Live Review: LEGENDS OF MOTORSPORT, THE SAND PEBBLES, FAMOUS CRIMES

Monday, October 06, 2008
THE NORTHCOTE SOCIAL CLUB

Famous Crimes take the theory that showmanship and wickedly big riffs are essential parts of any good gig. A theory they treat as if it were a giant inflatable hammer with which to bludgeon the slowly assembling crowd. Singer Yanti Turang brings exuberant charisma to the stage but is nearly outdone by hyperactive show-off bassist Andrew Simpson who balances accidental cool with extravagant rock gesturing. Closing track Running Away perfectly encapsulates this five-piece with it’s piercing vocal, brooding breakdowns and fearsome riff-tastic energy. Ace.

Sand Pebbles, still coasting from the buzz surrounding their recent launch of their album Ceduna (another release, another round of glowing reviews), are a band that build majestic multifaceted creations from a lead and pedal littered stage. Lyrics full of ‘lifting wings’ and elegant things sit atop beams of sustained guitar and a refreshingly unpretentious approach to psychedelia. Reverb settings are switched with each lyric, chord changes come at a rate of My Bloody Valentine releases, and the whole thing is a incandescent soporific splendour. Rarely has a rock band achieved so much with so few notes. Future Proofed is another song that sounds culled from a mythical surf movie, one from the perspective of the sea perhaps. Ladies and gentlemen, the reviews are right.

In a burst of volume, inflatable guitars and with a more bass distortion than physics has hitherto allowed The Legends take to the stage and belt out We Are The Legends of Motorsport. Vocalist and organ-player Richard ‘Lightbulb’ Fyshwick’s voice is a phenomenon, part Jon-Spencer desperation part-early-Elvis swagger it’s a thing of wonder and would doubtless be a smooth delight were it garnering another form of music say, country. Pushin’ The Envelope is great example of the band’s approach to beats (big), riffs (bigger) and their own measure of trademark bogan angst (huge). Finding melodrama in the mundane, from the succinct Wake Up Fuck to the thought-provoking newbie Cockroaches, the band address subjects others shy away from and should rightfully be totally fucking huge. Taking a ride in a taxi with them becomes a trip through the cosmos. New drummer Hertz Van Rental is a find, while 2Stroke and Jean Claude Vangelis are mind-warpingly huge in their riffage. Bookending the gig with We Were The Legends of Motorsport, the stage is invaded by girls with inflatable guitars beating the band, crashing into the drum kit and spelling the debauched end to a massive gig, the band’s last till late 2009. Fitting.