“You’ll Always Be My Hero, Even If I Never See You Again”
The closing line to The Dismemberment Plans’ landmark 1999 album, “Emergency & I”, lilts 
Back and Forth (as the title of the song) through my mind. The vista laid before me is a mixture of the inner workings of a café stall and the outer workings of an airport freight terminal. A grey, gloomy day in Melbourne flitters between moments of clear sky and persistent drizzle. Small support vehicles dart to and fro across the apron in the periphery of my sight, whilst inside the airport the scene is more sedate. Low chatter from security staff is dinned out by the noise cancellation and enveloping of the cups upon my ears.
It’s a repeat, in ways, of the story of this year; in transit, thoughtful and reflective. Life is etched so non-permanently on me at the moment that in some ways, days seem to overlap weeks and months. It seems like a perpetual logjam of waiting, of possibility, of nothing concrete. Nothing to actually hang your hat on and call your own. Only ghosts of the past and smoky wisps of a future too blurry or distant to bring into focus.
In the track “Spider in the Snow” from the same D-Plan album, the following stanza leaps out at me like a wet, meaty slap across the face:
“Now you find the very pit still yawns,
Deep down within the very same gut
The very same ghosts still seem to haunt you down
Down those lines you always tried to cut
You thought you just might need a little change
And now you find you got nothing but
How can a body move the speed of light
And still find itself in such a rut?”
How can it indeed?
I’m truly a Dismemberment Plan acolyte. To anyone that will listen I will rabidly and passionately extol the virtues of a band that are well within my top five musicians of all time. They’re one of the few bands that I love so passionately that no one I know on a personal level ‘get’. Or for that matter have even heard of. Mostly, it’s that usual nod and uneasy smile I receive so often when my exuberance for something froths out of the container that I restrict my being to for the sake of normalcy. I’m okay with this, but sometimes you can’t just help and hope that someone will ‘get that’. I shouldn’t complain, though, because I have a lot of very musically wisened friends whom I can wax lyrically with about music until the cows come home. It’s just one of those things that not everyone will get everything.
At least, not everything that you get.
There are numerous reasons I love D-Plan, and I guess I won’t use this as another pulpit to preach their virtues from (though technically it is my blog, so I can do what I wish). Rather, I’ll focus solely on one of them, which is also something that translates to many musical groups, almost universally. That aspect is the transition within the group, the dynamism that comes from the passage of time or the shift in personnel. The legacy of this is the recorded output of the band, the subtle differences from one album to the next.
In 1999 when “Emergency & I” came out, the world seemed to be a mix of hope and cataclysm. On the one hand, the 2000s were just around the corner and that was, for anyone that had grown up in the last 20 years, the future. It was tomorrow, when anything was possible. The internet was just starting to enter mainstream consciousness, though was still far from ubiquitous. The world was also apparently about to end, due to satellites falling out of the sky, bank accounts going backwards and some sort of Terminatoresque judgement day imminent due to Y2K.
The album in many ways reflects that. It’s a frantic mix of broad textured guitar, jazz drumming, synth pop and indie dance that seems, even to this day, light years ahead of anything. It is still, for me, one of the most unique sounding albums in my entire collection and I’m not sure that there will ever be something that can match it. I make this large and broad statement simply because I feel the album not only possess the certain energy of the players coupled with an eclectic mix of instrumentation, but it is a sonic Polaroid of that time in humanity. And there’s a pretty good chance I won’t see another turn of the century, let alone millennium.
In 2001, The Dismemberment Plan released "Change", whose name was a clear metaphor for a lot of things around it and the band. The world had, the band had, the music, well, perhaps not changed, but it had shifted appreciably. At times I’m torn as to whether this is a better album than Emergency & I and at times it is, but at others it’s not. I guess it’s the transient nature of music as it relates to my life that means this will always be a battle.
The songs on Change are more reflective in some ways; they look a little deeper at lost or cloudy loves, lost direction and loss in general. They deal with wanting back what you had, of trying to grab hold of control of something. There is also hope, affirmation and declaration of intent, of drawing a line in the sand and not being willing to yield any further. Analogue back to the world at large and this makes sense; the world didn’t end at the turn of the century and the future didn’t arrive. Instead, we were forced to get back on with life; we had to face our failed relationships, or failed aspirations. We had to scramble for a plan because we had figured one way or another, things were going to change without our input.
And yet they didn’t, at least, not of their own accord.
The change had to come from within and perhaps it always does, even when the circumstances seem to shift markedly. It still relies on us to determine just how we’re going to react. Whether we capitalise or capitulate.
"Spider in The Snow" opens with one of the greatest lines in any song, ever. “The only thing worse than bad memories, is no memories at all”. To live and to have experienced is better than to have hid, wondering. Yes, trying can lead to failure but is not trying a guarantee of failure? Perhaps so.
The transition between the two albums is subtle, but striking. Where "Emergency & I" appears to approach life with wild abandonment, "Change" is cautious. I wouldn’t use the word reserved here, because "Change" is still confident in some ways, still passionate. But "Change" knows that things don’t always go the way you want, and that letting it run its course isn’t always going to give you the best outcome.
Am I using my creative license to anthropomorphise these albums as an analogy of my own experience? Sure. But I also genuinely believe that these traits are in part what were, whether intentionally or not, ingrained in the recordings when they were made. I’d be happy to discuss this with Travis Morrisonif that’s not the case.
Transition through time fascinates me. The subtle differences that come from successive iterations of a group of people recording music for example are some of the most attractive parts of the whole creative process. Too often as fans we seem to chastise artists for changing too much, or ‘not recording an album like that one’, and I’m sure it’s something I’m guilty of as well. But in saying that, aren’t we saying it’s not okay for them to be human?
Change; be it from time to time or from one person to the next, is the very thing that defines us. And who am I to deny anyone that?
Tweet“I think I’m in Love…”
…probably just hungry.
Transit delirium. I’m sure it’s some sort of medical classification for that state of sleep deprivation that comes during the middle leg of long haul flights. I find myself at what my laptop tells me is 7:16am at what the large signs in various languages on the walls assure me is Changai International Airport in Singapore. I do know that some time before it got light again, back before when it stopped being light, I was in Ulaanbaatar in Mongolia. According to the thin sliver of paper with a barcode on it slipped into my passport, I should be back in Perth sometime today which, if I recall correctly, is where my bed and things are. (Thank you HS).
What I find incredibly interesting in these situations is the body’s resilience. I’m not a transport sleeper. At all. I think it stems from suffering from motion sickness as a child. To that end, I still suffer from it if I choose to try and read while in motion. The exception is once an aeroplane has taken flight, though I can feel queasy if I read whilst taxiing. It’s all to do with points of reference and your body’s centre of balance being tricked by moving stuff. If I sit back and sprawl out in the luxurious comfort of my seat [citation needed], my head will loll about somewhat for a period of about 30 minutes where I will close my eyes, but not actually sleep. This plethora of microsleeps, however, seems to be sufficient at 3am to assist me in staying awake for the best part of 36 hours as I transit hemispheres and tropic lines from North to South.
I think maybe it’s a function of the kinetic energy attributed to being in motion. Sure, energy is conserved always, but I feel in some ways the body can sense, perhaps not consciously, that it is hurtling along at close to the speed of sound in a silvered, desiccated projectile. And through the wonders of friction or other such things, however small, we feed on a little of that energy hurtling by us and are able to sustain ourselves just a little longer. We are destination orientated and therefore count the hours between the next meal, between the next stop, between the next boarding, until the destination.
And yet, if I were just sitting around on a Friday night wanting to stay up until 6pm the next day, my body would laugh at me uproariously and promptly bang my head against my desk in some manner of ‘go to sleep you fool’ suggestion.
