velvet belt, Coombes needed not rely on former glories when his solo stuff was just as interesting.
Gaz Coombes – Turn The Car Around
Listen to Turn The Car Around and tell me it’s not pure McCartney. I actually can’t hear it these days without imagining Paul singing it, or playing all the instruments himself like he did in the good old days. Certainly, that drum track could be him. The driving bass too. And the loose piano. And the fried guitar outro…
It’s a total groover, ‘a mindfuck‘, as Coombes himself sings in the second verse, a glock-heavy percussive thumper with rising and falling melodies, falsettos and faded endings. The chord sequence is absolute late-era Beatles, all pastoral changes with the faint rustle of autumn leaves brushing the open strings. Sounding like something that equally might’ve floated its way off of the grooves of Band On The Run or Ram, it even has a tiny bridge that provides breathing space before the band falls back in again…and when they do, the whole thing really soars. Vocals play off one another, the backing band maintains their loose-limbed, head-nodding stride, a spacey keyboard takes us further out of our heads and then a lovely fuzz-baked solo vapour trails its way into orbit, the bass thumping merrily and high up the frets – think Paul in ’67/’68 and you’re getting there.
He seems to be lying low again these days. Maybe he’s in a creative rut. Maybe the lack of nicotine and weed has robbed him of his ability to marry melody to introspection. Or maybe Gaz is cookin’ away right now, readying himself for another run of, eh, smokin’ gigs.
