Posts Tagged ‘ timothy carroll ’

Timothy Carroll @ Woodland

April 7th, 2012

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Timothy Carroll. Shooting details: 1/160s, f/2.0, ISO1600.

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.

Timothy Carroll @ South Bank Cultural Forecourt

May 9th, 2010

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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. Read more

Timothy Carroll @ The Troubadour

July 31st, 2009

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Date: July 19, 2009
Venue: The Troubadour, Brisbane
Artists: Timothy Carroll, McKisko, Kate Jacobsen

About three songs into a typically inveigling set of back-porch country tunes, a perfect cocktail of illness, alcohol and painkillers prompts Kate Jacobsen to artlessly observe that her strum patterns all seem to be the same.

There’s an underlying hint of truth, yet it matters not a whit as an appreciative audience laps up Cane Farmer’s Song, Kiss Me Gently, Don’t Believe In Jesus and couple of new tunes as well. Some things are greater than the sum of their individual parts — and Jacobsen’s plain-speaking fretwork, achingly sweet voice and poignant lyrics illustrate that in spades.

Folk-minimalist McKisko (aka Helen Franzmann) performs only eight songs. But what breathtaking advertisements for her talent.

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Jacob S Harris @ The Powerhouse

June 15th, 2009

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Date: May 24, 2009
Venue: The Powerhouse, Brisbane
Acts: Jacob S Harris, Timothy Carroll

I’ve seen local troubadour Timothy Carroll several times now, and on each occasion he’s impressed me more and more with poignant melodies marked by gentle, lingering acoustic guitar and a world-weary yet, somehow, simultaneously reassuring voice. Today proves a kind of watershed moment. The relaxing Sunday-afternoon vibe of the Brisbane Powerhouse amplifies Carroll’s burgeoning songcraft tenfold and more, flipping some internal switch that transforms me from interested observer into raving aficionado.

Along the way I also begin to realise what a stellar list of fellow musicians he’s assembled to help him out. Kate Jacobsen and Corinna Scanlon each step up to duet on Something Else and Sad Man respectively.  Doch’s Rebecca Craner cameos several times with warbling gypsy clarinet. It’s wonderful.

I hadn’t realised Jacob S Harris had recently shifted south to try and get more exposure to his alt-country sound, and a sharp set proves that our loss  is definitely to Melbourne’s gain. In itself, there’s something riveting in simply watching his long, expressive fingers flicker back and forth across the strings of his guitar and, later, mandolin. His deep haunting tones, playing off that wonderful fingerwork on the guitar, and hitched to the  mournful background drone of Jane Elliott’s cello makes closing tune Mountains Of Clover ineffably sad.