Reclining on one of the more comfortable seats I’ve ever found in an airport, I can’t help but feel that some of the delirium or maybe disconnection/out of body type experience is caused by my choice of ear adornment. Last year some time I purchased a set of noise cancelling headphones and to this day I argue they are quite possibly the single greatest accessory, not even travel accessory, but accessory to my life that I’ve ever handed over money for. Even now as I clack away on my keyboard, I cannot hear the tactile response of the keys, nor the couple one seat over chatting, or the throngs of people streaming back and forth past Duty Free Shops, heading towards the departures board to see when their connecting flight is leaving and what gate it’s on (which reminds me, I too should probably do that at some stage). Music is all I can hear, and it’s not even that roaring loudness that you usually need in public situations that leave you ringing and numb after hours of listening whilst travelling. The cancelling reduces the noise to a imperceptible background hum, leaving the music to gently cascade its way into your brain.
I spent some time and thought on this trip as to what I would listen to whilst in transit. It’s odd, when I’m away, I don’t tend to listen to music much, preferring to read, explore, or watch local TV for the kicks. This is in contrast with my usual habits where I will listen to music for almost all of my waking hours. But the time in transit is most important, because honestly if you’re going to look silly with a couple of big cups wrapped around your head, you may as well enjoy it.
When I say that I ‘…spent some time and thought…’ it meant perhaps a change in my habits for selecting music. Usually my procedure is ‘crap, my flight’s in three hours and I forgot to put tunes on my iPod’. And so then I spend the next two hours trying to frantically drag tunes and remember ‘what’s good’ from my rather large (read 42k tracks) library, all the while packing my suitcase and cursing iTunes for loading one song everything 22 minutes for some reason. No, this time I actually started loading my iPod days in advance.
This actually afforded me some variety and so I’ve ended up with about 9k of songs to choose from. It also provides the luxury of choosing tunes that will match the time of day and my general mood, something that I’m associating more with music. In recent months on last.fm I’ve felt the need to start categorising some of my most favourite songs into general buckets; in a way it’s how I visualise music, the way that I perceive and respond to it, both mentally and physically. This selection then, of songs for appropriate times of the day, is an extension of that. An entire album can ‘feel’ like night time, or it can feel like a new day dawning.
This trip just now for example, I was listening to 'Painful' by Yo La Tengo prior to having one of those microsleeps; to rouse myself from it when I felt energy returning, it was 'Hourly, Daily' by You Am I, followed by 'Good News for People Who Love Bad News' by Modest Mouse. Each have their own energies, though the later also shares some songs which I consider ‘driving at night’ type tunes. Sum of its parts and all that.
One album in particular that I’ve latched on this year, but also on this trip, is 'Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space' by Spiritualized. There are a few schools of thought about the album; some have written it off as a ‘drug album’ while others see it as a tale of love lost (which given the circumstances are pretty easy to understand). For me though, there’s something that encapsulates all of that, but also gives the album a certain sense of collapse, introspection and rebirth. Sure, it’s probably simply reflecting the steps of heroin sensation, but it also analogues very easily to the cycle of the day, the circadian rhythm of the body, even the flow of life itself. It helps too that the music is deliciously melodic and something you can sink into it like, well, this comfortable airline lounge chair. Caught somewhere between indie rock and shoegaze, the sound is palpable, nourishing and tactile.
On the way over to UB, the timing of my songs meant that ‘I Think I’m In Love’ from the same album played just as the sun broke the horizon as we descended into Singapore. The song, ever before then, sounded like day dawning and now it will be eternally scratched into my soul (thank you Craig Finn) as that moment. And well, I’m okay with that.
And now as I proof this piece whilst watching the natural light wash in through windows and start to take over from the globes dotted across the ceiling, I start to feel more in tune with the rush and flow of people around me. I begin to yearn for the next leg, knowing full well that all of this inconvenience, this discomfort, is but temporary. I also realise too that in my heightened state, where the sympathetic starts to take over from the parasympathetic nervous system, I can more easily connect with the music I listen to and will ultimately have a greater experience with those songs.
And isn’t a greater experience what we’re all seeking?
TweetOut of Reaches
Steamy, I’m not sure is really an apt word. I don’t think the word has sufficient power to give rise to the sensation of the wall of hot, saturated water you find yourself immersed in upon leaving Denpassar Airport. It’s only a brief feeling, if you’re in transit. Just a short walk to the domestic terminal to transition to your next destination. But as welcomes go, that’s one to remember.
Contrast is for the most part the best way to distinguish between to comparable objects. Having lived in Perth for a little over five years, I’m used to dry. Not just low precipitation dry, but crack your lips and parch your mouth within minutes of drinking dry. It seems at times as though the weather could sap the very life out of you; the months on end from say October to April where a cloudy day is as common as a full moon. Where rain becomes a joke between friends about ‘what’s that?’
And now I find myself sitting in what is apparently an air conditioned airport lounge with clammy skin awaiting a connecting flight to Jakarta. The difference in atmosphere, in landscape is extreme. Two more polar extremes in weather, saving polar cold to Arabian heat, probably don’t exist.
I guess in some ways I knew what to expect. Seven years in Brisbane taught me, at least for the most part, what a humid city is like. And one becomes accustomed to it, anyway. Eventually. Now I fly to Brisbane and I comment on the mouldy smell of the airport and friends joke about clothes never really drying on the line. But you make do, you adapt, it becomes home. Or a home.
One could dramatically espouse today as the first day of the rest of my life. Or at least, the next of my life. Today is my virgin sojourn into a country, and most likely a city that will, in the foreseeable future, become my home for at least three years. I’m terrified, but in equal parts I’m excited and also glad for being in motion, again. Not that it has ever really felt at any stage in this life like it were ever not in some form of motion.
Things I’ve learnt about Indonesia already:
- Sunglasses are mandatory. Exciting Denpassar airport there’s a row of about 20 money exchange vendors all looking to catch your eye with the best rates. It’s a little depressing. If you even slightly incline your head, you will have their greeting and their smile upon you before you can catch yourself. I’m not sure I could ever choose one, though, because in doing so I’d know I’d be disappointing 19 others. I guess life’s like that some times. Sunglasses though give you the solitude of not making gaze. You can appear aloof, or worse ignorant, even if you’re perhaps locking eyes with each and every one of them.
- Sunglasses come in handy too for the horde of taxi drives, baggage handlers and other such service providers offering you assistance once you’ve cleared customs.
- These airport seats are freakin’ uncomfortable.
- People generally have a friendly smile. I’m reserving my judgement on its sincerity, or if they’re looking for a way to assist. Yes, I am crusty, old and jaded.
This whole thing seems a little surreal at the moment. At each point of my life I tend to stop and pinch myself, questioning firstly if it’s where I really want to be, but then secondly how it is I came to be here. It seems a lifetime ago, yet not (it’s really only six months) when I said ‘yes’ to the opportunity to pursue this adventure. And now I’m beating on its door,
As a boy with dreams, I never really had an inclination of what, if anything, I would end up doing in life. In many ways I didn’t aim high, didn’t expect the world and I guess because of that I’ve been grateful for each small portion of it I’ve been able to claim as my own. Even moving to a different city, across the country, felt like a big achievement each time. To be making it on my own in itself seems like the biggest thing in the world. Anything else on top of that is almost irreconcilable.
But here I am, taking on the next dream. Though I’m still not 100% convinced as to my motives. I’ve said for a long time that I wanted to do ‘a few years overseas’ but in some ways I think that was my way of ‘seeming ambitious’. Now that it’s here, part of me wants to crawl under a rock and not change anything. But I guess that part of me appears each time I am about to radicalise my life.
Likewise, my other motives make me wonder. What am I running from exactly? Why is it that I don’t want to stay in Australia, or in Perth or in Brisbane? What is it that gets me to a point at each phase of my life that wants me to change it? I can’t be 100% sure. I guess that’s something I need to ponder.
Maybe it comes back to that need to feel in motion. Maybe being stuck in the doldrums, in the equatorial latitudes with not a breeze in your sail scares me. Or maybe I’m just no good at making my own breeze. I can’t be sure. But maybe time will as, it often does, provide some idea.
I watched “Lost In Translations” on the flight over today. I hadn’t seen it before. It seemed kind of apt given the upcoming week. Or the upcoming life. So much will be lost in translation. So many nuances and subtleties will be lost in awkward smiles and unsure, uneasy nods.
