The Gin Club’s nominal frontman, Ben Salter, is trying to give up his between-song speaking duties. It’s the product, he says, of making the new live album that they’re about to release. “I realised after listening to all those live shows,” he says. “That I just talk too bloody much.”
However, his bandmates, talented though they are, just don’t have the same knack for effortless banter, and Salter’s attempts to coax each of them into saying something between tunes prove amusingly counter-productive.
Founding Swedish member but recent absentee Ola Karlsson makes an appearance for the first time in what seems an age and it’s a delight to once again hear his contributions in the live setting, especially the maudlin sea shanty Abigail. Brad Pickersgill also jumps on stage to take a turn with The Fall and Coming Round. Read more
The Gin Club’s Conor MacDonald is a man of few words, but, gosh, his singing voice is a cracker. The handful of tunes he selects from his contributions to Brisbane’s famed alt-country ensemble suffer not a whit from the lack of a backing band. An Horse, in particular shines, as MacDonald’s halting, softly intimate voice — freed from the usual Gin Club ornamentation — amps the tenderness of this oddest of love songs. Apparently MacDonald is playing more solo shows during February. Seek one out.
Aidan Moore’s solo project Sawtooth takes a more unusual approach, blending gentle folk music with buzzing psychedelia. The hard-edged contrast of slabs of see-sawing reverb against golden-hued guitar tones makes a challenging listen, but one suspects that’s the point — it’s supposed to be an uneasy balance. Read more
I’d been shooting gigs for a bare 18 months when I went to this free Sunday afternoon show at the Powerhouse. And though I didn’t take a lot of shots of headliner I Heart Hiroshima, it proved a rare occasion when everything aligned photographically.
There’s light aplenty, allowing me to shoot at an unprecedented (for gigging, anyway) ISO400. Someone has hauled in a smoke machine, so those self-same lights create a visually stunning background of writhing blue, red and purple. And, because it’s I Heart Hiroshima, drummer Susie Patten is there pulling all sorts of faces and poses, and generally being a shooter’s dream subject.
Of the 68 shots of IHH, 27 prove to be keepers. I’ve never had such a good hit rate at a gig — before or since. The performance itself is ace, but rather than taking my word for it, watch this recording of Shakey Town on Youtube.
Date: December 30, 2011
Venue: The Beetle Bar, Brisbane
Acts: SixFtHick
Tonight, SixFtHick open with Plague. It’s newish, I think I first heard it at their explosive Woodland gig at the end of 20101 (about which I’ll blog someday), but it’s fast become a personal live favourite. Maybe even up there with White Light, Wet Heat. But hearing it makes me wish they’d record more: they must have more songs in them. Only a 12″ and a 7″ since 2007’s On The Rocks feels like a sort of torture.
When Beat Myself makes a welcome appearance the younger Corbett starts bashing a tambourine against his skull. Later, a couple in the front row start making out against the foldbacks. Totally normal. The band closes with The Floor Is The Limit and Ben Corbett puts theory to the test by climbing the wall and railings to the bar’s upper level. A microphone is left hanging in the air, looped carelessly over speaker stacks. A random seizes opportunity to scream wordlessly into it. Good times.
Date: January 5, 2012
Venue: GOMA, Brisbane
Acts: Amanda Palmer
It can’t be easy entertaining a few hundred people for an hour with naught but your voice and a ukelele. Not just that, but without a microphone or any sort of PA. Yet, at an impromptu “ninja gig” on the grass in from of Brisbane’s Gallery of Modern Art, Amanda Palmer makes it look effortless.
She whips through Map of Tasmania, a hilarious new ode in praise of ukeleles, an excellent version of Creep (I reckon it’s the worst Radiohead song, but Palmer’s penetrating voice gives her cover real punch) and cajoles everyone into lying on their backs for a meditative (I hesitate to say spiritual) rendition of Amazing Grace.
All-up, Palmer puts in an hour of sustained singing and talking at what must be close to the top of her voice. Yet her energy doesn’t flag, and her voice doesn’t crack. I marvel at the effort, moreso as she’s due at the Tivoli this evening for a Dresden Dolls gig.
And Palmer is still full of energy as the other half of the Dresden Dolls, Brian Viglione, joins her for a Simon Says “Rumba” edition of Coin Operated Boy to finish things up. She drags a conga line of dozens hither and yon around the GOMA courtyard while Viglione puts his wonderfully expressive theatrics to work and the people in the line play a hilarious chinese whispers version of imitate-the-leader.
It’s nothing but silly fun. But, then, isn’t that the best sort?