Songs, the Twerps @ the Empress
When you’re new in town and the first time you walk into the video shop and the dude’s are playing Christmas Steps loud on the stereo and then you see them at pretty much every gig you go to and you wonder: do these guys have a band of their own? And it turns out, a few years down the track, that they do and they’re really good but the first time you saw them they were way more lo-fi than you expected. But then you saw them again and it gelled beautifully and started to make sense and you realised the guitar player is the woman from Batrider whom you also loved. Then you catch them on a Sunday night at the Empress and the fire’s going and the food’s great and the front half of their set makes you want to curl up on the floor and cuddle yourself. Then the back end of the list thickens up and makes you want to run underpanted through the streets and shout: I think I’ve found the recipe for the perfect Sunday night out! And they are just that, The Twerps—a bloody good reason to get your arse out of the house.

Besides one of the best band names in the business, Songs create gentle, thoughtful, graceful, intelligent and inclusive tunes that make you feel good. It feels as though they’ve crept onto the scene, like they’ve come from nowhere (read: Sydney), but catching them live reveals that there’s been a hell of a lot of time at the drawing board for this four-piece—enough forethought and planning to make it all seem seamless. Songs’ sound is effortless and suave (think metaphors of rain falling on the ocean’s surface or a cool drink on a hot day—barf!). There is a composed quiet about them, yet something in drummer Steve Uren’s facial grimace suggests this is a veneer of composure over some beautifully complex arrangements.

Guy Blackman’s presence on keys for a couple proves a real highlight of a superbly crafted set. I’m not sure that this breed of rock is evolving in Melbourne—not to say there’s not great things happening here but this is the second time I’ve been wowed by Sydneysiders in recent weeks and it’s starting to make me wonder. Songs pull it all off with an air of refrain that’s engrossing. The industry appears to be paying attention and I reckon the public won’t be far behind.

Sam McDougall

Old Bar 8th birthday

Late Arvo Sons, Hit the Jackpot, Lindsey Low Hand, Talons, Kids of Zoo at Old Bar.
Not too many of us turned up early enough to catch the Late Arvo Sons at Old Bar’s eighth birthday bash last Friday. Those of us who did caught a solid performance of broken-glass pub rock with a measure of sensitivity. The Late Arvo Sons’ have developed a stable of attractive songs—the newer numbers notably more fleshy than the earlier stuff—and their live show has firmed up beautifully. Try to catch them at their final Tote Saturday arvo residency spot next weekend; it’ll be worth it just to catch them before they go big.
Hit the Jackpot delivered a grimy racket. Jessica Thomas’ toilet-bowl vocals and the hairy blokes on guitars and drums took me back to ’92 with their grungy tendencies and washy sounds. Their up-tempo numbers produced the goods for me yet there was a breadth to a few of the tunes on the go-slow that granted slight reprieve from the fist clenching.
Lindsey Low Hand proved the perfect progression. A truck crash with dual vocals, pulsing rhythms and the drummer from the last band (Scott O’Hara) doing vox and guitars. There existed some kind of sleazy sexiness to Lindsey Low Hand—awkwardly personified on the cover of their Debut Poached Egg. They managed to consolidate what had already been a cracker line-up, their cranked up intensity drew the smokers from the garden and segued flawlessly into final acts of the night.
Talons blew the fucking place apart! There’s a cut-throat brutality to their sound, a brittle teeth-grinding severity that’s distinctively un-Melbourne in a way—an underlying cynicism indicative of Sydney life perhaps? We pride ourselves on the quality of rock music coming out of this town, but my word when Sydney produces diamonds they are jagged, robust little fuckers and they’re not afraid to tell it like it is. Talons blew my fragile little mind and turned a killer night into one of the gigs of the year.
Things get hazy around about this point. Kids of Zoo were again a sonic explosion and thankfully less ear damaging than the last time I caught them. I seem to remember them being sharper than earlier shows and I reckon the mix—congrat’s to the sound bloke who pulled out unreal blends all night—complemented their chainsaw rhythms a treat. Seventeen pots inhibit my ability to comment in great detail, but all-up this bill was worth the liver abuse and was an impressive display of fastidious band booking and good taste. Happy eighth birthday Old Bar and thanks for a bitchin party.

