Live Review: NED & THE MEDS, DEAF! DEAF!, THE TRUFFLE PIGS

A House Party, Brunswick

House parties! The odd neighbour aside, who doesn't love bands playing in a living room? This is a classic example of the sort of party that shouldn't be missed (keep an eye out for another series of backyard DIY House Gigs is happening throughout summer). Tonight though, from between the floral sofa pushed against a wall, and a vase of artfully arranged shuttlecock "flowers" against the other, amidst occasional power outs, dodgy sound, stubbies, cigarette smoke, raised laughter, coats, bags, earnest conversations, and about 60 audience members of varying intoxicated states, came the music.

At the ungodly and frankly unattended hour of 9PM, came a concise set from The Truffle Pigs who played their bowed electric guitar/experimental noise set to great acclaim, "wild" said one, "intense" said another. Following some impromptu improvisation from Hugh of Summer Cats, came Deaf! Deaf! Shoving squealing mics into their amps, beating three drums (one skin broken), hacking a bass (one string broken), slicing at a guitar (two strings broken), bashing a heavily distorted keyboard and skronking three notes out of a sax, this no-wave three piece worked in total abandon, changing instruments for each song and forcing their music through a wall of tiny amps. No question, here was what lesser bands flounder to get at; genuine and joyous no-wave; energy that needs no melodic constraints. Tara Green, mic in one hand beating a floor tom with the other and sounding like a burning matyr, visually and sonically galvanised their free-form noise assault. If someone could give guitarists Kieren Hagerty and Shaun Short a pick before they strum their fingers to the palm they might last long enough to gain a following.

Sharing only a venue in common, some members of Ned And The Meds were thoroughly hammered by the time they started, a fact that only helped their indie-cuntry tunes go down well, especially the astute and hilarious Hickford CC and Lucky Paw, both of which raised spirits, voices and the odd bottle. Against the obvious sonic constraints, frequent audience-baiting insults from Ned and amp malfunctions, guitarist Alysia's musicianship shone through and carried many of the songs which obviously had great lyrics but which were lost tonight. Worth catching even without a PA. Bring on summer and bring on more house parties.

Live Review: MICK HARVEY

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

The Speigeltent

Victoria Beckham recently trotted out the cliched (and therefore true) phrase: "style never goes out of fashion". Were she watching Mick Harvey's sold out show at The Speigeltent last Monday evening in the swaddling heat and amongst rapt devotees, few would have disagreed. Another adage he proved true might be: "Good things come to those who wait", though that would be no news to fans who've waited until last year's aptly named One Man's Treasure for a true solo album. This was the perfect venue for the perfect gentleman of Australian rock to bring that album to life. No stranger to 4-star album reviews, a small but dedicated fanbase and with a limited interest in troubling the mainstream, Harvey distilled all that is great about his output and personality and turned it into a languid yet concise 70-minute show.

Harvey is accompanied by energetic double-bassist Rosie Westbrook, pianist and co-singer Julltha Ryan and long-term musical companions James Johnson, who provided the perfectly complimentary guitar and organ, and wonderfully restrained drummer Thomas Wydler. Wydler's drumming style encapsulated the evening; he illustrates the drama of the narratives and pulsing heart of the songs, but uses brushes not sticks - muting the expression, keeping it tight. It's the fact that Harvey keeps things unpretentiously acoustic and largely restrained that makes his quietly insistent voice and the lead-light and mirrors of the venue so suited to the rich stock of songs he has gathered. Every note and rhythmic accentuation adds to the impact of the songs; a deft guitar swell here, a subtle drum roll there, warm double-bass bowing and Harvey's calm and confident baritone riding each smooth and dark wave to safe harbour. Even his effects pedal has it's own red velvet-draped table.