I sit and watch people in cities foreign to me and I can understand the body language and I can understand the mischievous grins and shared moments. And without a doubt those parts of human nature are universal. I just hope my lack of tongue doesn’t lend to losing too much.
Due to the movie and absorbing an inflight magazine, I had time for but one song this flight. It was one that flew into my head as we approached cruising altitude. It’s true melancholy with a warbling, crunchy guitar the way only one S.M. can do. It’s “Out of Reaches” from “Real Emotional Trash”. The last repeated refrain that fades out with the song is ‘I know the tide will turn’.
And I guess in some way, perhaps more than I even understand, yet can already appreciate, it seems like a theme for this day, the first day of the rest of my life.
TweetReview – Holly Throsby @ The Bakery – 12/03/2011
In what can only be described as another weird episode from the book of strange Perth happenings, last night's gig at the Bakery would have a whole chapter dedicated to it. The content of the show, the delightful Holly Throsby ably supported by a couple of fine Perth locals, was excellent as was to be expected. The crowd though, again, bewildered. In what is surely a sign of music going public at saturation point, I would estimate less than 50 people were at the gig last night.
It is kind of mindblowing that in a town of 1.6 million or more people, who constantly cry poor of the lack of touring talent somehow manage to not show up to shows. It's not as though the headline artist were unknown here. Holly Throsby is touring her fourth album, receives national airplay and consistently fills venues across the nation. Is it that Perth is burned out? Broke? Or just ignorant? It's a tough thing to pin down. One punter commented that local buzz band, Split Seconds, were releasing their EP at another venue that night, but I find it hard to think there's about 550 people in all of Perth who go to gigs.
Regardless though for those of us lucky enough to be at the show, we were treated to a wonderful, intimate concert befitting of Throsby's musical style.
Arriving a little late, I missed the bulk of the opening act, Simone And Girlfunkle. Based on what I did catch, though, that would seem to be my loss. A quirky snippet of breezy, harmonious pop radiated out of the Bakery upon arriving at the venue. Influences owing to post war 'girl bands' and big band sound, through to modern chanteuses, mixed happily with jangly indie pop sensibilities. I'll be keeping my eyes on the street press for the next opportunity to catch these folk.
Next up was the now officially declared "Ubiquitous for 2011" 6s and 7s. I have to admit that having seem them in fine form last week at Darren Hanlon, I spent most of their set talking shash over a cider or two in the grassy knoll area of the redeveloped Bakery. The sound though, traveled well outside and the band did, as always, sound on song.
Arriving on stage sans band, Holly Throsby has a an odd stage presence. She is slight, brightly clothed, hair looking as though it may tangle forth from her head at but the slightest breeze. Her smile beams, filling the room, yet it beguiles what appears to be a natural hum of nervous energy. Her songs are intimate, they tell the stories of her life and it's as though each night she boldly strides out to relive each one of those stories, yet maybe to depersonalise them a little for herself.
Of course it's foolish to even try and entertain what it means for her to perform. But on this night this connects too to the crowd, this small, sparsely populated crowd. What does an artist think when they arrive on stage with just a handful of people awaiting to hear them? Knowing full well that the crowd is expecting that they will give their all, yet playing on the back of the mind of the artist is no doubt all sorts of doubts. Will this cover the costs of the tour? Why did I come to Perth (we've all been there)? All of these things must play on their mind, yet does the artist play through as though they don't, or does that ultimately impact on that night's show?
I wondered all of this as Throsby began with the opening track of her latest release "Team". In a recent interview with her by Triple J's Zan Rowe, Throsby spoke about how important it was for her to frame this album, and indeed all albums, with strong opening and closing tracks. "Team" comes across as a deeply personal journey, one that explores the wreckage of a love that was and is no longer. Of making sense of just how things came to be. Something that the opener "What I Thought of You" does very well.
After this sullen, quiet, intimate moment, the full band came onto the stage to join Holly. The 'Hello Tigers' are perhaps one of the most talented backing bands getting around the country at the moment, though the three of them play more as a cohesive unit, rather than a singer with backing band. Multi-instrumentalist and singer Jens Birchall is accomplished across a full range of stringed instruments whilst percussionist Bree Van Reyk adds much lilted atmosphere to each and every Throsby penned tune.
It is quiet music for considered listening and in some ways the small crowd lent to an even greater appreciation of this. Even if it were a shame that so many were missing out.
Throsby is in good spirits, regaling us with tales of touring Bunbury and surviving as well as playing tennis before the show. The crowd interact and smiles are shared.
Announcing that they would be playing a lot of songs from the new album and then some older tracks, the first few songs all came from "Team". The spread of tracks though ranged through all four releases in Throsby's catalogue and also included her wonderful cover of You Am I's "Berlin Chair". The song is beautiful and I think in some way Throsby makes it even more so.
Other highlights from the set included the wonderful duet originally penned and performed with Will Oldham, "Would You?" Yens plays a wonderful substitute muse and the song resonates through the whole venue. Early song "Things Between People" was also wonderful to hear.
The new songs are strong, but then her entire catalogue is strong. The songs sit well in a small intimate setting like a Mojos (where she plays tonight) but work equally well with a respectful audience given to shutting up for an hour and a half.
Whilst I always feel a pang of disappointment for the artist when the venue is not filled, I can't help but also feel blessed this night to have witnessed such a personal, impassioned performance by one of the original and best female singer songwriters on the Australian scene. Here's hoping that Perth's poor performance as an audience doesn't mean this will be the last time that we see her.
Setlist:
What I Thought Of You
Hi, You Reckless Darling
It's Only Need
On Longing
It's Funny
Always Be Young
Berlin Chair (You Am I cover)
Things Between People
Would You?
The Time It Takes
We Are Glowing
Making A Fire
Here Is My Co-Pilot
~
When?
TweetReview – Darren Hanlon @ Fly By Night Musicians’ Club – 05/03/2011
Perth is a funny town when it comes to audiences. I'm certain that for every gig and performance there is a parallel universe with a diametrically opposed audience waiting in the wings. Some nights the crowd will be enthusiastic to the point of annoyance, others, they will be a great mix where everyone is on, but not too on. And then there are nights like Saturday just gone at the Fly By Night Club where you're not entirely convinced the crowd is actually awake.
In fact, they were all sitting down.
A shade over six months ago on a cool late winter's night, Darren Hanlon packed out the same club to the point of claustrophobia with his backing band The Well Hung Parliament. It was election night, and perhaps there was a late rush to get away from the cloying disappointment of the day's ballots and instead lose yourself in some intellectual pop. Yet here, on a warm early autumnal evening, there was room for everyone to sit, on the floor, at tables and chairs, or at pews along walls. And sit they did.
As to its cause, one can only muse. Was it a city tired from the last shows of the Perth International Arts Festival? Or the incessant stream of summer festivals? Or maybe a jubilant town was celebrating the first time in 30 days that the temperature had dropped below 30C? Regardless, the crowd was subdued, almost sedate, and remained that way for the entire show. I'm not declaring that a bad or a good thing, but a thing it certainly was.
Opening proceedings this evening were the seen twice now this year 6s & 7s from Perth. Josh Fontaine's ragged bunch (a term I use affectionately) were joined with some additional horn section in the form of a trumpeter for their set. With a trombonist firmly entrenched in the band, it was guaranteed to add a gentle melodramatic accentuation to the band's up vibe, breezy notion. Opening with a long bluesy jam, Fontaine's proficient guitar work blended well with his tight backing band. The set was packed with highlights and rounded out with the very catchy "Smilin". Stream it from their Myspace and try and sit still.
As witnessed at Built to Spill earlier this year, this band continues to impress and this writer would be surprised if we don't see them percolating further into the collective music consciousness in the near future.
