Date: March 9, 2012
Venue: Woodland Bar, Brisbane
Acts: Timothy Carroll, Planet Love Sound

Despite good intentions, I haven’t caught Timothy Carroll live for a good eighteen months. Maybe longer.

That means I’m caught by surprise when he eschews his rich back-catalogue of acoustic folk in favour of a much rockier sound. I wonder if the surprise is why the first half of the set really doesn’t hook my attention.

I mean… it’s nice, it’s competent. The melodies are pretty enough. But it just doesn’t resonate. And in the end it’s nothing that half a dozen indie-rock bands round town aren’t already doing — some of them better.

Perhaps the source of my discontent is the one-foot-in-the-water approach that only sees him swap from acoustic guitar to electric late in proceedings. Because that’s when things really start to take off as he focuses on creating a thick, fuzzing sound that has some real meat and grunt.

Carroll is a prodigiously talented songwriter. The memorableness of the tunes on For Bread & Circuses is proof enough. Here’s hoping he can translate that knack to this new arena.

Date: March 17, 2012
Venue: Woodland Bar, Brisbane
Acts: No Anchor, Whitehorse, Quiet Steps, Tiny Spiders

Tiny Spiders capture my love with an fabulous interplay of messy guitar wizardry and some of the most physical drumming I’ve seen since Liam Finn last toured. There’s an underlying blues catchiness, just roughened to fuck as though its come down with severe strep throat. The moments of squealing feedback like someone dragging fingernails down a chalkboard, but are the perfect brake on the groove when Innez Tulloch throws them into the mix.

There’s something wholly unearthly about Whitehorse’s doom-sludge sound. Sure the bass end of things could be used herald the apocalypse, but I think the real culprit is the high-pitched keen of vocalist Pete Hyde. It’s piercing and echoing like someone 10 doors away is having their testicles removed with a pair of pliers. Unnerving and just a little creepy, it’s what prompts me to purchase their latest vinyl.

No Anchor bookend tonight’s performance by splitting the mammoth 15-minute drone session that is Gatton Bohemia in twain. Strangely, it makes the final closing section feels almost like a teaser, and its brevity accentuates the gut-punch of the cacophonous feedback-riddled conclusion where Donovan Miller and Ian Rogers get really physical with their bass guitars.

Maybe it’s a concept prompted by compactness of the new EP. Each of the four tunes — one a cover of Big Black’s Jordan, Minnesota — is short, sharp and focused. If the band wanted to leave the crowd reeling through a continuous series of hammer-blows, then this 10-song, 45-minute set certainly accomplishes that purpose.

Date: March 16, 2012
Venue: The Waiting Room, Brisbane
Acts: Do The Robot

I’ve always enjoyed the lush pop meanderings of Do The Robot, and still regularly listen to their 2009 long-player First Names.

Tonight they don’t play anything from that particular release. Still, that’s not especially surprising considering the time that’s since elapsed, and their consistent output of splits and cassettes in the interim.

In the end, the lack of familiar tunes doesn’t matter. Matt Deasy’s still guitar shimmers with all the enfolding warmth that I remember so fondly, and Sarah Deasy’s voice just soars.

Date: January 20, 2012
Venue: Woodland, Brisbane
Acts: Sun Araw, Prince Rama, Blank Realm

Whimsical choices occasionally pay off.

I know of Sun Araw. And, by know of, I mean I knew they’d recently played at All Tomorrow’s Parties. Still, considering the English festival’s reputation as a purveyor of the weird, the chance to catch Sun Araw for a measly $20 seems almost a no-lose proposition.

And that’s how I find myself at Woodland on a Saturday night watching three bands I’ve never actually listened to previously.

Blank Realm leads the line, and the Brisbane four-piece push all the right buttons with their messy pop-yet-not that’s full of little psychedelic guitar wig-outs. Add in Sarah’s Spencer’s vocal burrs and some crunching percussion, and there’s no chance of mistaking this for candyfloss.It seems a confession of failure to describe Prince Rama via Bollywood musicals. At a stretch, I guess you could make some Bhangra comparisons. The Brooklyn-based trio project the same vivacious energy, driving the music onward with similar bursts of pulsating tribal drums, cascading cymbals and soaring Sanskrit chants and mantras.

It’s thrilling in an unapologetically direct-to-the-hindbrain fashion — a joyous repetition of beats and chants working over and around groaning slabs of synths. Primally transcendent, if that’s not too much of a contradiction in terms.