Sam McDougall

Pink Fits review

The Pink Fits, the Vandas, Midnight Woolf—the Tote

Holy fuck you get some line-ups at the Tote sometimes. It’s as if the planets align and some dirty little alien lasers a sweet, salty, hip-swaggering little bundle of rock-n-roll straight to Johnstone Street. I’d salivated over this particular show all afternoon, my expectations were higher than a hippy up a scaffold; and from the moment Midnight Wolf hit the stage running, I knew that I was home.
Midnight Woolf are the walking, breathing embodiment of a sweat-factory—and I mean that in the kindest possible sense. From leopard print Drummer, Rabbitfoot Annie, to howlin’ vox-box, Fuzzhound, The Woolf stamped, barked and growled their way through some fast, electric, swampy shit. There’s prickly punk stabs, there’s instrumental thrash jams, there’s covers (New Kind of Kick as a tribute to Lux a delight), and there’s beer swilling good times for all and sundry.
The Vandas broke up the rackety bookends of Midnight Woolf and Pink Fits nicely. That’s not to say these blokes weren’t clamorous, but there’s a polish to the Vandas, and such a well of obvious musicality, that is sure to lead them great places. Their brand is elegantly constructed Australian blues-rock, and the writing’s about as handsome as the duelling frontal combination of Gus Agars and Mikey Madden—they could barely keep their hands off each other. The Vandas’ approach is all-out. With no room for filler it’s a marvel they could’ve written so many impressive songs in a relatively short lifespan—such is the attention to detail.
Fresh from ‘the Gong’, the Pink Fits’ sucked the oxygen from the room with the ferocious tempo of their performance. The opening stanza consisted much new material which unfortunately suffered a poor mix. The Illawarra quartet showed grit in powering through the soupish sound without complaint though, and the mix improved markedly for the back end.
The third act from the Pink Fits was a riot of surf tunes craftily disguised as speed rock. Performing a rare extended headline show allowed the band to delve back to their roots and rip out the kind of shit you’d imagine they played in the Wollongong surf clubs of youth. This was less Hawaiian shirt and ukulele, more tattoos and V8s—the bad-ass, black surf-boarded, punk mother-fuckers from Point Break rather than Keanu Reeves and the girl… If you know what I mean?

Sam McDougall

Golden Plains 2009

Golden Plains review

By Samson McDougall

 

Post Golden Plains depression grips my weary body and drowsy mind as I write this. Increasingly these days it feels as if summer begins with Meredith in December and ends with Golden Plains in March. Still we’ll push on with the melancholy remnants of a lost friend in our hearts and the harsh reality of another dry but chilly Victorian winter on the horizon.

Each year there exists a wide-eyed, enthusiastic optimism in the freshly made eyes of city-dwelling Golden Plains goers. While the military fatigued lone-soldiers arm themselves with the comfort that they are better equipped than the average, there are those of us that are secure in the knowledge that it’s not going to matter a fuck what happens; we’ll power through regardless, bubbling from the eyeballs and certain of nothing but the decimation of body and brain. For the prepared amongst us there is little to separate this from any other semi-luxuriant weekend getaway—waterproof disposal gear, state of the art tentage, weather forecasting—but for the remainder it continues to be a test of mental and physical endurance unrivalled but by our last (painful and moist) Meredith visit.

A man inside an enormous beach ball, crowd-surfing and drinking a can of MB capped off this event and embodied the spirit of Golden Plains festival to the ground. I can’t believe it’s the first time I’ve seen this! I don’t believe it’ll be the last we see of beer-bubble man. After all, like many god-like figures before him, women want him and men want to be him.

 Once again the calibre and mind-blowing mix of acts on this GP bill outshined any festival line-up of the last year. The heavily psychedelic musical leanings were again complemented by an indulgent and psychotrophically adventurous audience; the organisers don’t mess around with this one, they aim to please and somehow manage to get it right every time.

            The usual jostle for valuable bush-camp space was pronounced by the less than courteous sensibilities of a few punters attempting to save tent space for their: ‘Girlfriend who doesn’t finish work till five’, ‘mates who’re driving down from Canberra’, or, ‘sick pregnant half-sister who’s only got a week to live.’ First-in best-dressed..? Whatever.

            Soon enough the beer was iced and sliding down the throats of thirsty girls and boys determined to push the boundaries of sensible consumption. From this moment forth, things get a bit hazy. We set off with the knowledge that we were in for one hell of a ride and we weren’t disappointed.