In what seemed like a fairly short space of time and couple of alcoholic ginger beers, a familiar face in a checkered shirt wandered in from the shadowy wings of the stage to be recognised by the crowd some 30 seconds after he was already getting ready to perform. A gentile smile upon being recognised was followed by a familiar sounding voice saying 'Hi'. Darren Hanlon is instantly likable, to the point that within a couple of minutes of him talking, you wish you could be one of his friends, and perhaps more so, listen to him tell you stories through the night. He is effortlessly charming in his delivery and it's almost with a naive grace that he captures an audience's attention and draws them in to the woven fabric of his words.
Hanlon was a little taken aback by the seated crowd and laid back style. He remarked that in Perth "anything is possible" and asked if the crowd were okay with what could only be considered genuine concern. This is his style.
He opened solo with a couple of 'classics' in the form of Elbows and She Cuts Hair. Being a massive fan of the latter, it was great to hear it so early on, given that I have been known to yell it out at any opportunity. The band arrived after this to move into mostly 'new' songs from the most recent album, "I Will Love You At All".
It's interesting how the addition of Shelley Short has in some ways broadened the overall stage presence of Hanlon's show. Not that there was anything missing previously, as he had a very strong backing vocalist in Bree Van Reyk on drums. But having a focal point for lyrical support and indeed someone to sometimes take the lead seems to gel well with the overall maturing of Hanlon's work on this latest album.
New tracks like "Butterfly Bones" and "Heart of Stone" were juxtaposed against crowd favourites like "The Unmade Bed". "Scenes From a Separation" was, as always, a fantastic performance and it's without a doubt one of Hanlon's finest songs to date.
As is often the case, being close to the end of tour, the band were willing to mix things up a bit. The rest of the band left the stage briefly for Hanlon and Short to play a new duet penned on the road. Then, Hanlon played solo some more with a mix of the new and old, playing the rarely heard "Squash" as well as a quirky Halloween penned cover of "Here Comes the Sun" from the perspective of a vampire. Regardless of what the LA Times said Darren, I'm glad there's at least one song about squash.
With the band returning, a baudy version of "Punk's Not Dead" broke into a punk melody (at least, a boy from Gympie's interpretation) which included versions of The Velvet Underground's "I'm Waiting For My Man", The Modern Lovers' "Roadrunner" and then into "Anarchy In The UK" followed by "Career Opportunities" by the Clash. It was fun, rollicking music. Yet the crowd continued to sit.
Before "17", Hanlon's amp gave out and he uttered the classic line for the night that he was disappointed because he needed "shred some solos". Picking up an acoustic guitar and regaling the crowd with a rendition of "Blackbird" which he'd "learnt at guitar school" he still managed to shred pretty well in "Modern History".
The final song of the main set was a surprise cover. Continuing in the tradition of bringing back classic 80s songs (see his cover of Together in Electric Dreams), the full band played a cover of Mark Knopfler's "Going Home (Theme to Local Hero)"
Returning from a very short pause, Hanlon played a couple more solo songs with a fine version of "Falling Aeroplanes" and one he almost never plays apparently, "Fire Engine". With the band joining him for the finale, "Electric Skeleton", the still subdued crowd cheered the band as they departed.
It could be said that the crowd in some way detracted from the performance, but in reality, I feel it had the opposite effect. Rather, the attentiveness, lack of disctraction of bumping into people and constant conversations about Masterchef meant that sound was excellent, and the performance much more personal.
It was as close as you could get to having Darren Hanlon in your lounge room, with his band, live, playing the songs you want to hear. That could not possibly be a bad thing.
Setlist:
Elbows
She Cuts Hair
Butterfly Bones
Happiness is Just a Chemical
Scenes From a Separation
Heart of Stone
Unmade Bed
Home
New song {about being a vagabond apparently}
Folk Insomnia
Here Comes the Sun {from the perspective of a vampire}
Squash
Punk's Not Dead + Punk Medley
All These Things Will Follow You
17
Modern History
Going Home (Theme From Local Hero)
~
Falling Aeroplanes
Fire Engine
Electric Skeleton
I think I might have missed "House" in there somewhere, but it's neither on the set list, nor in my notes. Oh well!
TweetReview – The Reserves @ Amplifier Bar – 26-02-2011
Local music gigs, bless their cotton socks, always contain the potential to hold equal parts of blowing your mind or blowing you out the door of the bar to another venue. It's the lure of this potential, cheap entry and a generally eclectic crowd which even further increases their appeal. A town like Perth with its vibrant, though perhaps faltering, live music scene is still a boon for these types of events. Just about any night of the week you can exit the night air and find a venue packed with relative unknowns belting their hearts out to a handful of punters as though their very existence depended on it.
A spacious Amplifier Bar welcomed me on a night where one may think Hell itself were located on the corner of Murray and William street, such was the ambient heat of this eternal Perth summer. Tonight was The Reserves' goodbye show; a band that's been on the scene for seven years, now packing up their instruments and moving on to the next stage of their lives. Such events are always interesting, emotion charged and if nothing else give the punters a chance to see if the band is making the right decision.
I should add here that up until a couple days ago I'm guilty of never actually having seen nor heard of The Reserves before. My presence this night was due to a friend of a friend being the mother of their latest guitarist. Convoluted, yes, but one should not be too analytical of how music comes into their life.
As well as the departing headline act, three other locals, whom I'd never heard of, were also on the bill. The great thing about not knowing any of the bands is that you have no pretense and you remain open minded. One always tries to do this at every show, but when you have an intimate knowledge of the band that's going to be on stage, that can be a little harder to achieve. With a blank canvas though, every act is judged on their merit, which can be both a good and a bad thing.
First up were two piece Boston & Chevy, a male/female dual singing, single guitarist combo. I always get a little pensive when I see this combination on stage. This is generally because it fills my mind with images of flaccid covers acts consigned to the corner of pubs playing oh so many Leonardo's Bride tracks. Either that, or the potential for a 'rootsy' performance inspired by so many flower children from NSW. Thankfully, they were neither, and proved to be quite excellent.
The reason it worked is two fold. Firstly, guitarist and vocalist Warren Page has a great, powerful voice and is a proficient guitarist. Ample rhythm, melody and atmosphere are generated from the generous plucking of strings so that the lack of any backing band is almost forgotten. Vocal use by both Page and vocalist Amy Harding is restrained and not overwrought. Delivery is key here though, both are impassioned vocalists and capable of a large stage presence, but they know very well how much and perhaps more importantly, how little of their voice they should deliver. This interplay allows for balanced performances which shone in most of their original work and especially in their very impressive cover of Damien Rice's "Volcano".
Only fairly recently formed as a duo, I'd be very keen to catch them again and see how they develop. I would also suggest that a certain sibling combination, large in the Australian scene, could learn a thing or two about delivery, stage presence and passion from a duo like Boston & Chevy.
Second up were six piece ensemble Ruby Boots. With a stage decked out with a washboard, banjo, mandolin and violin, one always knew that this would be different if nothing else. Questions fill the mind such as how the instruments would be used and whether they would fit the songs or just be gimmicky. Thankfully, though, it was all part of a bigger picture.
Drawing on some quite varied cross genre influences, each of the 'Boots songs were well crafted alt+country jams. At times there was even call for some thigh slapping, which I'm quite sure is not a bad thing. The band's lead vocalist (whom not surprisingly goes by the moniker of Ms. Boots) has a great set of pipes and was able to carry each of the songs through despite the cacophony ensuing behind her with a large backing band. The band at various times also included the drummer, bass, a couple of guitars (including some excellent slide) violin and the aforementioned washboard and banjo. Much instrument swapping and back up vocalisation ensured a vibrant show.
Perth tends to create these large collectives of bands with influences drawn from the landscape and it's great to see this tradition continuing. Definitely one to keep an eye on.
At this point, I must pause to write a letter:
Dear Trigger Jackets,
I must apologise, but you just didn't do it for me this evening. I gave you a full 1.5 songs and unfortunately the draw of new people to talk to, coupled with old to regale with stories, was such that I found myself drifting away from the stage to a quieter corner of the bar. I want you to know though that it's not you, it's me, and I think maybe in time, and if we see each other again, maybe I will like you. Don't wait for me though, just keep being you. Maybe we're not meant to be, but I know there will be someone out there for you.