Opening with Come Into My Sleep, Harvey and band instantly cast a spell that not even the sticky heat and reflected broad daylight can break. Hank Williams Says It Best continues the theme of country-confessional authorship that could surely bag him a Golden Guitar were he to pursue that route. That he doesn't seem to pursue anything except honing his craft is one of his key traits that comes across in this calm and confident performance. Dave McComb's rarely heard Everything Is Fixed is an unexpectedly affecting revelation in Harvey's hands, Will You Surrender?, Come On Spring, Louise and First St. Blues are all highlights, as is the change of pace and eerily textured (almost Scott Walker-like) Bethelridge. After a rockstar-like reaction far louder than anything he performed for the set-closing lullaby A Little Bit Of Rain, comes the warmly anticipated Serge Gainsborough encore in which Pink Elephants and Bonnie And Clyde are performed so as to expel their previous incarnations from the memory. Harvey's verse of Pink Elephants in French iced his cake of effortless class. From the sculpted jet black hair of the 20-something Birthday Party fans to the attentive elderly women gently fanning themselves, Mick Harvey's taken a while to come out alone, and judging by the reaction tonight, they'd all agree, it's been worth the wait.

Live Review: LITTLE BIRDY, RED RIDERS, ABBE FUZZ

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Hi-Fi Bar

In town as part of their Hollywood Tour, Little Birdy show they can clearly still play a killer gig, pulling in the dressed-up girls and dressed-down boys, and make an inspired choice in picking Red Riders to be a support, also promoting a new album and no doubt winning some new fans in the process. But first ladies and gentlemen, Abbe Fuzz.

Sporting a gorgeous red dress, and an equally impressive Martin acoustic guitar, was opening act Abbe Fuzz who, without a word of introduction, proceeds to push her relentlessly aggressive blues-rock on the still thin crowd. While being the opening act to the support band can be a tough gig, there is no sign that she'll be giving this anything less than her all. Her simplistic guitar playing, soundalike songs, unoriginal riffs, complete ignorance of the less-is-more theory, and total lack of subtlety (or anything out of the key of E), make for a tough listen. Despite being utterly bereft of originality, her voice was quite an impressive instrument; part Hope Sandoval's richness, part Janis Joplin's wail and, given better material and more experience, could easily lead her to great things.

Following Abbe the almighty Red Riders bear the imprint of the Ivy League stable and a musical tightness that befits a band choosing to play exciting post-punk tunes. Within seconds they have the crowd and impress with the sheer one-two punch of of short songs and brief gaps. In Tom Wallace, Red Riders have a phenomenal drummer and while never being showy, he's a wonder to behold. His complex hi-hat work perfectly complements the lead guitar of Adrian Deutsch. Red Riders really do take a genre that you've every right to be completely uninterested in hearing yet another version of, and sure, they probably have the same influences as countless other bands, but this gig, and to a lesser extent their new Replica Replica album, thrill in a way you hope to be by a band playing punchy edgy rock. They dress like dorks, singer Alex Grigg rarely brings his chin down to the mic or opens his eyes, and they play their Rickenbackers as if they're about to be grabbed from their hands, especially on songs like I Think You're Blind, What They Say About Us, the catchy-as-hell A.S.P.I.R.I.N and the blinding new single Slide In Next To Me, each one reinvented in live form like a shot of black label Johnny Walker. Classy.

A short while, a crowd that multiplies faster than bacteria, and a house-light-dim later, Little Birdy and star of the night Katy Steele arrive to a rafter-lifting screech from the considerable number of appreciative girls present. Their backdrop; a scattering of stars against dark drapes and sketched animals faces dangling from the lighting rig, make perverse sense when watching Katy pacing the stage as if a cage, with her skin-tight black leather pants, odd-coloured heels and a neon-red coat - no question, she looked deadly, AND wears those clothes like no one else.

Opening with a storming version of Music For Love Robots/Come On, Come On that brings smiles and singalongs all-round, Little Birdy are clearly at home. The boys maintain a tight restraint - never missing a cue, while Katy acts like the star she clearly is in the eyes of those vocal fans, literally diving into each guitar-tech assisted guitar changeover, constantly getting tangled in her mic lead, kicking like a cheerleader while hacking away at her Telecaster and making every mad move look as natural as only a Steele can.

Coming across like a truckie on speed tonight was the "new direction" Little Birdy are taking toward a more electronic and dance-oriented sound. (Literally) rocking keyboardist Simon Leach propels many new songs with Moog-sounding leadlines that work especially well on Bodies and Set You Alight, songs that move the crowd in all the right ways, i.e: up and down. Hollywood brought out the lighters and Six Months In A Leaky Boat brought the cheers, and most everyone bought the merch. Little Birdy=customer satisfaction guaranteed.

