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?
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. Read more
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. Read more
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.