Fondly,
Didn't Quite Do It For Me Tonight of Mt. Hawthorn.
~
With the Trigger Jackets departing the stage, the room started to fill for the headline act. The crowd was an eclectic mix as is often the case at the Amplifier. After 12 it turns into 'Pure Pop' and all of the pretty young things ("PYT") start filing in from 11 on to have their fingerprints scanned, photo taken and to hand over their cash to later hear a DJ play it like it's 1989. At those times during the last act, you have a mix of indie kids, rock kids and short black handkerchiefs passed off as dresses. The PYT look awkward to see a real live musician on stage and the indie kids stream off into the night as the band departs the stage to avoid any possible interaction.
It also made for an odd moment later during The Reserves set when a couple of the PYT began 'grooving' somewhat to the band and laughing at themselves for doing so. For a moment it struck me that perhaps the world itself might lose some of its constrictions if people actually allowed themselves to drop that pretense and simply enjoy, rather than feeling as though they had to carry some sort of 'definition' of who they are. That though came with the realisation that the world is not that way at all, rather it is a selfish, veneered place where looks matter, appearances count and don't you dare be seen to enjoy life for what it is.
Sobered by that thought and less so by the beer, my attentions turned to the band of the moment. At first I was actually stunned a little by the type of music, because the lead in acts had suggested they would be a little more alt than rock. But as we well know, looks can be deceiving and the band were indeed delivering the rock. A classic lineup of two guitarists, drummer, and bass playing lead singer, they worked hard to bring rocking tunes that were unfortunately not embraced by the crowd as much as I thought they deserved.
In some ways this seemed to be because of the lack of critical mass which forces the crowd to the front of the stage, and rather they could stand in their cliques and idly chat. Thankfully towards the end of the set and indeed during the encore they did and it lifted the energy of the place.
With roots in the likes of mid 90s pre-emo bands such as Sunny Day Real Estate et al, The Reserves' brand of rock was far from ground breaking but in no way too generic to be enjoyable either. Rather, they were a workhorse like group whose toil was gradually and gratefully received by the crowd.
Enjoying themselves and throwing in a couple of decent covers, it was definitely a send off a band could be pleased with. Leaving sweat drenched and smiling broadly, it would seem that rather than defeated in their loss, they were triumphant in what they had over the years. Likewise, each player is almost certain to reappear in some form in another band within the music scene before long, such is the great big melting pot that is Perth.
In a day and age where bands come and go, seven years seems a life time. To go out on your own terms in front of a decent crowd including friends and families must be a pretty satisfying way to finish living your dream...
...for now.
TweetI am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding…
Music is a fickle mistress who not only fills your life with joy but can also come to dominate your very connection to the people, places and memories which define the very fringe of your existence. It's due to this intimate link that many of us fall head and heart first into her loving embrace. It's also because of this that we tend to guard the music that means much to us ferociously, but we, or at least I, also find myself using it as kind of gauge of someone's awareness of life. It's as though a person's musical taste and more importantly, their interest in pursuing one, are like the two desperate paragraphs on the back of a novel vying for your attentions and eventual capitulation.
You know it's wrong to base your entire judgement of the whole on those two paragraphs, but it's the human condition which implores us to constantly categorise, pigeonhole and essentially distill the tsunami of information perpetually washing over us and threatening to drag us out to sea. I often catch myself simply trying to write a person off, or devalue my internal league table of their worth based on their musical taste. It's a horrible, shallow thing to do, but I've come to truly realise, especially recently, the significance of music in my life and therefore the weight that such a quality in another holds for me. I'm sure there's a balance that can be established, i.e. not completely excommunicating a person because of their passing interest in a single song by Kei$ha, but rather, accepting that it is truly a subjective value in each of us. I hope that I subscribe to my own mantra that it's more important to care about about why something is and why you believe in that than necessarily what that is.
I struggle with that though. I both love and loathe a service like last.fm because not only can I instantly, from a profile, see that person's two paragraphs, but I also then feel that my attempts to reach out to a person are unfairly compromised by that initial judgement that I struggle not to make. And no doubt that's to my own detriment just as much as anyone else.
Is it a function of getting older? Is it a realisation that time is of the essence and that it's more important to put much time into few than to spend more time filtering? Am I just as shallow as someone who judges superficially on looks or physical attributes or wealth? Maybe. I haven't really reconciled that conflict yet. Many a sleepless night to come, no doubt.
The conflict is further compounded by the fact that I no doubt love music that others find repulsive or baseless or have little regard for. I don't worry so much about my choices, because I know they're the right ones for me, but one can start to wonder if others are basing their own decisions using something akin to my own paradigm. Am I therefore being unfairly and shallowly judged because of my love of say, Counting Crows, or early Spandau Ballet? Or do I have enough 'base cool' in music because the breadth of my musical taste allows for the occasional aberration? Does anyone else actually care or are these neuroses that may simply be my own, purely internal in nature?
Sitting here listening to the aforementioned 'Crows, a song like Colorblind comes on and is instantly recognisable. I'm in an airport transit lounge. It's generally quiet because my cab had a great run through late afternoon traffic and I'm the fourth person to the gate. People are milling about, an occasional conversation occurs between the gentleman in the wheelchair who is travelling today, and his family. The first strains of piano roll from the tiny speakers in my ears and I'm instantly cast into a reflective mood. You can't help but be reflective with a song like Colorblind.
Duritz has three vocal stylings, upbeat, sad and melancholy. Or a mix of the three. For Colorblind it's the last two mixed, though the chorus seems to dabble towards the first. The song comes from 1998's This Desert Life, an album that found the band too far past its mammoth, saturating success with 'August and Everything After' for anyone to really notice. By then everyone was loving Nu Metal, backwards baseball caps and rock/rap crossovers. 'August' contained the ubiquitous 'Mr Jones', which I think in some way worked to taint the public's image of the band, even though some of their subsequent songs were just as strong. Is there some analogy between the way I might cast a person based on their taste and how the public remembers an act for one song?
'This Desert Life', though, contains more of the material that Counting Crows and in particular Duritz do well; lamenting love lost, regaling past loves with stories of how just maybe they never did get over them and a general sense of melancholy that is not strained or cynical. It's those moments where we reflect, pause to take stock in life and perhaps resolve to do things different, next time. It's perfect airport transit lounge music because almost always, that moment of imminent transience sets my mind adrift in a sea of what ifs.
A plane bounces onto the tarmac, a puff of black smoke and a flock of birds rise. The background hum starts to rise as more people gather around the gate. Cabin crew approach to board the plane. Passengers furtively check watches and arrival/departure boards. They try and relax or make phone calls or listen to music or muse on their place in the universe.
Colorblind has a haunting, lilting piano refrain. It reminds me of the way in which Sufjan Stevens played 'Concerning The UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois' a week ago tonight. It was desperate, as though each beat of his heart relied on each note of that song. As though it was the last time he will ever play it, and yet whilst playing he felt his grip slipping as it dripped through his hands. Colorblind is not quite as frenetic but is still fragile, composed of sounds that just appear to get by. That sound where you feel as though a song could just stop and drain away at any moment and it catches your breath in your mouth.
The lyrics are typical of Duritz's fractious styling. Abstract, yet a refrain later, direct. To be colour blind is to not be able to distinguish certain subtle differences in closely related items. It's the inability to sometimes not be able to see where one thing ends and another begins. I think we all go through a time of mental colour blindness, and maybe that's why the song resonates. It's about a maelstrom of reflection; lost in a bed of confusing thoughts and of wondering where you went wrong. Duritz catches this in the refrain where he is "folded, and unfolded and unfolding". And yet he is hopeful. Hopeful that in some way he will still overcome this momentary lapse of reason, and rather, will find that clarity again by almost wistfully telling us that he is ready and he is, pausing for dramatic affect, fine.