Live Review: HUMANSIXBILLION, THE ORBWEAVERS, PIKELET, IAN WADLEY

Beginning quietly before nearing capacity by the time the headliners played, this gig is an unusual one, and, given the styles of music on offer, an unusually cohesive one. Firstly, each group and performer seems to have incidentally created songs inspired by planets and water as noted by Peter from humansixbillion, though in the case of opener Ian Wadley, it was hard to tell exactly what his solo guitar pieces were inspired by, but cracking ice could easily have been implied by his staccato melodies and evocative playing.

Resting against a disused speaker at the side of the performance space, with sinews tensed and immense intention seeming to go into each pluck or strike of the instrument, it sometimes appeared as if his hands were possessed. Frequent use of the guitar's tremolo arm and a refreshingly subtle use of loop delay meant that his sounds never crowded, but conversely, never alone.

Baring little in common with his better known work as part of Minimum Chips, Wadley creates taut, fractured images. Notes rarely ring, instead he favours percussive use of the guitar and knife-edge melody lines that, while rarely repeating, never become superfluous. Quite a find.

The ubiquitous but never unwelcome Pikelet is up next, performing a lot of new material off her forthcoming release. These songs still find her quietly rejoicing with her delay pedal, guitar, accordion, xylophone, half a drum kit and especially, her voice. It's this last gloriously unpretentious instrument that really sets Pikelet apart from other loopaledelic delay-heavy solo performers. Her command and use of her voice is somehow reminiscent of a country singer, really comfortable in itself, regaling you with stories of domestic thoughtfulness and honest observation. Snatches of lyric concern lost goldfish, personal quests for transcending daily ennui, and the lingering of dreams, though the music evokes moods that are easily mutable. Her songs could be described as formulaic, but not in a derogatory sense; songs will often begin with the layering of loops, usually some rhythm, a melody from the accordion or guitar, some self-harmonies, the knee-high purple socks move deftly on the delay pedal, and the story begins. This is never less than fascinating, because unlike a magician showing you how they perform their tricks, Pikelet's magic is enhanced by this open construction of her music. A new song, provisionally entitled Bug In Mouth is a particular highlight and showed her moving away from this loop-construction method.

The Orbweavers follow and capably play their languid Australian Twin Peaks-style dark country rock. Effectively using slide and amplified acoustic guitars to offset Marita Dyson's doe-eyed murmured vocals, they don't quite manage to silence the room the way a recording of theirs could, but the rhythm section are tight (featuring Paddy Mann from Grand Salvo plugging away on his Burns bass) and Stuart Flanagan's guitar work notably spot on. While the edgy and more direct closing track Up To Your Neck was the most arresting of their fairly dry set, the effectiveness of their atmospheric story-songs such as Fairytales, A Needle, and Periods Of Light (a song about water and planets) are lost given the chattering of potential listeners, and the increasingly malfunctioning PA that did no one any favours. If they took a more Paradise Motel route of playing cinemas and halls - places where they could control the acoustic environment - they could really bring the house down, or at the very least steal a folk festival.

This PA is to bedevil an otherwise blinding set from humansixbillion who carry on like the professionals they unfortunately aren't as singer and guitarist Peter Head effectively made his case for songwriter-to-watch in 2007. Tracks like Gathering Steam and the crowd-pleasing ode to consumer dissatisfaction Got To Keep Up joyously betray his sense of humour while remaining a very astute and literate lyricist. Special mention must be made of Rhodes-tinkling wife Fumiko whose rock solid accompanying (particularly on their gorgeous reinterpretation of Willie Nelson's Always On My Mind) offsets Peter's cracked, unaffected and poignant yet arresting delivery in a singularly defining way. Hearing lyrics of his calibre, concerning water on other planets (no, really), windows as TVs and various types of dietary restrictions often very precise in their definition of their subject to the point where you almost need footnotes defining terms, delivered in this way is a revelation. The reinvention of their myspace-downloadable acoustic ballad All The Songs That You Sing I Sing Too is a particular highlight and really illustrate how great the backing band of Ry Haskings and Julian Harris were.