The real beauty of this bill was the diversity of acts, which allowed for customised Golden Plains experiences—no two parties alike. I’m proudly part of the ‘you’re not going to tell me what to do’ set who actively shunned Dan Deacon’s domineering demands. Lucky for me as, if the rumours are true (and I love a bit of unverified gossip as much as the next bloke), a young woman broke both her legs during Deacon’s strange and unusual routine. Time for a rethink Mr Deacon perhaps?

Deaf Wish proved again, well… deafening, whilst Brant Bjork and Black Mountain held up the psychoactive end of the first night nicely. The shoes came off (again) for Bjork who gawked and grinned his way through some stoner solo-fests as his band mates gaped bug-eyed at the thickening crowd. Though they managed to resist delving into any Kyuss material, and they knew we wanted it, Bjork and his Bros got some groovy shit happening as the people puffed.

Black Mountain kept the buzz going swimmingly with some fine, hooky sweetness. But it was Mogwai that smashed the boundaries of common sense with a reckless display of weaponry and noise. In doing so Mogwai divided the camp into two distinct categories: 1. they’re boring and loud and I don’t understand it; and 2. that’s about the most intense performance you will ever see or hear and about as good as you could ever expect. The low end of their spectrum buzzed out the melody to a certain extent, but for those of us who knew where to find it, it remained delicately apparent under the seventeen tons of sonic chaos they created. Their closing number 2 Rights Make 1 Wrong stole the entire weekend for, undoubtedly, more than just yours truly.

            Some of us lined for coffee next morning and some of us opted for strong drink. It can be a true test of grit to muscle your way through a frigid Meredith morning and the level of commitment to the cause was, as per usual, exceptional.

My Disco dominated an all-killer line-up on day two, so much so that many other acts got buried in the mashed-potato wasteland of grey-matter that so many of us travelled home with. Sure, Jim White, John Doe, The Church, Gary Numan and Tony Allen told us how it used to be and did a fine job of it. But My Disco told us how it is for an hour and we listened and listened well—I don’t reckon there’s any denying it.

To sell out a festival without even announcing the bands is testament to the pulling power of reputation alone. GP attracts the kind of devotee that retains faith in their supreme organisation and booking prowess year-in and year-out, un-reliant on gimmickry or hype. The resulting cross-section of folk are there for the enjoyment of the festival for its beautiful surrounds, wondrous tunes and laid-back atmosphere—rock’n’roll ideology in the purest sense. While the odd dickhead is a given at any event, the ratio of idiots to all-round cruisers is kept down at the Supernatural Amphitheatre and for this I am grateful.

                        With the slow yet, for once, relatively pain free exodus back to Melbourne done and dusted for another year, it’s a long haul until the next one. For now the dry but beautiful fields of Golden Plains are where my wind-beaten, sun-baked heart remains and where my fondest memories survive.

 

 

Brant Bjork interview

Brant Bjork sports the kind of resume that any red-blooded rock zealot wet-dreams about. As founding member of legendary desert psycho rock gods Kyuss, Bjork wrote, amongst others, the trail-blazing keystones of desert rock: ‘Green Machine’, ‘Gardenia’, and ‘50 Million Year Trip (Downside Up)’. Upon leaving Kyuss Bjork produced and played with surf rockers Fu Manchu and hardcore outfit De-Con. He was a major contributor to the renowned Desert Sessions and has subsequently gone on to a celebrated career of his own inception—the culmination of which is the soon to be touring Brant Bjork and the Bros. I was curious whether Bjork, as an integral component of the Palm Desert scene of the ‘80s and early ‘90s, could offer any clues as to how so many remarkable musical exponents rose from the same dust-bowl, how the inspiration arrives as a solitary writer and where his trip will take him next.

            ‘I don’t know why all those freaks came out of there playin’ music,’ he explains. ‘I’m at a loss for words about it; I don’t know what it was. There was nothing else to do, it was in the middle of the desert, it was boring and it was hot. A lot of the stuff that was there was focussed towards retired people that were just tryin’ to relax for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t really a place for kids so we got really excited about things that revolved around youth—like gettin’ into trouble, punk rock, skateboarding, BMX. It was like classic Southern Californian culture but to the nth degree. Music was something you just did and we all got involved man. It wasn’t that we wanted it, we needed it—it was something to look forward to.