And then it's time to board; ripped from my cocoon of sonic solitude and grandiose reflection to instead hear inane chatter. Bringing up barcodes on my phone and forming two single file lines from the scanners. My barcode scans, but the printer doesn't print and I step to the side to allow the flow of people to pour ahead of me onto the plain as I watch them preparing to begin their journey. I wonder what that businessman listens to. Does he listen to anything? That girl? Will that child grow up to appreciate music at all in a world that seems more and more devoid of true connection to something palpable?
Silently, though, I'm just hope no one precludes me because of my music, even if I reserve the right to do it myself. For now, at least.
TweetMusings – BDO @ Claremont Showgrounds – 06-02-2011
Normally my reviews involve me collecting notes to later expand on when writing it up. Today though, in the spirit of the shambolic manner in which any festival plays out, I'm just going to post my notes. I may expand on them later. Or not. They also include the setlist for Tool (as well as some preemptive textual mindgasms for Lateralus):
10:45. There's a guy at the station in a bandana and a shirt which reads I Be A Pirate. This will be an interesting day.
11:20. Dear Ticketmaster, I wish to receive a refund. Not for my Big Day Out ticket as I'm sure this will be adequate for the money paid. However, you charge a $6.60 service fee and given I've been in a 30 person line for ten minutes waiting to collect my ticket, I wouldn't call this service. I look forward to hearing from you.
11:30 The Vines smashing shit up. Still rock
11:45 Naked and famous not either. But good New Order with a chick
Local produce around 1215, young but potential. San Cisco
12:20 Scotch of St James sounded good for two minutes
12:34 As suspected, Dead Letter Circus still sound like Darren Hayes out the front of a melodic hardrock band. We'll blame the wind
12:40. $4.00 for a bottle of water? Jump up and get down, 911 and Capitalism are a joke in your town.
12:48. You kids, get off my lawn
12:50. It's a shame about DLC really because they have decent riffs. Maybe they can be the first melodic hardcore instrumental band...
13:10. At Children Collide; difficult not to draw comparisons to a little Seattle three piece from the ewwww a shirtless sweaty man just touched me. Anyway, from the 90s. Except that Craig on the Vines is on vocals and except they're more upbeat. At least they do it well, it's not their fault!
13:27. A circle mosh...to Children Collide? Really?
13:28. And on a concrete floor. Some should really do a risk assessment...
13:30. There's always one 40 year old guy in the circle trying to reclaim his youth that's always going to end up taking someone's push a little too seriously as though it's an attack on his flagging manhood.
13:33. Dear girls in short shorts, getting up on someone's shoulders is not a flattering look for your fashion choice, but then, your fashion is probably not intended to be? Seriously, no one wants to see that. Regards, Sensibly Dressed at the back.
13:36. So it's like Nirvana covering the Cult. And it rocks.
13:39. I'm pretty sure you could get a good buzz smoking that Tool fan's dreads...
13:43. Great set, rather large crowd. Strangest looking band ever, Kurt Cobain on lead, Lyle Lovett's hair on bass and some rockabilly on drums. I like that. Kudos Children Collide. Kudos.
13:47 LOL Airborne.
13:52. The boiler room. Not so much of a room as a stage. No sign of boilers.
13:58. My goodness do some of these young 'ladies' not own mirrors?
14:15. CSS are fun but it's altogether too early for their shenanigans. Wait is that Limp Bizkit on the Orange stage?
Oh it's Lupe. Woops
14:23. Not sure if the sound guy is asleep or a drum and bass aficionado but this mix for Washington is terrible.
14:44. Washington appears to cause single guys in Hurley singlets to dance in groups near groups of women in the hope that they will seem 'emotionally in touch'. Interesting.
15:04. Matching white shirts. Nice touch Gypsy and the Cat
15:15. Time of death of Gypsy's cat. Onto Die Antwoord.
15:31. Die Antwoord are seemingly all up in this bitch. Sounds painful. It's like 2 Unlimited learnt how to beat out. It works. She sounds like what I imagine Bjork would sound like if she was a gangsta rapper.
15:38. No wait if Karyn? from the Knife gangsta rapped.
15:42 I think in the anatomy of the movement behind bogan pride and the faux nationalism involving Southern Cross tattoos, some of the blame goes to acts like Bliss 'n' Eso.
15:46. Number of grammatically incorrect tattoos using the wrong your: 1. Exponential increase expected as the afternoon gets warmer.
15:54. Number of Aussie Aussie Aussies heard: 2.
16:22. The Deftones are just solid. The sound is like what I'd imagine swimming through wet concrete would feel like. In a good way.
16:28. First frontman I've seen in a long time who needed a platform. He's not even that short!
16:55. Not sure if Ian Kenny's dance style is deliberately spasmodic or if it's caused by his skin tight jeans. Still has one of the best set of pipes I've ever heard. In other news, Washington's sound guy is now mixing for Birds of Tokyo...
17:23. I'm pretty sure there's a law against advertising a food stand which sells Dagwood Dogs as "Gourmet, Fresh". Doesn't seem to stop these jokesters though!
17:26. Speaking of good sets of pipes, Paul Dempsey is rocking out.
17:28. Paul Dempsey is no Black Keys but at least he's not Parkway Drive.
17:33. Both the number of spiderweb on elbow tattoos AND bums hanging out the bottom of short shorts spotted have doubled in recent minutes. Didn't think they were atypical Dempsey fans.
17:38. Oh dear, my schedule had Iggy playing for five hours. Good thing I downloaded that BDO app. Oh I see, it's 18:30. I probably could have worked that out.
17:42. What's the deal with people not having shoes? Also, things you bring to a festival when you're over 30, #3: ear plugs.
17:45. I've seen two people with binoculars now. Maybe that's an item you bring when over 40. The first guy had a sleeveless shirt and a leather akubra on and from a distance of 120m would look like Paul Hogan. The second guy just now was wearing gardening gloves...
17:52. Paul Dempsey doing a Talking Heads cover. Nice.
18:17. Oh John Butler. What's the go with that moustache?
18:34. Hmm, the density of Metallica shirts around the blue stage appears to be increasing at an alarming rate.
18:37. Highlight of the day so far without a doubt Iggy giving JBT the finger for running late.
18:41. Iggy Pop is friggin' insane!
18:50. Dancing with Iggy!
19:02. Dear Rolling Stones, Please note one I. Pop on stage. This is how you age whilst still rockin' the free world.
19:15. What is it people's inability to grasp the concept of personal space at gigs. Seriously.
19:24. I think Iggy's about to lose his pants.
19:30. Nothing better than closing a show with, as quoted from Iggy "a song about my dick". Indeed.
19:37. Giant arse German flag covering the whole stage? That can only mean one thing...
19:42. What I want to know is how the Rammstein dude got into the country with that bazooka he's got on his shoulder!
19:44. Is that Brian Molko on guitar?
19:54. Of course they're wearing masks and breathing fire over the crowd!
20:03. Naturally you'd have a portable mic with a knife on one end
20:10. Obvious question for the night: "Are you waiting for Tool?". Why no sir, I come to music festivals and purposely stand in front of the opposite stage to which the band is playing.
20:15. Okay I'm maybe 40m from the stage with Rammstein and I can feel the heat from those flames.
20:29. I wish to at this point offer a theory of correlation between the rise of the band Rammstein and the melting of the polar icecaps.
20:37. Now the Rammstein dude is riding a large pink cannon which is spraying white foam and feathers on the crowd. Those crazy Germans
Tool set list
Wish it all away
The Pot
Perth tool fans are idiots
46 & 2
Vicarious
Lazors!!
The Patient
Flood
Is it?
Is it really?
Could it be?
No, it's Schism. Still, cool song
Maynard's celebrating the last BDO by smoking a cigar. He said "On the box it said that by him smoking it would kill babies. Let me be the first to say you're welcome."
Lateralus...
Orion?
Oh man
Aenima
22:09 It was not lost on me that just as the line 'followed by billions of dumbfounded dipshits' some idiot barged through the crowd.
+ions briefly
Stinkfist
22:34. To the ladies in the coke van with a tips jar, here's a tip. Suggest to your bosses that they don't charge $3.50 for a can of drink and maybe you'll receive some monetary input in future.
