FACE THE FACTS: An interview with Ian Jorgensen aka Blink

“Fuck Game of Thrones! The main threat to the live music scene isn’t downloading music, it’s downloading crazy-good TV,” says Kiwi legend and Face the Music guest BLINK. ANDY HAZEL laughs, and then feels awkward.

Ahead of his contribution to the Face the Music industry chat-fest, New Zealand music mogul and man of action Ian Jorgensen, better known as Blink, is, as ever, full of ideas. The man responsible for the legendary Camp a Low Hum festival, November’s five-city Square Wave Festival and manager of Wellington’s latest venue Puppies, is always happy to share advice.

“I think I’m just confident in my ability to take on anything. I’m also a bit of dick,’ he says casually. ‘I’ve had my fails like everyone else, but I’m always willing to take on a massive risk, and New Zealand is a small place. The benefit of being here is that it’s easy to reach out to everybody; you only need to make an impact in four cities, so it’s simple for me to raise the profile of an artist or band. In the US, you have to work hard for a long time and you probably still won’t make a dent. The problem with New Zealand is that it’s easy to get to the top and once you’re there, there’s nowhere to go. With my festival [Camp A Low Hum] it’s a big as it can get, which makes you think, right, now what can I do with this?’

Having taken his can-do attitude around the country and around the world, Blink collated his experiences in the book D.I.Y Touring the World; a repository of advice on how to travel on next to nothing. ‘Part of the reason I wrote the book is because every time someone wanted to know anything, they’d email me; ‘Who puts posters up in Dunedin? Who can mix us in Auckland?’ So I put out a book that featured everything I knew about touring. Since I’d toured overseas, I put out another book that had everything I know about touring the world.’

‘The same piece of advice I tell everyone,’ he continues, ‘and what everyone at this conference will be talking about, is this; people underestimate how hard they have to work on any project,’ he pauses. ‘When I booked my first tour, I wouldn’t start the day until I’d emailed at least 20 venues. I did that every day for six weeks. Sometimes it would take an hour or two, sometimes most of the day. Setting little goals before you relax achieves a lot. And another thing’ he says warming up, ‘people never think big enough either. With [his new festival] Square Wave, it’s the first year I’m doing it; I’m kicking it off straight away in 5 cities with 70 artists. If you’re doing the work anyway you may as well make it big.’

Despite his litany of impressive efforts and inspired bands, there are sad facts that enthusiasm can’t overcome. “If anything, the music scene is dying in New Zealand,’ he says unemotionally, “and it’s not because people are downloading music. It’s because they’re downloading TV; that’s my competition. It’s Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Game of Thrones and these amazing TV shows, that’s why people stay at home, and everyone I know does this! No one stayed at home in the early 2000s, back then it was just…Friends, now TV is crazy good. If it weren’t my job, I’d be home watching TV too. Fuck Game of Thrones!’ he laughs. 

Live Review: T:DY T:WNS, MILK TEDDY, HELLO SATELLITES, THE MOTIFS

Spotted Mallard

The Spotted Mallard is bustling as chatty diners, sitting at lamp-lit tables, have their attention drawn from each other to the stage by opening act The Motifs. While the pre-programmed drum loops splutter emphatically from diminutive Casios, and Alexis Hall’s wonderfully intimate voice and guitar playing is as warmly appealing as ever, the songs themselves seem undersold and the band under-rehearsed. Playing their first show in many months, even a below-par version of a song like Backwards is still a cause for celebration, and the crowd respond warmly, glad to have them back.

Six-piece Hello Satellites follow and bewitch the attentive with their arresting, twisting four-part harmonies. The intricate arrangements for voice, bass, drums, accordion, viola and violin betray the professionalism and attention to detail that infuses the work of singer/songwriter Eva Popov, and almost seems out of place tonight it is so good. The tight rhythm section leavens the songs a Lamb-like subtle dance-ability, while intricate Sweet Honey in the Rock-style vocal arrangements lend the songs an exotic flavour. Closing song Won't You Dance With Me? is especially powerful. 

