Date: September 26, 2009
Venue: Brisbane Powerhouse
Acts: The Gin Club

It’s the day after local/Oz music festival Sounds of Spring and alt-country outfit The Gin Club are backing up their performance of the previous day with another at the Powerhouse. It probably seemed a great idea at the time of booking, but this afternoon they have a bunch of wicked hangovers in tow. The seriously worse-for-wear appearance seems an inevitable preface for a rough performance, but the band defy stereotyping by putting in a top-drawer effort.

In between numerous sly references to “Freeland” — apparently the (free!) source of this afternoon’s post-alcoholic pain — Ben Salter, Scott Regan, Adrian Stoyles and Conor Macdonald each take turns to lead the band through a delightful hit-list drawn from double-album Junk plus at least one new, unreleased tune: Chopping Wood. Tons of back-and-forth banter gives the feel of a casual warm-down gig, but there’s nothing lukewarm about the performance. Even now, at a remove of some six months, Salter’s choked-up intensity on despairing ballad You, Me & The Sea is still a thing of wonder to me.

Date: September 25, 2009
Venue: South Bank Cultural Forercourt
Acts: Timothy Carroll

Placing Timothy Carroll in an intimate environment such as the wee Spiegeltent that’s one of several centrepiece attractions at The Carnival’s Edge is an inspired choice. The cosy confines of red-painted panelled walls, the rough-hewn wooden seats, and the soaring canvas ceiling seems the perfect foil for Carroll’s folk romanticism — even if the venue was once used to race miniature ponies. And perhaps the last fact even adds to the charm.

Brisbane’s newest acoustic wonder proves to be in fine form, first drifting languorously through the geo-political cynicism of Endgame and Smog’s Rock Bottom Riser in solo mode before inviting his fellow band members to join him on stage.

And maybe it’s a whimsical fancy, maybe it’s romaticising, but the old-world venue seems to add richness to Carroll’s sound — his golden vocals shiver with extra intensity and guitar notes hang in the air with the crispest purity while Will Eager’s brushed drums proffer a beat so gossamer that the melodies soar all the more.

It’s a set so good that it’s tough to pick a highlight — and the 80 or so souls fortunate to witness such an exquisite performance would undoutedly agree.

The glacial keys of To Frozen Lakes? Unrecorded beauty Deepest Dive? Dansyttan — a gentle, swirling ode to love named for the Swedish town where it was written?

All are contenders, but tonight it’s Sad Man that’s the star — even if Carroll is momentarily thrown by a drunken heckler at the start. Heckler eventually placated, Carroll duets with long-time collaborator Corinna Scanlon on a wryly spun tale that documents the quiet desperation of a couple whose love is inexorably destroyed by gambling.

Clever as the lyrics are though, it’s Carroll’s ukelele chiming like some old-time blues guitar as it vies against the mournful warbling clarinet of Bec Craner that really captures the ear. And surely that’s perfect for a venue like this as well.

Venue: The Zoo, Brisbane
Date: April 22, 2010
Event: The Revival Tour
Acts: Chuck Ragan, Frank Turner, Tim Barry, Ben Nichols

Anyone even dimly aware of the acoustic collaborative event known as The Revival Tour would have heard the word “organic” thrown around in the street press with a fair degree of abandon.

For the cynical, it’s an invitation to dismiss the concept as pretension piled upon a cliché: how do you top the seemingly inevitable punk rocker desire to — sooner or later — wail away with only an acoustic guitar for backing?

Answer: you grab your best punk rock buddies and play swapsies all night long.

In this particular instance, ringmaster Chuck Ragan has assembled three fellow luminaries from the genre: Ben Nichols of Lucero fame; Tim Barry, Avail’s ever-intimidating frontman; and inimitable UK folk-punkster Frank Turner.

Seemingly having drawn the short straw, Nichols warmed up an early Zoo crowd of middling size. Before long, though, the theme of the night revealed itself as Ragan popped up to add backing vocals and tambourine on Nights Like These.