22:35. Apparently MIA is now a 40 piece dance collective. Or there was some audience participation.
22:38. MIA's set almost came to an early end as she took six steps at once. Headline might read 'MIA goes MIA'
22:39. Note to self: after that joke, get out more.
22:41. The distinct lack of room with which to boil in significantly detracts from the ambience. Time to find me a train.
22:57. I truly love the close quartered human interaction of a post festival train ride home. Truly.
23:41. I'm not sure if the right hand side of my right foot should still be numb...
What a good day!
TweetReview – Sufjan Stevens @ The Regal Theatre – 03-02-2011
My gig preparation routine has changed in recent times, especially when it comes to artists touring on a new album. Previously, I would do my utmost to familiarise myself with their new album whilst refamiliarising myself with their back catalogue in some sort of vain attempt to preempt the show. I’d occasionally read reviews, check out set lists and know exactly what was, most likely, going to happen. This could often be thrown for a loop, though, as Perth is on the edge of the universe and is generally the first or last show of the tour. Artists letting their hair down or getting into the groove are the norm and it generally brings some experimentation.
Going into the Sufjan show I was fairly underprepared, which is more akin to how I’ve been approaching gigs in recent times. I’ve been enjoying being surprised by the new songs and instantly enamoured by my fresh immersion. Darren Hanlon’s last album was a classic example; I listened to it once, was not grabbed by it, but at the show found half a dozen songs that really drew me in and now I would rate it as his strongest. The underlying message here is that good songs will always grab you when they’re played right by great artists. It’s the ultimate litmus test.
This tour though was clouded in its preparation somewhat by multiple collaborating, near religious, experiences by dear friends in different cities. I really had to bite my tongue to not be swept up in their sincere enthusiasm, but still couldn’t refrain from diving head first into stories of ‘life changing/affirming’ moments and ‘joyous, rapturous outpourings of joyous joy’ at these shows, by this man, Sufjan. I refrained from reading some blogs that I’d normally turn to in an effort to not build my own expectations and I only half heartedly distracted my current gorging on Pavement and the Dismemberment Plan back catalogues to even pay the 'Age of Adz' a moment of attention.
But all of my worries were for naught and it would not have mattered how high I had built my expectations. They were going to be exceeded, anyway.
With the stage of the Regal Theatre packed full of instruments and other equipment, a lone figure strolled pensively out to the off kilter stage right microphone with what appeared to be the world’s smallest guitar. Perth’s own Sean Pollard (Split Seconds, formerly New Rules For Boats) was charged with being our troubadour for tonight’s opening. And he was excellent.
Playing a mix of eclectic covers (ranging from Joanna Newsom to Dan Kelly) as well as original numbers from himself and the band, Pollard’s voice is instantly likeable and his guitar picking proficient. The addition of a loop pedal to add his own percussion and a novel approach of singing into the guitar pickup guaranteed both an interesting and captivating set. Charming and confident, the appreciative crowd dished out ample applause.
Whilst perhaps now a 'veteran' of the Perth scene, Pollard and indeed his band are one to watch develop in the coming years. Case in point, Split Seconds were added to the Big Day Out line up for Perth as part of triple j’s Unearthed competition and are also appearing at the St. Jerome's Laneway. Good songs and great playing will always find you a place in this crazy mixed up world of music.
And then, it was time, for Sufjan. And the audience took a collective breath in.
Arriving on stage in suit of neon, black lit, hyper colour strips, Stevens arrived into the light with a banjo in hand and subdued lighting on the rest of the band. He gently plucked his way into 'Seven Swans', the title track of his 2004 album. And at first, it seemed as though this was still the Sufjan that most knew, the gorgeous but subdued melodies, but I theorise that this was in fact Sufjan's funeral dirge for that part of his life. The telling sign arrived in the first break between verses, where the full band erupted with horns, dual drummers and red pulsing lights from side of stage. This is a departure from the album version where a small amount of drumming and piano is heard. Simultaneously they were both celebrating what was and heralding in the new life; the Age of Adz.
Not for a second do I think any of this coincidental. The man on stage this night exuded a confidence and a clarity I've rarely if ever seen in my life. Reading interviews with him, listening to him describe his songs, he is singular about his vision and direction. He is unapologetic about the dynamic shift because this is what he wants to be doing. Nay, this is what he must do. And this resolve underpinned everything about the evening.
In the break between tracks after 'Seven Swans', Stevens introduced himself and his band and noted that he was there for our entertainment. In adding to that, though, he noted that in the nature of reciprocity, we were there for his. And it showed, too, in the way he respectfully received our applause, thanked us for our presence and unreservedly let us into a portion of his world.
And his world is a transient place at this time. There was almost an air of whimsy in the manner in which he informed us that they would be playing many songs about the end of the world. It's as though in some ways he has made his peace with that; that he understands his path and direction clearly. And with that, the band launched into one of the most apocalyptic sounding song openers in the form of the 'Age of Adz'.
Large horns, thunderous drums and angelic backing vocals give rise to visions of large interventionist hands descending from the parting clouds to retake a land gone wrong. This song sticks with you for days. Its build up and in particular the roaring crescendo of the line 'this is, the age of adz, eternal living!' feels both terrifying and exhilarating at once. It's a potent, heady sensation which draws you into the show like few others.
Sufjan speaks to the audience between each song, narrating the show to some extent. At the end of Age of Adz he succinctly explains that it is his 'love song for the apocalypse' and leads into the next track as 'his love song about love'.
'Too Much' is a beautiful, melodic and disjointed song that yet manages to provide a sense of motion and movement. At this point I'm still feverishly looking at all aspects of the stage, trying to take in the visuals that flutter away on the back of stage or of those of the writhing dances behind Sufjan. For the first time the screen at the front of stage is lowered and two projections compete for the audiences' attention as their ears are filled with sonic cotton wool. It's an intensity rarely seen in this modern age of music. It's welcome, refreshing even invigorating.
Next, Soof brings us 'Heirloom' from the 'EP' (loosely titled) released last year, 'All Delighted People'. It's a soft, beautiful track that harks of the 'older' Sufjan. It is the yin to Age of Adz's yang. Whether it's Sufjan's attempt to gradually ease people across to his new way of thinking or it's simply the result of parallel lines of thinking, only he knows. What's important though is it is still vital, relevant music.
Dubbed an "intergalactic dance party anthem" 'I Walked' is our first introduction to a dancing Sufjan Stevens. Oddly, some people in the crowd laughed, though I fear they're the same people my rant* later in this piece is directed to. Again, his confidence comes through, he moves in a geometric manner with the music, further expressing his place at this point in time.
After 'Your Enchanting Ghost', Stevens spoke briefly of Perth, and how he was enjoying his time here. How the city is one of beaches, coffee, ghosts and sharks. He spoke about how being here is like the sensation of feeling as though you're a long way from everywhere and on the edge of the 'other world'. How everything in the 'other world' is within your grasp. Something, I'm certain all Perthians can relate to. Sufjan qualified this statement by stating that he may have spent too much time at the beach that day and that he possibly had sunstroke.
As part of his work on the BQE, Stevens penned a comic book which featured characters from the planet 'Subi'. The fact that this night he was playing in a theatre in the suburb of Subiaco (aka Subi) was not lost on him. He theorised that when he was on his way to Australia he realised that anything you can possibly make up, already exists somewhere in Australia. And is possibly even weirder than you could imagine. There is certinaly an element of truth to that.
In subsequent song breaks, Stevens went into a little more detail about his inspiration and the ways in which he crafted his songs. The mechanism he spoke of, I'm sure has been written about hundreds of times. For me though, it was the way in which he was able to articulate it that mattered. Often artists speaking about their music struggle to really dig to the depths of where their creations come from. But not Stevens. He has pondered, he has crafted and he is made of that which he creates. It's beautiful and exquisite to watch and bear witness to.
