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.

Date: November 5, 2011
Venue: Woodland, Brisbane
Acts: Nikko, Carsick Cars, Keep on Dancin’s

It’s a little bit the case of playing one-of-these-things-is-not-like-the-others tonight at Woodland.

Jacinta Walker’s Keep On Dancin’s (that errant apostrophe is no typo) and Nikko vie for most maudlin act with equally gloomy aesthetics. Keep on Dancin’s embrace dark, shifting surf tones that smoulder rather than shimmer while Nikko’s approach pitches percussion, guitar and violin into a series of despairing crescendos of sound.

Nikko probably edges the contest — taking honours with an affecting reinvention of the PJ Harvey classic Horses In My Dreams and a “shredfest” conclusion to The Warm Side that leaves nothing in the tank.

The odd bird in the middle of these two acts is Carsick Cars. There’s nothing gloomy about this Chinese three-piece. It’s simply frenetic guitar pop with a strong drumbeat and infectious riffs that’s concerned with nothing except having a lot of fun.

Buzz says they’re pretty popular in Beijing — and that probably makes them twice as well-known as, say, Powderfinger.

The go-to-woah verve of You Can Listen, You Can Talk is bouncy enough to get get a couple of drunken blokes at the front bouncing round and waving their arms in the air. Anthemic set-closer Zhong Nan Hai is equally enjoyable. You could use these tunes to sell any amount of iThings. Sooner or later, some smart fucker probably will, too.

Date: December 13, 2008
Venue: The Old Museum, Brisbane
Acts: The Gin Club, Clinkerfield, The Aerial Maps, Texas Tea, Jacob S Harris

Built in 1891 to enable the city of Brisbane to host a world exposition, but named after it’s decades-long stint as the city’s museum, The Old Museum tonight plays host to The Gin Club’s Christmas bash. The Ginners have assembled no less than four support slots, and an early start means I miss Jacob S Harris, who performed so well at the Globe just last month.

In fact, I only just catch the start of the Texas Tea set. The local duo are in fine fettle, even if the rarified concert hall atmosphere lends an irritating touch of reverb to their mellow country tune. Many of the tunes are drawn from Junkship, which is all to the good. I’m a little disappointed that they skip the dirge-like Ferry Song, but a remarkable rendition of the Ronny Shannon-penned, Aretha Franklin-performed Never Loved A Man more than makes up for it.

The Aerial Maps appears soon after with a totally different spin. The tunes are minimalistic, repetitive things that waver between cute guitar folksiness and dark synth moodiness. But the tunes are really a vehicle and mood heightener for the poetry of nominal frontman Adam Gibson. And it works astonishingly well. Gibson’s delivery is impeccably paced; the phrasing, pauses and intonation drawing the audience in while he crafts stories that hook into the essence of being Australian. Some people have been saying “next Paul Kelly”, and that’s one of the comparisons that popped into my head after about five minutes. On The Punt, in particular, brings me as close to tears as anything has in years. Live, it’s that enthralling. Go check them out.

Clinkerfield on the other hand, despite an energetic stage act, just don’t grab me at all. This seems a shame, because there’s certainly a lot of passion and endeavour coming from their hyperactive frontman.

Local yokels The Gin Club come out of the blocks with a bang: some of the most powerful tunes from the highly regarded Junk appear within the first half a dozen songs of the set. I had hoped we would be graced with delightful shanty Abigail this evening, but it never appeared. Still, Already Gone, Ten Paces, Gas Guzzler and Company Calls are all great as the band-members swap instruments back and forth with mind-boggling regularity. By this time, the crowd is pressed close against the stage, and things get rowdy as the night draws to a close. Santa makes an appearance to hand out gift, we get both Wylde Bitch and Drugflowers, then the band returns to encore with a singalong version of Older Women, Younger Men. Super night. Absolutely super.