Such an approach could have easily turned mawkish as the revolving suite of performers overshadowed the music. Here, though, Ragan’s low-key coming and going set the tenor for the evening; each performer given sufficient space to flourish in his own distinctive fashion.

Thus it was Nichols’ taciturn stoicism, raspy voice and deft fretwork that carried all before it on The Last Pale Light In The West, Davy Brown and more.

Barry’s more forthright song-rant-song pattern left punters alternately entranced and amused even as Ragan and Turner took a turn or three with harmonica and second guitar for songs such as Dog Bumped — a wrenching tale loosely based on events that left a friend incarcerated for 28 years.

And English singer-songwriter Turner had a red-hot go at stealing the limelight with a light-hearted performance at odds with the seriousness of his peers — including a cheeky attempt to turn the performer-punter divide on its head by coaxing a random from the crowd to tentatively deliver the harmonica lines for Dan’s Song.

Turner’s tilt at the helm over, Revival maestro Ragan took centre stage and the joint nature of the evening’s entertainment rapidly pushed toward its zenith.

Still, it was hard to identify the true collaborator as Ragan forges through Feast or Famine favourites Geraldine and Do You Pray and Gold Country’s Rotterdam: the raucous, beery vocals of an excited crowd or the added guitar grunt of Turner, Nichols and Barry.

But as all returned to the stage for an explosive finale of California Burritos and The Boat before powering through a gloriously messy rendition of Frank Turner’s rabble-rousing standard Photosynthesis, perhaps that was no bad thing; it was certainly organic.

Author’s note: I am greatly indebted to friend and fellow writer Brittany Rixon without whom I could not have possibly written this review. I have been struggling — and failing — to find the motivation to write reviews the past several months and she has very kindly allowed me to springboard from her own words to put my own twist on the night. So: not all these words are mine! Mostly it was nice to discover along the way that I can still seem to make the words work after a fashion even if I feel very very rusty. With any luck, this little blog thing might be back in action, and more reviews — new and old — of my own work should pop up more regularly. Cross fingers.

Date: September 18,2009
Venue: The Step Inn
Acts: The Nation Blue, SixFtHick, Dick Nasty, No Anchor

I was not well for this gig. Felt iffy to start with and got worse as the evening went on — ultimately I bailed quite early in the headliner’s set.  It’s frustrating, as the sweaty, close-crowded punters appeared to be working their way toward some sort of meltdown. It’s annoying as The Nation Blue’s  gritty rock ethos has a lot going for it. And it’s disappointing, as it shows in the poorer-than-usual quality of the few shots of the band I selected. Maybe next time.

Had better luck with the supports. Particularly so for SixFtHick as the Corbett brothers take their pent-up ferocity onto the sticky dance floor. They chaotically surge left then right — narrow spaces suddenly gaping as wide-eyed punters stumble out of their way. It’s hard to not take a step back when Ben is fully in your face — clawing at his chest like he wants to escape his own skin and screaming the lyrics to, say, The Floor Is The Limit. It’s hard to not be a little wary of Geoff’s animalistic fury as he belts out Retirement Party. But, at the same time, there’s a ritualistic element to their schtick. They’re not feral animals; the fury is controlled. And that’s why I sometimes wonder whether the duo hopes for a more involved response on the occasions when they dissolve the traditional distance between band and punter.

Date: August 22, 2009
Venue: The Zoo, Brisbane
Acts: Decoder Ring, Bridezilla, Seekae

A goodly sized crowd is on hand at The Zoo tonight to catch Decoder Ring. It’s my first listen to a band that has garnered a lot of respect for it’s instrumental rock-tronica, and I come away impressed by both the strong nature of their tunes and their ability to hold an audience entranced.  The “big-screen” imagery projected onto the wall behind probably helps — a chaotic visual feast that spans a  mind-boggling gamut of rocket launches, blooming flowers, space panoramas, ultrasound imagery and much more. Any ultimate meaning is debatable, but it’s a hook for the eye that enlivens what could otherwise by an entirely too introspective experience.