Hitting the highlights from their beloved 2012 album Zingers, Milk Teddy set about spinning webs of dour indie pop. The unpretentious, matter-of-factness to their music belies the talent involved in their creation; singer/songwriter Thomas Mendelovits sings almost as if he’s ashamed of his songs’ pop sensibility. The set, while well played and full of their trademark wry intelligence, doesn’t see the band breaking any new ground; fine for fans such as those here tonight, but does make you hope their momentum hasn’t slowed.

Sweet Fantasy is the first song for headliners T:dy T:wns, and within its opening seconds you know something very special is happening here. The dual vocals of Louise Terry and Sez Wilks are jaw dropping in their harmonic strength and fluidity. Guitarist and songwriter Peter Head boasts a Flying V guitar with an iPhone-keyboard plugged into it and makes noises just as sweetly odd as you’d expect. Popov returns to the stage for Bask, one of the A-sides of tonight’s launched single, and with it the gig really takes off. While Pikelet isn’t available for the band’s radio hit Dear Joseph, Terry, Wilks and copious handclaps drive the song to its satisfying conclusion.

St Clare joins them for the other A side, the knowing Goldfrapp-esque I'm Gonna Get Dressed Up, and it too is a triumph. Terry’s Elizabeth Fraser-esque take on Once a Year silences the room, which then sings along to closer Bare Chested Boys. A major addition to Melbourne’s music scene has arrived, and they’re glorious.

Melbourne Fringe Festival: SABRINA D’ANGELO - WHY DO I DREAM?

Son of Loft, Lithuanian Club

A slackly hanging crocheted tablecloth adorns the black curtained stage, a homely totem giving no warning whatsoever of the bizarre world of psychosexual body poetry to follow. Sabrina D'Angelo's third foray into the Fringe Festival establishes her as a major talent and a pioneer in physical theatre. While previous shows focused on puppets and asked you to ignore the master, in Why Do I Dream? it is impossible for your eyes to leave her. 

Ostensibly a theatrical interpretation of Madam Bovary, D'Angelo uses the text to explore notions of inhibition, desire and satiation, which she excels in expressing using mime, song, interpretive dance, ventriloquism and poetry. Frequently hilarious, occasionally confronting and often poignant, she manages abrupt shifts in tone with a deft physicality, and a constant sense of surprise in a show crammed with ideas. Possibly the first performer to connect Gustave Flaubert, Lionel Richie and an amorous bear, D'Angelo is fast forging a totally unique and utterly arresting body of work. 
One of the few true originals this Fringe is offering.

Live Review: MONTERO, ANDRAS FOX, PRUDENCE REES-LEE

Howler  
Simultaneously dwarfing and inarguably enhancing tonight’s performances is the impression of this new Brunswick venue, Howler. Resplendent with floor to ceiling timber and purple lights and boasting a phenomenal PA system, Howler will hopefully be figuring far more commonly in readers’ gig schedules in the near future. 
 

Tonight begins with chamber-pop songstress Prudence Rees-Lee leading us on the musical equivalent a tour of The Wicker Man’s Summer Isle. Wearing a face-obscuring hat, Rees-Lee and her octet hit highlights from recent album Court Music From the Planet of Love and bewitch us in the process. Intricate and subtly atmospheric arrangements boast harp, strings, guitar and keys and push the richly complex songs. Parts interweave, enhance and echo each other, though Rees-Lee often seems as though she’s singing louder than she’d like to be. Closing with one of the year’s best songs, Morning, this is a set bursting with originality and talent, and a charismatic singer committed to making her own way. 

Oozing in from the electro pop of DJs Darren Sylvester and Hannah Higher Power, comes programmer Andras Fox. Warm bass pulses meld beneath mellow Kompakt-style tones; it's pretty sweet but ultimately samey stuff. Fox dabbles with African percussion and clipped, delayed melodies to inoffensive 80s-ish ends. Claiming he's not dancing due a squash injury, Fox churns through several sound-alike pieces of tinkly warm elevator techno from forthcoming album Café Romantica over which people happily chat.