Date: March 21, 2009
Venue: The Zoo, Brisbane
Acts: The Gin Club, Hits, Danny Widdicombe

Floppy-haired local Danny Widdicombe croons “satisfy me” over and over like a mantra to the accompaniment of a drifting guitar arrangement. I’m in hearty agreement. His voice offers a rough-hewn country charm, but too often his finger-plucked tunes slide into frustrating aimlessness. Twanging excursions into the blues hold more verve, but the aggressive stomping of set-closer My Desire highlights the confusing patchwork of his offerings tonight.

“Hi. We’re Hits. Not that we have any.”

Hits are definitely the bastard child of tonight’s bill. Wedged between the alt-country stylings of The Gin Club and Danny Widdicombe, the punk-rock five-piece detonates with the percussive force of a psychotic child throwing the biggest tantrum you could imagine.

Decked out from the waist-up as a sailor captain, the howling Evil Dick pilots this ferocious rock rebellion, ably assisted by the killer riotgrrl guitar licks and hair-raising backing growl of Tamara Dawn Bell.

The libidinous dancing of a knot of punters is testimony to the success of the pair and their fellows. It’s compulsive from start to finish. After, I stagger away like the victim of a mugging, something they’d probably declare a success.

Surely no other band could shift through five different lead vocalists in their five opening numbers. This, however, is just another of the ever-growing list of reasons to worship the unique talents of The Gin Club.

Unusually, cellist Bridget Lewis opens with the vocal musical chairs with the delightful title track from their recent double-CD magnum opus Junk. Accompanied only by the six-string acoustic of Ben Salter, her lilting fragility lights a slow-burn musical fuse that intensifies by whole orders of magnitude as the night wears on.

The other six members join them as the crowd applauds. Scott Regan proceeds to take charge with back-porch drinking dirge The Young Boy before Adrian Stoyles takes a turn fronting Girl Kills Man - complete with brassy stabs from a two-piece horn section they’ve acquired for the evening. Conor Macdonald abandons the drumkit to treat us to the faintly funky tones of An Horse until Ben Salter steps up and tosses in a new number as if to ensure we’re paying attention.

And it’s all mind-bogglingly, beautifully seamless.

The new material, written and recorded at a location Salter merely calls The Property, holds up well; hillbilly rocker Shakin’ Hands the stand-out. Sole exception is the lukewarm feel to Death Wish, which appears to suffer for lack of oomph when the band temporarily scales itself back to a five-piece.

It’s a minor quibble as the band swells back to the full complement for a rendition of Gas Guzzler which reaches new heights courtesy of layer upon layer of guitar feedback and dissonant cello that draws almost every punter into voicing Salter’s closing vocal coda.

The evening’s apotheosis, though, is when Salter pulls out all stops for an epic performance of You, Me & the Sea, his eyes closed and his voice throbbing with heartache as it swells around the sparse, strung-out chords of his band members.

The staggering poignancy Salter imbues into a single song leaves the night’s finale in the shade. No mean feat as the band performs a one-two closer comprising perennial crowd singalong Wlyde Bitch and the lyrically intense 10 Paces Away, then returns to encore with Drug Flowers. Even so, as I wander out into the street, I find I’m still stuck on that simple, haunting phrase — you, me and the sea.

Date: November 4, 2011
Venue: The Waiting Room, Brisbane
Acts: Dead, Cyberne, Idylls, Acid Snake

My first visit to the Waiting Room in Brisbane’s West End is a profitable one as both Melbourne drum-and-bass duo DEAD and Japanese psycho-noise addicts Cyberne turn in sterling performances that test the sound-proofing of the tiny venue.

Jem and Jace of DEAD seem to be continuing along the rich vein that they unearthed with Fangs of a TV Evangelist. Prick Rodeo, particularly, is laden with heavy stoner grooves and massive blasts of percussion. The stand-and-deliver grunt of the tune conveys palpable menace and gets heads nodding approvingly to the beat.

Cyberne, on the other hand, play more like some wild beast bent on savaging whatever happens to come within range. The Osaka-based four-piece pierce the air with chaotic intertwining riffs, incomprehensible screams and the constant bam-crash of cymbals. It’s 30 minutes of the most wonderful entropy where you’re never sure exactly how a tune is going to go berserk.