On the other hand, Sydneysiders Bridezilla prove a disappointment. The way they deployed the saxophone and violin on their self-titled EP was just thrilling — a menacing thrust and riposte duel working around and through Holiday Sidewinder’s vocals one of the highlights. Unfortunately,  it’s hard to perceive the challenging angularity that made that release so fascinating in their performance tonight, even on the cuts drawn from that effort.

Date: November 27, 2009
Venue: Front Bar, Step Inn
Acts: No Anchor

Donovan Miller’s induction into the ranks of No Anchor as second bassist immediately raises expectations that their act will be twice as sludgey, twice as brutal and twice as relentless. Tonight’s performance, in the closeness of the Step Inn’s Front Bar, disproves that theory — mostly because when you make music as brutal, sludgey and relentless as Ian Rogers and Alex Gillies, it’s nigh impossible to push that particular barrow any further. Diminishing returns ‘n all that.

That being said, Butcher Birds’ hard-hitting skinsman slots in alongside Rogers effortlessly, and the band’s all-too-brief forty-five minute set is a cracker. It’s hard to say through a haze of alcohol whether they were debuting filled-out variations of old tunes, or out-and-out new material, but I know I bloody liked it.

2 High Festival
Date: November 14, 2009
Venue: Brisbane Powerhouse
Acts: McKisko

The anticipatory hush of several score people who fill the Visy Theatre is so thick as to be almost palpable. Unflustered, McKisko proceeds to fill this intimidating silence with gorgeous readings of her fractured folk-minimalism that are mostly taken from debut long-player Glorio.

The exquisite starkness of her tunes is rendered whole orders of magnitude more raw as the theatre’s acoustics carry the tiniest guitar ring, the hollow, boxy thud of her bandmate’s kick drum and, of course, every shivering inflection in her crystalline voice. We are so utterly spellbound by this lo-fi tour-de-force that it’s a shock when the lights come up at the conclusion of un-recorded gem Down The Track. Thirty minutes has passed already?

Date: August 23, 2009
Venue: The Zoo, Brisbane
Acts: The Lucksmiths, Darren Hanlon

I’m always amused at the wary alertness hovering in Darren Hanlon’s eyes when he first takes the stage. It’s as though he’s fearful one of his enthusiastic fans might take their adoration too far and tackle-hug him as he’s playing, say, The Kickstand Song.

Tonight, (like just about every night, I imagine) the worst his exquisitely polite audience inflicts is the inevitable request for Danielle. A request followed by the equally inevitable response “not in this lifetime”. Danielle aside, he’s chattily open to requests, and with the backing of drummer Bree Van Reyk, quickly works through an all-too-short set that includes the ever-loved Happiness Is A Chemical, Electric Skeleton, Eli Wallach, The Unmade Bed and a lovely closing cover of Fizcher-Z’s The Perfect Day.

Tonight it’s former Candle Records stablemates The Lucksmiths who are the stars. Like the late and much-missed label itself, the band is finally hanging up boots after 16 years of charming audiences everywhere with their beautiful, infectious indie-pop.

It’s a performance that’s more a celebration than a wake. Tali White — front and centre behind his snares and cymbals — sports a broad grin and smiling eyes. Obviously having the time of their lives, the four band members work through some 28 songs spanning 1993’s First Tape to 2008’s First Frost, and a willing crowd responds joyously — singing and dancing along to favourites such as Jewel Theives, Frisbee, The Chapter In Your Life Entitled San Francisco, A Downside To The Upstairs and many, many more.

Clocking in at two-plus hours, the the almost-relentless jangly guitars start to chafe in the home stretch. By the same token, fond memories from Candle Records showcases and Livid performances mean I’m reluctant to miss a moment. I count it personal serendipty when the band drops in T-Shirt Weather just a few songs from the end. It proves the perfect pick-me up. The crowd voicing on the chorus indicates I’m not the only one who holds it in high esteem.

