Date: August 6, 2010
Venue: Burst City, Brisbane
Acts: Teargas, No Anchor, Turnpike, Dick Nasty
Burst City.
From the outside it’s a most un-presupposing edifice of low-set brick and fibro. The street-number on the letterbox is the only indication that you’ve arrived at the right place — an inner-city haven for devotees of punk, hardcore and avant-garde music.
Windows are closed and shuttered. Overgrown garden beds line a concrete path that leads to a set of rickety wooden stairs. A dark walk between two buildings doubles as the entrance finally opening into a small and welcoming rear courtyard. Read more
Date: April 24, 2009
Venue: Ric’s Bar, Brisbane
Acts: I Heart Hiroshima, Dick Nasty
I’ve lost count of the number of times that I’ve seen I Heart Hiroshima. They’re probably sitting alongside fellow Brisbanites Violent Soho as my most seen band of the last few years.
Part of the reason is the expressiveness of Susie Patten’s drumming — beautiful to watch and a delight to photograph. But it wouldn’t count for squat if they didn’t craft bloody good songs as well. Jagged, ragged pop-punk with just enough harmonic sweetness to make it J-friendly. No, that’s not a dig. More of a recognition of how well they straddle the line.
Tonight (with a little help from the ever-angry-sounding guys from Dick Nasty) they’re finishing their three-week Ric’s residency — a final preparation before they invade Europe to do some support slots for The Rakes … and then a few headlining shows of their own. If you live over that way, check them out. Read more
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.