Beginning with life-affirming album opener Adriana, Montero celebrate the long-delayed release of their debut The Loving Gaze in a glorious rush of bright, fizzing glee. Over projections of colour-saturated explosions, singer and songwriter Bjenny Montero arrives looking like a cross between Chrissy Amphlett and a young shaman. While the band has never sounded bigger, there is a sense of euphoric freedom here that seems rare in other bands.

Montero himself is so committed to the performance and fearless in his expression that the stage is a playground, allowing other personalities in the six-piece to shine through. Guitarist Geoff O’Connor’s slick chops and smoother visage sits comfortably next to Gerald Wells, a perfectionist intently dispatching fluid analogue synth melodies. Guy Blackman’s cheery avuncular electric piano work blends impeccably with drummer Cameron Potts’ wild and accurate additions and the bass and vocal work of Bobby Brave; it’s brilliant stuff.
Mumbai is a glorious spin in the sun, Clear Sailing loses its freewheeling nature in a new rushed arrangement, but the band can’t be blamed for reinventing a song with which the audience are familiar. Dead Heads Come to Dinner and Glam Campbell are closing highlights in a night full of revelations, and one the packed room reward with deafening cheers.

Melbourne Fringe Festival Review: TONY MARTIN: THE YETI

The Butterfly Club
 

While the story behind the warren-like temple of kitsch that is The Butterfly Club would be a show in itself, a glimpse into the fertile mind of comic legend Tony Martin brings a packed room of excitable and well-dressed 40-45 year olds out on this opening night. Even if you don’t fit into this niche, you would be hard-pressed to find a more relatable and better written show this Fringe. 

Presented as an episodic narrative of his life in an Auckland boarding house, The Yeti is an adaptation of highlights from his book Lolly Scramble, and Martin embodies the warmly-written characters brilliantly, with only a slight shift in physicality, relying on his peerless observational comedic writing and voicing to set us right amongst the cheap furniture and smoky fug of the house.

Seeing one of our (seemingly ageless) comic legends at work and maintaining his unmatchable form is not a chance to pass up.

Melbourne Fringe Festival Review: 10:45PM WORLD RECORD SHOW

The Tuxedo Cat 

Despite starting half an hour late, from the moment this chaotically hilarious show begins you know you’re in good hands. The three hosts Adam Knox, Dave Warneke and Andy Matthews are each gifted comedians with timing and improvisational skills that could lead to long careers. The ‘let’s see how many obscure (and previously non-existent) world records we can break’ premise is more a vehicle for some excellent banter. 

Full of unpredictable twists, messy accidents and occasional guest comedians, the hosts seem to be on a steep learning curve. Examining the detritus on stage at the show’s conclusion is testament to the lengths they’re willing to go to; whipped cream, ‘top shelf’ white wine, chocolate sauce, flecks of blood and a huge number of broken eggs. Impossible not to laugh at, this bizarre, charisma-driven show is a safe bet for anyone with a funny bone and a memory of Le Snaks.

Melbourne Fringe Festival Review: BEN POBJIE IS WEARING A TOWEL

Son of Loft, Lithuanian House

Many comedians rejoice at the chance to use the stage as a psychiatrist's couch, but it takes a rare combination of intelligence, wit, courage and commitment to actually make the prospect entertaining. While Pobjie is certainly smart and courageous enough to turn skin-pricklingly honest accounts of self-harm, depression, masturbation and an obsession with Breaking Bad into a galvanising performance, the emphasis on laughs is secondary to the honesty, but this isn't the comedy festival.

Whatever cheap and transient thrills the Fringe may offer up elsewhere, Pobjie has no time for insincerity or pretense. This is a compelling, cathartic, unique and at times challenging show but one that rewards in more ways than Pobjie possibly intended. Plus, any show that ends with a man wearing a towel 'for all the people who were told they couldn't do something but then did it anyway and failed and realised they should have listened in the first place’ is a man worth listening to.

Melbourne Fringe Festival Review: RED LIKE OUR ROOM USED TO FEEL

The Warren, North Melbourne Town Hall 

Fresh from the Edinburgh Fringe Festival (where it was among the best reviewed of all productions) Ryan van Winkle's oddly beguiling show is a truly memorable and disarming discovery. Inviting you, one by one, in to a small curtained-off alcove, warmly decorated as a share house bedroom, van Winkle offers a cup of tea or port and invites you to curate a short collection of his poetry. 