Husbands and wives, water and planets what more can you ask for?

Live Review: BECAUSE OF GHOSTS, SEAWORTHY

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Tonight is clearly a night warmly anticipated by these several hundred hardy souls who braved a chilly spring evening to troop up the hill to the No So. And boy is it worth it. From the opening chimes of Seaworthy (worthy enough to come down from Sydney for this gig no less) to the closing crash of a sterling version of You Fool Your House Is Built On A Frozen Lake as Because Of Ghosts' encore this is a night that has "classic Melbourne gig" all over it.

Seaworthy subtly began the night with a concise yet narrative-heavy set of guitar drone and feedback-crafting that never becomes self-indulgent, indeed, it indicates what a full-length set of theirs would be like, and that's a very welcoming proposition.

Once the dark curtains reopen, the Stanton brothers and drummer Jacob Pearce take to the stage with an audience ready to be transfixed for the following hour, the lads set about doing just this from the opening shimmering chord...Announcing they would be playing their newly released album The Tomorrow We Were Promised Yesterday from beginning to end proves a wonderful idea and hearing it showcases its narrative cohesion to great effect. That it can still be so strong live is a testament to their inventiveness and the way their albums become a song, which not many bands can do.

It has been mentioned before that their live performances often outshine their studio recordings, as each song is slightly reinvented with each performance, tonight though, I'd have a hard time imagining better versions of these songs. Their onstage communication is a joy to watch also; possibly because they're so comfortable with each others presence and have rehearsed so thoroughly, but at times it seems like the song is being written as they're playing it, pulling them along in it's wake. Jacob especially, seems to be living out a percussionists dream playing their new songs, always adding to the atmosphere and dynamics without becoming them and endlessly pulling out new sounds or pushing a new focus onto a riff...A clear highlight of the evening was the open invitation to join the band on stage and share vocal duties for the already impressive song Bright Things Come To Confusion, an invitation enthusiastically taken up by about a quarter of those present. Within minutes the stage was packed with happy and willing fans of all ages, shapes and sizes. Instead of turning into a weird Polyphonic Spree-type freak show, it was a gorgeous choir of the type that would make Christmas-believers shed a tear, the words seemed to be well-known and couples, friends and (quite possibly) strangers were all knowing glances and wry smiles. Part way through the song, the punters calmly left the stage as the instrumental section kicked in and again the Because Of Ghosts engine roared back to life and into Epicdrive.

Once the record had been played and "My God...they're REALLY good," and various similarly gushing sentiments have been shared by various onlookers, another Stanton/Pearce family member Lily, arrives. If jaws could have gotten lower, they would have been, because this was a real revelation. Firstly, the fact that they played a Joanna Newsom song (Peach, Pear Plum) that they made their own (proving that there are quality tunes behind that oh so distinctive voice) before treading on what could pass for sacred territory in many a punter's mind and covering Postal Service's Such Great Heights. That they did it and did it so damned well; remaking it and taking into new melodic and rhythmic territories, would have been a crowning achievement were it not for the show-stopping version of You Fool, You Built Your House On A Frozen Lake which was all dynamite and fireworks.

All this AND free beautiful posters. What a band.

Live Review: ANIMAL COLLECTIVE, OREN AMBARCHI

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

The Corner


A band not promoting a recently-released album (though a live album Hollinndagain was re-released last week), made for a welcome change of intention for this, Animal Collective's first Melbourne show. Fans flocked from far and wide to experience this (some came from Hobart and Perth) so the mood during DJ Shits & Giggles vibe-establishing noise set is an excitable one. Indeed the crowd are largely the RMIT arts department, most of Mess and Noise, half the Melbourne indie-band scene and some record store workers.


Iron golem of the processed bass frequency Oren Ambarchi opens proceedings with some of the more speaker-troubling bass that The Corner has ever experienced; a welcome change to ears accustomed to the sanctioned treble of a laptop. Beginning with the occasional pluck of his heavily customised guitar, any semblance to the actual sound of a guitar is calmly processed the fuck out as he gently turns knobs and operates pedals ensuring that a very present, very carefully constructed warm blast envelopes the crowd and vibrated sternums everywhere. Over the course of his set layers of sound and decaying signal build up to a sustained harmonic pulse of distortion that pleased punters from the inside out. A brief raise of the guitar and the master of mindful tone manipulation is gone.