Still, even The Lucksmiths can’t disguise this is it — as White, Monnone, Richter and Donald take their final bows and stride off-stage at the conclusion of The Music From Next Door, there’s more than a touch of sadness that we’ll never enjoy their effortless pop again.

Date: August 21, 2009
Venue: The Zoo, Brisbane
Acts: X, SixFtHick, The Jim Rockfords

The Jim Rockfords‘ rockabilly-blues stylings trod a fine line between chrome and grime. Bulldog-like frontman Junio Hickey’s voice isn’t the most memorable, but his harmonica interludes add verve to the pacey guitar-bass attack. Anyone who can take their eyes off bassist Kylie Lovejoys’s heart-stamped, black denim pants has no pulse.

No pretensions to subtlety or decorum, SixFtHick hammer-blast The Zoo from go to woah with sleazy antics and gritty canepunk. Ben Corbett dribbles spittle across his nipples and thrashes on the floor in ecstasy while brother and hard-roaring staight man Geoff incites the close-pressed crowd to frenzy. Amidst this mania, it’s easy to overlook “backing” trio bassist Tony Giacca, guitarist Dan Baebler and surnameless drummer Fred, but their ramrod rhythms on The Floor Is The Limit, Subject To Change, Dogshit Blues (and more) are as essential to SixFtHick as the Corbetts’ deranged on-stage machismo.

In the wake of SixFtHick’s punishing set, X prove a disappointment. Plenty are here to see the veteran Melbourne punksters, but the trio’s delivery feels a case of the flesh not quite fulfilling the demands of the spirit. Craggy-faced frontman Steve Lucas certainly looks the rebel — all black leather, faded tatoos and a ragged loop of bullets stitched to his guitar strap — but bereft of grit and intensity, there’s not enough in the tunes to hold the attention tonight.

Venue: Valley Fiesta, Fortitude Valley
Date: October 24, 2009
Acts: Butcher Birds, SixFtHick, Vegas Kings

Jo Nilson’s mildly exasperated “Wake up Fortitude Valley!” is Butcher Birds‘ sole protest against a somnolent late-afternoon crowd too full of sun (and, presumably, booze) to bestir themselves and get into the tunes. Instead, the songs do the talking as the band powers through a set replete with cuts from new long-player Set My Bones.

The confidence is well placed: The Gate, Millions and Blood Message pitch a thumping, crunching bottom-end against fuzzing guitars and the sleek vocals of Stacey Coleman in the most toothsome fashion. Hook-laden fuzz becomes visceral, punk anger when Donovan Miller briefly steals vocals duties for Amp. Even if the punters are a little introverted today, the broad smiles of the Butcher Birds as they conclude with a screeching, dissonant cover of The Amps’ Tipp City shows at least four people in the Valley are keen to cut loose.

Blessed darkness. A comforting, gossamer veil anomymises our communal shame as the Corbett brothers preside over sickening rites of swamp-rock. They spew misanthropic hate — thickly congealed inside sleazy riffs groaning with self-destructive potential — expiating life’s sins in convulsive waves of self-abuse that we may be spared. Weak humans, we succumb; we embrace the sweating, pummelling debauchery. The Floor Is The Limit. Living the Dogshit Blues, we howl bereft. The Shitbird Has Landed, and it is us. Venally, we pursue White Light, Wet Heat. Its indisputable transience is irrelevant. Then, the ultimate abasement, all-too-willing Ashtray for refuse as the masters mark, abuse and, finally, discard us.

After a typically brutal rendition of Hail, Pete Collins announces there won’t be any Train tonight — his right hand has gone numb. Benjamin Dougherty, in typically dry fashion, observes: “I think you’re just going to have to man up a bit there, Collins.” They play it anyway. Still, it’s a moment near the end of their set where Collins moves across stage to point out Dougherty’s machine-precision fretwork with a stubby finger that’s defining — if Vegas Kings played their grimy speed blues any faster, their guitars would burst into flame.