The night of January 30th 2017 must’ve felt pretty cathartic for Steve Mason; around 10pm he was drinking in the adulation of a sold out Barbican crowd after delivering a stunning retrospective of his polyglot career, a show which touched on his work whilst leader of the seminal Beta Band and also later material produced solo and under the King Biscuit Time name.
Both performer and crowd were metaphorically pinching themselves. For Mason, it was an act of final closure after coming to terms with addiction and long standing mental heath problems, a triumph served by intuitively reinterpreting his eclectic back catalogue – one which is latterly being viewed with an affection and respect the Beta Band were far from earning in their lifetime.
With such mutual elation for both parties, thoughts turned to maybe a positive answer to the perennial question of a reformation, a doubtless lucrative opportunity there for the taking if only the Scot wanted it. He didn’t.
Ever the arch contrarian, Mason instead partnered with former Primal Scream and Felt keyboards man Martin Duffy to create Alien Stadium, their main thing (possibly) being something to do with hanging around with Martians and/or Martian pop stars. If that doesn’t bring even the faintest smile to your face, then you have a heart made of stone, but if the idea is typically recalcitrant for Mason just as a ‘normal’ phase of his career beckoned, then having the bravura to both make it seem pliable and a serious creative enterprise is something other-level.
At only four songs end to end the oddball soup is both brief and satisfying. Opener This One’s For The Humans is a threat not a gift, the singer mocking us from a cosmic observer’s perspective; “A message to you all/Send your best among us/And we will watch you fall”, all whilst a bluesy lick and weird pulp sci-fi frequencies do their best to distract the listener from the sheer Beta Band-ness of it all.
The same can’t be said of the rest. The Visitations starts with crumpled bedroom-synth motifs before flipping into War Of The Worlds mode, its filmic eruptions channeling the duo’s inner John Barry. The Moon Is Not Your Friend features a space orchestra warm up but then gradually develops into a period psychedelic romp which sounds as much of a blast as it likely was to make, whilst closer Titanic Dance is an apocalyptic workout that chaotically melds disco, Northern Soul and house without a care in the end of the world.
Over the last twenty five years, Mason has been little other than this – an artist only really content when fighting tooth and nail against man’s surrender to normality. This latest diversion won’t make him rich, but it will mark another constellation for a loveable maverick who may well be the musical Patrick Moore of his generation.
May its force be with you.