A welcome seduction away from the hustle and clamour of the festival, RLORUTF seeks to make a personal connection more than any show here, and overwhelmingly succeeds thanks to van Winkle's unprepossessing nature (and, perhaps, the port). As a model for poetry it's exciting, as a short, 20-minute dip into an under-appreciated art form it's glorious, and as a way to feel as though something here has been made specifically for you, it's unmatched, finally, and fittingly, it's free. A subtle and dazzling highlight.

Live Review: THE NATIVE CATS, BITCH PREFECT, EXHAUSTION

The Gasometer

Bleeding from a sound check into an experimental noise-fest, three-piece Exhaustion waste no time in confounding expectations about what constitutes a ‘song’. Moving from empty percussion thwacks to full throttle jet engine distortion, the band play hard and loud, bullying their songs with unexpected twists and turns. Almost better suited to a party at a dysfunctional share house than a gig, Exhaustion channel a Germs-like snotty dissatisfaction and rage, expressed via feedback squalls, busy tom-heavy drums, simple basslines and drowned vocal yells. Their short, acerbic set is a powerful blast that keeps their rising profile on course.

Similarly fuelled with bratty discord Bitch Prefect follow and the cut and thrust of rapidly strummed clean guitars fills the room. Dissonant vocals stab and drone as the songs rise and hang. The trio channel the Vaselines and Flying Nun while adding a galvanising neurotic buzz. Dense, dynamically even, their set mostly comprises of songs from 2012’s Big Time album though earlier single and set-closer Holiday in America stands out for it’s brilliant simplicity.

Playing the second date on their national tour, The Native Cats take to the stage to a now-packed room. Bassist Julian Teakle sets the starkly muscular mood, as vocalist, circuit-bent-Nintendo tweaker and melodica blower Peter Escott begins his doleful intelligent intimations. Wearing a long red dress, he cuts a fascinating figure as the duo move track by track through new album Dallas. Escott’s expressive voice and strident lyrics gain strength from their menacing, casual dispatching. Highlights I Remember Everyone, brilliant new single Cavalier and mournful C of O demonstrate their peerless songwriting and disorienting construction; ‘They tell you strangers come and go and if you want you can pretend / Now I’m running out of people I thought I’d never see again / I’m seeing them again” Escott sings archly.

Sometimes danceable, sometimes suited to headphones and a walk through dark streets, their music maintains a delicate balance between knowing irony and galling sincerity. Dallas and this gig make a strong case for the Native Cats being one of the most interesting and strikingly original bands in the country, though it’s highly unlikely they’d give a shit about any sort of assessment like that.

As their dazzling encore of Shovel on Shovel finishes (introduced as "a song about a recurring dream where I smoke a cigarette and regret it") and the noise from the rowdy crowd fades the duo share a glance and nod before leaving the stage. "Thank you Melbourne," Escott wryly confesses. "I'm slowly coming around to you".

Live Review: TULLY ON TULLY, PLAYWRITE

The Toff in Town
Dispelling Election Day blues within seconds of kicking off their set, Playwrite bounce their drama-laden brand of percussion-driven funk rock off the walls of the largely empty room. While claiming influences of Animal Collective and TV on the Radio, the epic grandeur of Elbow and the bongo/floor tom fury of Local Natives are more accurate likenesses, which, in these hands, is no bad thing. Clearly a massive asset to any festival lineup, Playwrite deal in music to feel and dance to rather than just hear. It’s strange to see the smallish room gradually fill and the audience respond with trademark warm politeness (the kind that keeps this country on its knees); when singer Jordan White pushes his impressively powerful voice, these songs deserve an arena of fans, arms around each other and fists aloft. 