Sun Araw finally appear at a quarter past midnight (what is it with Woodland’s late start times?). The band’s insistent drone patterns immediately put me a little in mind of High Wolf.

But where the French psych outfit leans into spacious felt-as-much-as-heard shamanic stylings, Cameron Stallones’ Sun Araw is sonically dense and urban: a wholly modern claustrophobia of electronic glitchiness, complicated guitar lines, percussive jams and occasional bursts of free jazz saxophone overlaid on humid, slow-moving grooves.

For much of the time it’s hypnotic. But with the finale pushing 1am, all the hard edges of this whirling kaleidoscope of sound prove too much for one tired mind. Damn Woodland’s late start times.

Date: December 16, 2011
Venue: The Zoo, Brisbane
Acts:  The Gin Club, The Stress of Leisure

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.

But for mine, the night’s goosebumps moment is when Bridget Lewis takes a turn at the front for the amusingly titled but deadly serious Milli Vanilli: a tribute (or warning) to living in flood-prone areas. It’s sparse solemnity, combined with the simplicity of Lewis’s rhyming couplets, is a stark and doleful reminder of the water-borne destruction that struck Brisbane not-so-long ago.

Fences falcon favourite toys
All these things have been destroyed

And the odd title?

You can blame it on the rain
That’s been tried before in vain
If you live beside the bank
Guess you’ve got yourselves to thank

Date: January  22, 2012
Venue: Black Bear Lodge, Brisbane
Acts:  Dreamtime, Sawtooth, Conor MacDonald

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.

Psych-rock three-piece Dreamtime sound softer than the last time I caught them, mid-last year when they supported The Smokestack Orchestra at the Beetle Bar. It’s not until I’m almost done processing the photos a few days later that I realise the source of the difference: Catherine Maddin has swapped her bass guitar for a six-string.

There’s less bottom-end grunt — certainly it’s less doomy than the EP I’ve spun dozens of times now. Yet the core appeal remains: languid, jammy grooves where guitar, vocals and percussion bend, overlap and warp into each other, luring you almost unawares into a state of head-nodding relaxation.

Dreamtime have both an EP and an LP for sale on their Bandcamp where you can pay as little (or as much!) as you like. Go try them out.

Date: November 30, 2008
Venue: The Powerhouse, Brisbane
Acts:  I Heart Hiroshima, Lloyd & Michael, Woelv, Narwhals

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.

The other revelation is French-Canadian songstress Woelv, aka Geneviève Castrée, and now going under the moniker Ô Paon. Armed with just her guitar, she sets up simple loops and then sings her heart out in her native French. Her childlike, lilting voice in many ways recalls the work of Japanese outfit Tenniscoats, but the effect is darker, less innocent. Like Tenniscoats, though, Woelv’s ghostly singing exerts a hold that belies its fragility.

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?

Event: “The Evening”
Date: November 17, 2011
Venue: The Judith Wright Centre for Contemporary Arts
Acts: Lawrence English

There are generally two parts to any Lawrence English-curated performance. The first is a short welcome where he provides a introduction to the work about to be performed. The second is, of course, the performance itself.

The above might sound like dull trivia, but it’s one of the things I appreciate the most about English. Listening to him speak, you quickly realise English is not simply there to perform. He truly wants you to grasp the authorial inspiration and purpose behind the music he’s about to perform.

It’s something most artists — largely blessed with all the loquacity of a brick — just don’t attempt. What makes English’s mission trebly difficult is the nature of his works — typically synth-driven instrumental drones that tend to evolve at a glacial pace.

Tonight, English is trying to find suitable words to preface his latest piece, The Peregrine, a work inspired by the J.A. Baker book of the same name. As always, he speaks off-the-cuff. And, as always, the slightly stilted earnestness as he grapples enthusiastically with the subject is more interesting than any number of (droning) pre-rehearsed speeches.

It would be cliche to say that the work itself soars. Yet, inescapably, it does. It feels remote from the concerns of the mundane world — swirling, floating swells of sound that blend and oppose deep-toned earthy pulses. It murmurs, then it roars, then it drifts. And all the while we’re borne along — listeners caught in the thermals.

A journey, but I’m not sure to what destination — it’s difficult to reason in the face of such unearthly sound. And that may be the point of the exercise. Don’t reason. Just let go and experience.