            ‘There was a lot of my music over the years that was born from hangin’ out with friends and jamming. I think that’s probably where most of my (and I think I speak for most of the other artists that come from the desert where I’m from) sound and style came from—it was our trip to a large extent. Sometimes in the studio, though, I get hit with inspiration and I wanna capture it—the tape machine’s right there. Sometimes I’ll be sound-checking and I’ll get an idea and I’ll break out my little recorder and dump it onto that—I may not get back to it ‘til six months later. I very rarely sit down and say I have to write a song today.

            ‘Music for me is something very natural, like surfing. If there’s no waves you don’t go surfing; if there are, you’ll go out and try to catch a few. I have other things that I put my heart and mind to whether music’s coming or not. Maybe something happens, maybe I see something, maybe I’m at a bar hangin’ out with my friends and I get hit with something. It just comes whenever it wants to come, so if it takes six months I’ve got other things goin’ on anyways.

            ‘New territory to explore is endless. I’ve always wanted to get more into jazz, I like a lot of hip-hop music, and I listen to a lot of Jamaican tunes. There are so many flavours and styles that I would love to try and drop in to. But again, music for me is less something that I’m trying to force but something that just happens and I roll with it. I learnt long ago that the way I write a song, the way it comes out of me, is just the kinda way it is. We’ll see as I evolve as a musician how some of the other music I’ve been inspired by, and into, over the years will treat my grooves.

            ‘I was discussing soundtracks with this guy not so long ago.’ Bit parts (including a rattle-snake bite in Natural Born Killers) aside, Bjork recently composed the soundtrack for the documentary Sabbia. ‘Besides music and the arts, which I love, I also love film, moves and screenwriting. Screenplays are something I’m really involved with right now and I want to get more into movies. I think movies is radical art!’

            Writing, performing and playing a hand in the production of all the Bros' material must create difficulties when assembling a band for the road. Bjork insists that despite retaining absolute control over his output these days, the Bros are a ‘real’ band and that there is zero likelihood of leaning on technology as substitute for flesh and bone. ‘I would only work with the type of musician who’s gonna come in and respect the song, but when you’re playin’ live it’s different. When a song has been performed live, it’ll never be performed like that ever again. I understand this reality and encourage and expect the musicians I play with to give the song what they feel. I want them to react to the song in an honest way. If they’re feelin’ it, it’s true and they can play from an honest place—then go for it.’

            ‘If there was a studio in town that had old gear, all pre ’71, and I could afford it I’d be recording there every time. What I enjoy sonically with recorded music is stuff from the ‘60s and ‘70s, analogue. I don’t have a love for digital music myself. Vinyl was created when there was a ritual of listening to an entire record; these days it’s more like going to burger king, getting’ fast food. With records it’s like goin’ to a fine restaurant… sittin’ down and takin’ your time, starting with some fine wine, really enjoying the experience. You hold onto it and take more of it with you so it’s more meaningful. I think your soul gets a lot more out of it.

            ‘In terms of recording, writing, producing or performing; I enjoy each experience. I love making records but they can drive me nuts too. I love touring and playing live but also sittin’ around at home and being mellow and going really deep inside myself and just meditating on my new trip—just letting it all come out and being alone and havin’ space. It’s like seasons man—I like ‘em all for what they have to offer. Having said that, it’s playin’ live that gets my heart super pumped because that’s what I grew up doing. Some musicians are born in a studio, some on a stage, some at home and some on the sidewalk. I was born playing backyard parties with my friends and weirdos and rockin’ out—just letting it all hang out. That’s where I was born as a musician so there’s a place in my heart for that.’

DAMO SUZUKI review

The Toff was crammed fuller than a fairy’s phonebook for Japanese Jibber-jabberer Damo Suzuki on Sunday and the stage was not spared the overload. A support team of six local and imported musicians accompanied this hairy midget in what developed into a marathon of grinding guitar wrenches and impelling nonsensical chanting that spared no thought for the wellbeing of us bystanders or the band members themselves.