To fractured projections of The Wizard of Oz, Tully on Tully take to the stage to wind up their national tour in aid of their new and stonkeringly good EP Weightless. Dancers push their way to the front of the now packed room, as the band launch into opener Hunt You Down. With two years of consistent gigging behind them and a solid, unchanged lineup, tonight’s gig feels like it’s a new high for the band. Always a note-perfect formidable pop machine, ToT tonight seems ready to take it to the next level. Singer Natalie Foster, always a mesmerising presence live, moves with a feline quality as she inhabits her words and entrances the audience. More a band than ever before, radio hit Naked and their sterling So Close to Over really highlight the role of the four-piece backing the ever-moving Foster, not just the musicianship but also the personalities of the band shine through in these songs now. 

It’s as if two years of gigging has finally made the band comfortable to play the parts and be themselves. While highlights Quiet Company and EP-opener Going on Like This noisy-up the crowd, it’s the Hayden Calnin-featuring Triple J hit Stay (absent tonight but ably covered by guitarist Greg Rietwyk and keyboardist Pete Corrigan) that sees the entire room burst into singing so emphatic that it nearly drowns out the band. Watching the Tully on Tully share disbelieving smiles as the crowd lift their voices is the high point of a blazing set and a powerful reminder of what music can do, and that no matter what happens elsewhere in the country, there are still few places in the world you’d rather be.

Live Review: UNDERGROUND LOVERS, ALPHA BETA FOX

Northcote Social Club
Indebted to 90s British bands in the most forgiveable way possible, Adelaide’s Alpha Beta Fox are a perfect choice as support for tonight’s show. Pulling together the best parts of Lush, St Etienne and brighter moments of mid-80s Cure, the five-piece boast the dual vocal talents of Tanya Giobbi and Rebecca Burge Versteegh and of course, churning and chiming guitars. 

Far from being copyists however, ABF also use Theremin, inspired fizzing synth and a bird whistle to create a genuinely unusual sound. Opening song Lady Don't Ride instantly announces them as one of the boldest and brightest discoveries so far this year, and the crowd are audibly impressed from the outset. Songs veer from swoonworthy to writhing with their lovely J-play garnering buzz single Pins and Needles being far from their strongest effort tonight. The odd lazy lyric aside, this is a band to watch. 

To a now sold-out crowd – most dressed in flattering black and aged northward of 40 – the Underground Lovers wander on and proceed to do what they do best; make garage rock for hovercrafts. The Stereolab-like brilliance of I Was Right with its mantra ‘And the way it begins / Is the way that it ends / I was right’ gets us all onside. Singer Phillippa Nihill paces the stage as if she’s nervous but sings like she owns it. Glenn Bennie’s inspired yet un-flashy guitar work is a well-known national treasure, but hearing him at full bore and on form as he is tonight is a revelation. 

Songs as good as those on their recently-released Weekend album can only come from years of experience, and their balance of intelligent aggression and mellifluous texture is uniquely their own. There is no fading out here; the consistency and sheer talent is as vital as it was when they were ARIA Award winning Triple J fixtures. It’s these newer songs that get cheers of recognition and bond the crowd just as much as incendiary brilliance of Beautiful World and Leaves Me Blind. As warmly as we respond, the band seems even happier. ‘We don’t do banter,’ lies singer Vincent Giarrusso joyfully. Melbourne music mainstay Julian Wu jumps up on stage to spruik the single tonight’s gig is in aid of (a split single with Chinese band Dear Eloise if you’re interested – and judging by the movement at the merch desk, we are). Can For Now, In Silhouette and tonight’s launched single Haunted (Acedia) are stunning, and, as the clock ticks over into September, their excoriating encore of 1992’s Eastside Stories leaves us wholly sold that this enduring team have a lot more to give

Live Review: PALMA VIOLETS, BLEEDING KNEES CLUB, TEENAGE MOTHERS, FROTTERA

Northcote Social Club

Selling out within weeks of going on sale, there must have been a tour manager keen to get some of the packed-out club vibe going since this line-up could have sold out the Hi Fi. Setting the sweaty scene are Frottera, a sun-born throwback blast of Cali-punk. Actually roadies for the headliners, the band are hilariously exuberant and anyone turning up to Melbourne in shorts in July deserves every cheer they get. The rapidly filling venue like their style, but the (exclamation) point is made by the 30-minute mark.