Quite how Animal Collective will translate their recordings to a live domain is a process that intrigues more than the odd punter. Will they be all faces-down-and-press-the-button regurgitation? Smaller-scale Flaming Lips-like theatricality? Bizarro rock with a hirsuite sample-triggerer? Well, yes to all of those, but yes to a LOT more.


As Oren Ambarchi shows, the mix is phenomenally good and thankfully does justice to the intricate use of layering, but those looking for a recreation of the moments of pastoral grace that inhabit their most recent non-live album Feels, could easily have been disappointed. If anyone was though, they weren't showing it because from the second the band calmly stride onto the stage, projections adorning both walls, guitarist Deaken with a mask and plastic gerbers sprouting from his head, signal-processor Geologist with a miner's torch and a string of illuminated bones, singer and guitarist Avey Tare and drummer Panda Bear, we are with them. They later explained this dress up as their compensating for missing Halloween on the flight over, though we know their propensity for masks and weirdness, and this was obviously just a very valid excuse.


Much of the environmental recordings, whose subtleties arelost tonight, are sacrificed for voice and guitar signal generation, much of it filtered through Geologist's mixers and processors, often worked like a DJ.
Songs were segued, rebuilt, jammed and deconstructed which gave others, such as the almighty Purple Bottle, Grass, and the breathless set closer We Tigers the feel of towering giants of tight experimental pop. What comes across so clearly tonight is their love for vocal manipulation. Scatting and toning smoothly morphed into a disconcertingly weird acoustic funfair, a hallmark that helped project their individual characters, which they also did through their constant physical movement, all with barely a word to the crowd. This loosely-reined experimentalism, occasionally tempered by whatever passes as a pop sensibility these days is a joy to behold. As is Panda Bear, who plays standing up with just an upright bass drum, piccolo snare, hi-hat and crash was a crowd favourite, the occasional crashing of the otherwise wonderful projections at precisely the wrong moments was hilarious so too the small purple glowing skull they brought along.


Avey Tare, who lost his voice part way through their Brisbane show was obviously giving it his all and his distinctive vocal style, seeming to hit the "right" note by accident, when not wailing, scatting, bellowing or cooing was a truly uninhibited performer and their encore Kids On Holiday proved that indeed all of them could lose it equally convincingly, and smile with just as much conviction when heading backstage.

Live Review: TONI COLLETTE AND THE FINISH, J. WALKER

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Northcote Social Club


Toni Collette follows her band onto the stage and into a hail of raptuous cheers from a sold out crowd. It's an unusual audience for the No So; few regulars, the only band t-shirts are her own at the merch counter, a very different atmosphere, and a median age of 30+. Wearing a shapeless green dress and golden slippers that are soon discarded, Collette straight away takes charge and maintains control throughout. Without a word or glance at the crowd, they launch into album-opener This Moment Is Golden. Once the tone is set she cracks a joke about the weather and her B.O which seems rehearsed but gets the right response and allows her the first of many smiles of the evening.


Collette's performance is fascinating. While obviously enjoying herself, and reveling in the repartee between her and Augie March front-man Glenn Richards, setting the scene and calling all the shots (no solos, no instrumental breaks) and injecting the odd humorous aside, she also seems physically nervous. Her arms never stop moving, she constantly touches her solar plexus, abdomen and breastbone, she asks for the bottle of wine she left in the band room several times, she seems in a hurry and her laugh seems a little forced. This demeanor is understandable, but following on from a more than comfortable and supremely talented J. Walker (of Machine Translations) support slot, - unjustly ignored by a crowd patently not here for the music alone - any incongruity is amplified. Plainly though, she has confidence in being a singer/songwriter. Her lyrics are posted on the band's stylish website, she gives herself totally to the song and - as all great performers do - looks a bit daft at times.
Tracks like Black and Blue and the album's title track Beautiful Awkward Pictures are the more successful given their dynamics and that they allow her subtle voice a chance to be properly heard and understood, since it is clearly the lyrics that she is presenting here. The song of hers that works most successfully tonight is Tender Hooks, a mandolin-led track that lets The Finish work on pushing the chugging rhythm and escaping the 100BPM tempo that seems to underpin most of her songs.