            It’s a treat to experience noise at this venue and a spot behind the sound desk is almost enough to offset the appallingly high beer prices. It’s difficult to pinpoint the moment this performance lost me, however, the recurring mantra-esque chanting left me wanting from somewhere near the midpoint. While there was nothing in particular wrong with the show per say (the guitar and drum work was outstanding for what I can only assume was virtually unrehearsed material), a nagging frustration crept through my corner of the room—I needed the ensemble of players to break free from the shackles of Suzuki himself and cut loose into a climax that never eventuated. The set (for want of a more accurate description; it was actually more like one really, really long intro) at times felt more regressive than exploratory; it ebbed rather than flowed. The rare musical freedoms (i.e. the odd solo) granted to the band paid off and at moments felt sonically somewhere between Joy Division and Mogwai. These moments were unfortunately sparse though, a bit of a fizzer in that respect.

            Despite my personal reservations about this performance, I was the clear anomaly in the room. What continues to slap me in the face is that we are able to enjoy an enormous diversity of acts here in Melbourne and that we continue to do so en-masse on a nightly basis. It’s what separates us from any other town in this hemisphere, we’re infinitely fortunate to be able to do so; so who am I to grumble? Although I wasn’t far off being dragged into the carnage myself, I’ll shelve this event as one for the purists

 

Sam McDougall

THE MUSIC

Rob Harvey—The Music—Interview by Samson McDougall

 

Leeds boys The Music erupted onto the scene in 2002 with their eponymous debut, home of the instant smash The People. The single swirled and buzzed with such vitality that many of us old enough to remember were caught up in a vortex of pulsing rhythm and excitement. The follow up tour and Big Day Out appearances did nothing to quell the hype machine and these somewhat unlikely lads looked like toppling the world with an invigorating brand of rock music you could dance to—and dance we did.

Seven years down the track The Music are touring Australia again, this time the world must feel a very different place. Though their subsequent albums met with decent sales and their tours with relative success, there remains a nagging air of untapped latent force surrounding The Music thus far. With atypical and well documented substance abuse destruction The Music slipped silently into a proverbial nether-region between sensation and self-disintegration. Frenetic front man Robert Harvey explains from his homeland that it’s countries like little old Down-under that provide much of the impetuous for keeping at it.

            “In England now, I’d like to think people haven’t forgotten about us but people have moved on. Over here the new thing comes along so quickly, it’s very much a trend based society. Even the more alternative music channels and radio stations are not that far from the mainstream as they would like to think they are, it’s a shame really. When we come to places like Japan and Australia it makes us feel like we’re doing something relevant, like what we’re doing still has a point.”

            Harvey’s traditionalist views on measures of achievement in the music world are surprising given that their music over the years has been largely conjured from outside of the square, experimental even. “I like any music where they’ve worked hard and mastered their craft, especially in that traditional way of making music with a guitar and writing good songs with attention to detail. That sudden freak propulsion to stardom that seems to be happening now is crazy. I prefer real people and the common man, ‘cause I feel like that’s what we do.”

            No strangers to evolution of sound and reinvention (arguably a transition from rock to electro-pop music), The Music have triggered mixed reactions from their fans, labels and critics alike. Harvey tells me that in this band the writing process is not, often through necessity, a democratic one yet the development of their sound is an important process for the sanity of the band as a whole. “The last record was pretty much me and Adam [Nutter, guitar]. We had a vision and it was a strange time within the band ‘cause we needed to get a record together quickly; the dynamic of the writing changed. The normal writing had lost a lot of its excitement so we wanted to bring some technology back into it. The first record was a little bit straight edge, a bit too rock, so we tried for a more electronic feel. This time the writing involved a lot more talking about things and me and Adam following the vision rather than just having jams. It felt like a challenge and I was sick of sitting around the house, sick of staring out the window. I needed to get out and meet people.”

            As headliners for the inaugural Big O university tour of Australia’s east coast, we hope we will bear witness to a return of the spark that welded The Music into our collective consciousness some years ago. “Now I feel like I don’t want any separation between what we do and what the audience get out of it. I want it to feel like we’re one, a union. If it gives five people a reason to forget about work or just to feel good then we’ve achieved something. We’re really buzzing about a return to Australia. It’s great to tour in countries where there is still a belief in what we do. Last time in Australia we even played encores, which we never do, just because the crowd wanted us there—that’s a good feeling.”

 

The Music play The Big O, Monash University Clayton campus, Thursday 26 Feb 2009.