Teenage Mothers follow and, though they seem to be making the right moves and noises, there is a sense of emptiness to what they do. Individually good musicians, their Black Angels-style psych rock is a simple and effective sound, but the music feels utterly meaningless and devoid of any integrity. While some in the audience respond warmly, there is an overwhelming sense of deflation to their surprisingly short set.

Thankfully, the loud and dumb punk rock of Bleeding Knees Club arrives to resurrect anything you might have been missing from 80s-90s pop punk and wanted spat back in your face. Tight and with pithy riffs, the crowd stand and watch, which sucks the music of most if its power, but songs like I Just Wanna Have Fun, and Teenage Girls take the identikit punk structure and kick it around while remaining infuriatingly catchy. A surprise cover of Bohemian Like You sits nicely but does show then up and raise the question as to why they don’t make their songs just a little more interesting, but then the closing song and recent single Feel is peerless pop punk and epitomises all they do best.

By the time Palma Violets arrive the venue seems to have turned into the Elephant and Wheelbarrow with British accents filling the thick air. Bursting out with some full force pub rock boogie, there is a rare sense of fury and intent to their set, but, as on their debut 180, it still sounds distant and thunderous rather than bright and punchy. The guitar mixed low and keyboards softening the textures, it’s left to hyperactive bassist Chilli Jesson to drive the songs visually and musically. While their set jumps from one garage rock anthem to the next, it’s the genius of their single Best of Friends, and it’s monumental chorus that gives their set it’s fist-pumping highlight. Step Up For the Cool Cats is another cracker and We Found Love simmers, but it’s the sheer attitude that wiry and saturated Jesson exudes that is the real drawcard. Lighting up a fag mid-set and later crowdsurfing to the back of the room are both rarities at the NSC. Closing with the rousing 14 and encoring with Brand New Song, it’s the energy and bravado they bring to the standard rock chord progressions they spin through that so impresses, and still leaves the sense that the best is to come.

Live Review: HAIM, THE PREATURES

The Hi Fi Bar

To an overwhelmingly oestrogenic crowd and a sold out, packed out room The Preatures blast through a tight set of polished rock. Sharp, punchy, stylish and vaguely dangerous in a way that channels the early days of the Cherry Bar without the fear of ever playing a bum note, the five-piece are a sleek machine. Lead singer Isabella Manfredi oozes charisma and channels sheer joy with a wide boyish grin and no less than three costume changes in half an hour. New song Cruel is a barnstorming slice of guitar pop and deserves a charting come Hottest 100 time. Once the songs slow down they lose their individuality but any set that ends with Is This How You Feel? has got to be considered a winner.

Arriving on stage to a blasting 99 Problems yet initially drowned out by emphatic cheering, Haim are possibly the first band to sell out the Hi Fi Bar with just four released songs to their name. Within seconds it’s apparent that something big is happening here, and you can throw all the accusations of conservative influences you like that this band, but they won’t sound like anything other than three sisters making music for each other. 

With today’s music news revealing that their debut album has recently been finished in Sydney, the Haims and drummer Dash Hutton open with Better Off, a track that sends the audience into ear piercing raptures. Moving through The Wire, Honey and I and Oh Well – songs presumably featuring on their forthcoming album - they move from a gritty hard rock through intricate pop hooks, bluesy ballads and some truly endearing banter without ever breaking a sweat. Regardless of genre, their fantastically imaginative use of dynamics and spectacular vocal arrangements are constantly impressive.

Live Review: SEX ON TOAST, THE DO YO THANGS, KUMAR SHOME AND THE PUNKAWALLAHS

Northcote Social Club  
Those who don't care for musicianship or dancing in their live music stay away in droves from tonight’s single launch for one of the city’s most hyped ‘new’ bands Sex on Toast. Those without prejudice however settle in for a consistently impressive night of deft chops and butt-shaking rhythms. Kicking off with more fluid noodling than Chinatown is guitarist Kumar Shome and his Punkawallahs. With source of inspiration including his cat (El Gato) and familial incontinence (Desperation Dance) Shome can basically write about anything he chooses to, you can be guaranteed he’ll express it via about 40000 notes played in around five minutes. Bouncing off the rhythmic prowess of Bamboos’ bassist Yuri Pavlinov and drummer Graeme Pogson Shome’s tone is warm and drips with sustain, while his solos take flight with John Scofield-like levity and move with a deft ease between any definable genres.