After playing the bulk of the album, waving goodbye, leaving the stage for a minute and returning, the band pulls off the feat of the evening. Introducing the next song as being "written by an Irish woman who's just had her fourth kid" they wonderfully execute a version of Sinead O'Connor's showstopping The Last Day Of Our Acquaintance, showcasing Collete's voice exceedingly well. She's such a great performer that if you give her a decent song your entire opinion of her as a singer changes, a fact that sadly serves to make her songs seem even less inspired and the arrangements more pedestrian.


It's hard not to be critical given the intention and capable but hardly inspiring talent on display, but ultimately this show is about Collette pushing herself, developing as an artist and fulfilling a long held ambition, it's noticeable that she chose to play three smaller Melbourne shows than one sold-out Hi-Fi Bar or Palace show. That she amassed such a good band then gave them so little to work with is by the by. The audience got what they came for, and she seemed happy with the show. She has obviously worked hard to put it together and earned it. Good luck at Homebake.

THE PANICS, WHITLEY, OH MERCY

The Northcote Social Club

November 9, 2007 

Openers Oh Mercy are an interesting bunch. One of the more handsome bands to be playing around, they can pen a decent tune and have a way with lyrics, but more importantly, unlike tonight's headliners, they can engage an audience - you can tell more is happening on that stage than your eye percieves. Given that Australia loves a wordy rock band and these guys are one of the best, they should be headlining more shows soon. EP track Such A Pretty Dollhouse gets a great reworking tonight and sounds like a band who wouldn't have to enter a competition to get a BDO slot as they did last year. Closing track Lost In Translation hints at their ambition when writing songs, and though it doesn't gel as you can tell it should, it's still a bold step. Despite barely being able to see their arms for the influences on their sleeves, these guys are well on their way. 

As is tonight's meat in the band sandwich, Whitley. Though he uses obvious instruments (guitar, bass, delay pedal), his songs seem to come from somewhere else entirely, well, Mornington Peninsula actually, but you can see he is beating his own path through the forest of singer-songwriters about at the moment, using simple rhythmic strumming and few notes for the most part, allowing him to open up to unexpected vistas with a chord. Beginning with the title track from his CD The Submarine, by all rights the crowd of chattering non-regulars should be brought to a reverential silence. As it is, barely 10% of the sold out crowd who seemed to pay $20 to shout at each other over the music and drink, pay attention. Not that this flummoxes Whitley or his sidekick Chris Seagull (fresh from a few Albert's Basement benefits and tonight given a chance to shine with his own fantastic I'm Gonna Bloody Call The Cops) who pull out one marvellous song after the other (particularly Lost In Time), between which they crack jokes and generally seem like guys you would be stoked if your sister married. With his cover of Bjork's Hyperballad  he again shows his penchant for an unusual approach to the tried and tired. No sub-Nick Drake radio-friendly plucking here, he reinterprets with a (trademark, it seems) insistant strum and swooping voice that never sounds forced or anything but his own. Closing with a majestic version of All Is Whole he seals the deal that the hype rising about him is entirely justified. 

The same of which cannot be said for headliners The (incredibly misleadingly titled) Panics. Though they so capably supported The Pixies back in March, tonight they are tired and underwhelming, every song another exercise in tedious glam-rock-paced country swagger. Quite how they've sold out the No So two nights in a row is a mystery given that their musical dullness extends to a lack of charisma and even fashion. With a list of obvious influences that runs as long as this gig seems to go, there is barely a shift in dynamics (only the title track from new album Cruel Guards brings a change) perhaps due to the songs being written on a keyboard. Being bound to a stool is always a tricky way to lead a band, but the punters don't seem to mind, many of them chattering through the set and watching the band like a rerun of Forrest Gump. Tracks Ruins and  Feeling Is Gone have great lyrics and would probably be fine listened to driving along a highway near Bulli, but tonight it was a giant yawn. Literally; a girl fell asleep, and that was long-before the tired chords of In Your Head fade away and the crowd ambled home.