'Mid band entertainment' consists of DJ Lovely Clear Water, who is actually none of these things but is incredibly entertaining and wears a wig backwards and plastic sunnies. Hi-NRG techno and death metal vocal meets in karaoke takes on the Power Rangers theme, Toto and Lionel Richie, the crowd is content to stare agape at this

Boasting a sweet line in elegant funk and boasting a formidable vocal powerhouse in Audrey Boyle, The Do Yo Thangs are a revelation. Songwriter and drummer Hugh Rabinovici leaves the fun to Boyle and co-vocalists Nkechi Koo and Georgie Darvidis whose harmonies drive the sunshine-y funk. Like a summer festival in a band, Rabinovici’s songs have a fresh Lauren Hill/early Lenny Kravitz feel to them and the band’s glorious balance of songwriting skills, musicianship and passion really comes to life in their finest tracks; Indecisive, Make it Real and I Would Follow You. Boyle’s trumpet playing is another weapon in their funky arsenal. Highly recommended.

By the time Sex on Toast pull back the curtain after screening the film-clip for Takin' Over tonight’s launched single, the room is packed solid and chattering happily. In fact, regardless of the nine-strong eighties funk rocket taking off on stage, people chat happily throughout the set. More importantly, who knew there was this many ways to be simultaneously dapper and sexual? Singer Angus Leslie's falsetto, Louis King’s slinky guitar, Gareth Thomson and Marty Holoubek’s seductive rhythms and James Bower’s strangely sensual auto-tuned backing vocals are just the first wave of the charm offensive. With the collective confidence of a frat house and a similar agenda, Sex on Toast take Cat Empire’s conservatorium proficiency and party vibe but wind up somewhere between Prince and DiG. So insane and unpredictable are Leslie and co’s antics and so tight and funky are the songs that by the time the cross-dressers on rollerskates arrive it almost seems a continuation of a theme. Songs or rather, party jams, Potential Sexy, a storming cover of Michael Jackson’s Remember the Time and blinder of a new single Takin’ Over leave no doubt that their time has arrived.  

Live Review: KIRIN J CALLINAN, STANDISH/CARLYON, JONNY TELAFONE

Northcote Social Club 
Tonight’s lineup could have gotten Arts Victoria funding for a ‘live exploration and reassessment of masculinity and electro rock’; each act taking inspiration from looking inward and exploring what a man is in modern Australian society. Each act also happens to kick arse.

Stripping off within the opening seconds of the first song. Jonny Telafone, eyes closed, standing amidst small bursts of dry ice, occupies a bizarrely perfect balance between the seductive and the aggressively intimate. Though he seems wholly engaged when performing, the second he’s not singing his sometime-secular paeans to the spiritual and the physical, it’s like he thinks he’s invisible; swigging beer, stoking his dry ice machine, freezing in poses. It’s captivating stuff, until his final two songs Stay Strong For Me and The End in which the audience (mostly men in glasses, trimmed beards and with swept back hair) get noisy in their appreciation.

Opening with clouds of choked synth atmospheres, Standish/Carlyon's arresting set builds on crisp, distant drums and overt sexuality oozing from every plucked bass note and barely discernible vocal. In lesser hands, it would be easy for this to turn into a prematurely disappointing mess, but so confident and self-assured are these men, we’re instead privy to a seamy sub-urban pleasuredome. Focusing on the creation of mood seems to be their drive, and songs seem to explode unexpectedly. When melodies surface, as on Nono/Yoyo and Subliminally, they shine brightly. Closing song Gucci Mountain is introduced as 'A terse psychological thriller taking place over several continents', its ricochets of sparse slap bass and vocal refrain sending us to our own dark places.

Equally adept with sound and mood, and probably the only Australian act to generate more hyperbole in recent months, is Kirin J Callinan. Entering the room to silence, he arranges himself amidst two microphones, adjusts his headset microphone, and kicks into gear. Blasting us with strobes and lasers, and instantly hitting all the high-mid frequencies that Standish/Carlyon missed, opening song Halo and title track of new album Embracism is galvanizing stuff. Instantly showing us his mastery of production, Callinan is meticulous in his control of sound, unusual for a performer so associated with the unpredictable; even the humility of his banter seems designed to offset the ambition on show. Regardless of hype and filmclips, the sonic impact here is massive and brilliantly constructed. His guitar sounds are often deftly tight bursts of chaos, conversely, his voice a hoarse and often limited (perhaps due to recent overuse) instrument. Chardonnay Sean follows and allows his excellent three-piece backing band to stretch out.

Moving from furious blasts of keys and guitar as on Come on USA to near-shoegaze splendour of Victoria M. and Landslide, Callinan’s set is well-paced and seems to build to the closing epic Love Delay that leaves Callinan’s voice at its most ragged. Returning to the stage alone to display his astoundingly proficient guitar layering, he closes the set with a wave and leaves to wild cheers. Three bands with a theme, captured at exactly the right time; tonight is a gig for the time capsule.

Live Review: YOU AND THE COLONIES, WINTER MOON, VELMA GROVE

John Curtain Hotel
Always a hard room to fill, and with wildly variable acoustics, the John Curtain is tonight host to three of Melbourne’s brightest up-and-coming bands. Though few arrive in time for the glowing opening set from the mysteriously titled Velma Grove, the nattily dressed sextet play as though it’s packed.

Boasting violin, trumpet, banjo, mandolin, harmonica and whatever else they could manage, the crowded stage is soon in throng to their chiming harmonies, whistling solos, stomping washboard-rhythms and blustering enthusiasm. Amidst songs full of Arcade Fire-like bravado, the band crack gags, call out for Band-Aids (presumably the medical not Almost Famous type), and perform with impressive confidence. Despite a proclivity to build every song to an acoustic-driven crescendo, and singing in voices that don’t always sound like their own, there is enough talent here to make their forthcoming debut album worth seeking out.

As the crowd fills the room and the chattering grows louder, Winter Moon open to a warm reception. Pushed along by nimble drumming, forcefully trebly bass and distortion-saturated guitar lines, the five-piece immediately impress. With no small boost from phenomenal singer Milly Moon - who channels Karen O and Janis Joplin while still cracking a smile – the band leap from one driving rock number to another. For all their obviously arresting qualities, flautist and vocalist Chloe Faith is the band’s secret weapon. Lending strangely soft yet piercing melodies to the furious energy the band exude, her adeptness makes a powerful counterpoint to Moon’s belting. While an occasional tendency to overplay undercuts the songs’ inherent drama, tracks like Hitting Home show the talent here is undeniable, the charisma magnetic and future success is all but inevitable.

You and the Colonies are on especially impressive form tonight. With some of the finest harmonies this side of wherever Fleet Foxes currently are, the band dispatch majestic arrangements with no pretense or grandstanding. Sounding as if they’d be equally at home at Woodford or on the bill of Pitchfork Festival, it’s hard to believe this is their first show in seven months. Songs like I See Ships and the closing If You Insist wrest attention from the packed room. Songwriters David Scarr and Tim Steers are perfect foils for each other and when the voice of Cynthia Sear joins, it’s a rare bliss.

Live Review: TOY, FROWNING CLOUDS

Corner Hotel
A room-halving red curtain is the first thing that greets a punter curious for some hyped UK neo-psych rock at the Corner tonight. Not an indication of a poor gig, but not a promising sign. The other unexpected sight on entering is that of copious sponsorship of A Certain Alcoholic Cider of Irish Apples (aka ACACIA), who has thrown their name in with whatever image UK Indie Rock™ has these days. Whether seeing a band surrounded by sponsors’ logos vs not seeing them at all is an arrangement to get used to will be interesting to see. Someone should write a column about it.