There is little that can be written to describe the sheer scale of a song like 'Impossible Soul'. It's daunting enough of a task to simply listen to its 26 minutes without the prospect of having a visualisation laid out before you to also try and take in. In some ways, having witnessed this first hand, I'm not sure that the human body is yet of sufficient capacity to do the song justice. Whilst we are stuck in the moment of hearing and seeing and feeling, there is still so much that we will miss. Whilst that in itself is somewhat of a burden, these thoughts are lost in the moment of total, rapturous, all consuming joy which radiates through, in and back out of you.
A song of multiple parts, each serves to lift you up, break you down, spread you out evenly and rebuild you whole again. And then it asks you to dance, because surely, we can be so much better! There is so much to describe; the prop changes, the silhouettes, the vocader and the autotune, the balloons...
Simply, it cannot be done justice in words. And I think that's okay, because there are some things in this life which you cannot simply tell someone about. You can only show them, or experience with them, or have them experience. And that's in part what makes life precious.
Overcome with joy and exhausted, the applause erupted from the crowd and the band stood, silently, occasionally bowing, applauding themselves, acknowledging the crowd. The band left, and for the second time this year (the first being Built to Spill) I witnessed a crowd genuinely excited at the prospect of an encore. The exception was the guy in front of me who left at that point. Some people I will never understand.
After what seemed like a very long time and with very sore hands, a lone Sufjan returned to stage and the audience sat as he sat behind a piano. He began to play and instantly recognisable tune.
He started by belting out, and I do mean belting, in some sense of frenetic, almost emotionally distraught manner, a version of the opener to 2005's 'Come On Feel The Illinoise!'. Each chord was rushed, frantic, but then an opposing forced yanked the pace back. His voice was cagey, steeled, seemingly emotional. He finished and his face collapsed into his hands, and for a second I thought he wept, but maybe it was just sweat. It was moving, devastatingly so as though to revist those songs was to bravely swallow poison for the sake of saving those around you.
Moving from the piano he picked up a guitar and started playing 'To Be Alone With You' from 'Seven Swans'. This song is fragile, white satin and pure thoughts and this nights' was no exception. Even missing the occasional chord with a grin on his face, the song packed as much atmosphere as every synth augmented track in the first set. The crowd were silent.
Finally, the band returned to the stage and for those of us in the know, we bit out lips in anticipation. And then arrived the opening melody to one of the most joyous songs ever crafted, Chicago. This time the crowd rose without encouragement (save a few) and people streamed down the aisles to be nearer to the stage. It was blissful, the aural equivalent of the sun breaking through after the longest, darkest of nights.
We roared again, whistled, cheered and clapped until we were red roar and spent. He thanked us, leaving stage to no doubt catch the next star beam back to wherever the man comes from. For surely he is not of this earth and if he is, then surely we are not worthy of him.
There will likely never be another concert like this night and Sufjan Stevens will likewise move on to the next thing that is in his path before he returns. I'm glad to have been able to witness this moment in time. I know my life is richer for having done so.
Setlist:
Seven Swans
Age of Adz
Too Much
Heirloom
I Walked
Enchanting Ghost
Vesuvius
Now That I'm Older
Get Real Get Right
Futile Devices
Impossible Soul
~
Concerning The UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois
To Be Alone With You
Chicago
*Finally, to those who refused to stand, dance and clap and even looked in disdain when all those around you were experiencing great joy, you have no soul. I don't even pity you, for clearly you are already dead. I would only request that you stay at home in future and live out your joyless lives away from those who clearly still have something to give.
TweetReview – Tim Rogers @ Norfolk Hotel Basement – 28-01-2011
Sometimes, as an audience member, you go to gigs with a certain mind set. One time it might be that you hope they'll play your favourite songs. Another it might be that you hope the crowd aren't drunken ignoramuses and came to appreciate the band. Other times still you are just hoping that the band can hold it together, and perform like you know they can. Often with a Tim Rogers solo gig, it can be a combination of those things, though usually it's whether the crowd will be appreciative of the performance or if they are there for their own self indulgence.
That self indulgence is to be avoided at all costs. It takes the form of drunken, bogan punters seeking to match wits with Rogers or chanting for innumerable You Am I songs. The former will always be bested by the man on the stage, his ears razor sharp, scanning the room for comment. The latter will almost always be disappointed; Tim doesn't take requests, he makes statements.
It's the boldness of the rock frontman that is appealing; it's ultimately what we seek in our rock stars. We want them to be a little brash, a little over the top, a little egotistical. And we love to be able to jeer them a little too. Rogers exudes all of that; he arrives on stage, removes his jacket to reveal his lithe, tattooed body draped with but a singlet. He approaches the microphone and in a put on accent remarks that 'a boy has to get dressed for work'. And he's on, and the crowd is expectant and they begin to ponder just what tonight will bring.
It was a warm, thick aired evening, unusual for Perth (or indeed Fremantle). I'd finally made it, after more than five years, to my first gig at the Norfolk Hotel's Basement. In a basement venue that was air-conditioned this started out well, but translated eventually to a cloying, thick atmosphere. This mattered not, for what was about to be performed on stage would delight, captivate and bring joyous longing.
I should offer a disclaimer here. I make no bones about that fact that I think Rogers is one of the country's finest songwriters and is completely under-appreciated for his impact on the music landscape at large. He's also very much one artist writing songs about the Australian way of life and the cities and country towns. Each of his characters are humble, often failed or failing, and yet compelling and endearing. It is no doubt this relateability which makes them so endearing. For they are people we've known, or know. They're living our lives.
But having said that, I've seen Tim Rogers a few times in many different venues now, both solo and with his band You Am I. And I've seen shows where he and they, have been amazing, and others where it just hasn't worked for me. In the case of the solo shows, though, it was the crowd that seemed to be the main cause of issue. Their inattention and generally demanding ways, shouting repeatedly for "Berlin Chair" as an example, often riled Rogers to the point of disgust which naturally could only serve to in some way impair his performance. Thankfully he seems more at peace with his lot these days and the shows just seem to get better and better (a feat in itself).
Thankfully on this night my fears of the crowd were, for the most part, to be for naught and the performance itself brilliant. It started with a hiccup, though.
Playing a single electric guitar, Tim opened with "What I Don't Know 'Bout You" from 1998's "#4 Record" by You Am I. Not one line in, a rather drunk Kiwi (who I'd been 'lucky' enough to make the acquaintance of earlier in the evening) began talking very loudly to another punter. Tim turned to face him mid verse and stopped; my heart sank. He uttered "Oh, we're off to a good start" as though in some way he too takes to the stage with trepidation of the reception. It looked as though this could very easily set the mood for the rest of the night. Thankfully the collective will of the majority of the staring crowd seemed to be enough for this guy to be quiet. At least momentarily.
Continuing through this opening track, Rogers reached the all important solo where he promptly encouraged the crowd to 'whistle this one' whilst informing them that he 'never learnt how to play' guitar. The crowd naturally obliged with some amazingly off key collective whistling and in many ways this participation became a theme throughout the evening. Rogers' humour was on full show and he used it very much to his advantage throughout his set.
For the solo in 1996's "Hourly Daily", Rogers requested of the crowd to perform 'spoken word poetry or haiku' much to their collective delight. Thinking swiftly on my feet, I tested a haiku in mind and then yelled it out. I happened to be close to the front so within ear shot of the stage and it went something like this:
Tim Rogers at the
Norfolk Basement Hotel; Tim
Thanks for coming here.
Admittedly it's one of the more simplistic haiku I've ever crafted, but it garnered a wink from Tim and a comment 'That's a haiku' and that was enough for me.
By this stage it was becoming pretty obvious that this was going to be a special show. Three songs in and three You Am I songs. Normally Rogers seems to dissociate the two; he plays his solo material at solo shows and the band's with the band. The exception might be "Arse Kicking Lady From The Northwest". But there was something precious about the man flying solo, reinterpreting the songs that he's created with his band over the years.
Of course at this point he next chose a song from his first solo album, 1999's "What Rhymes With Cars and Girls". The gorgeous "You've Been So Good To Me So Far" was reinterpreted in what I can only describe as a Nebraska era Springsteen, with a downtrodden melody and a few 'whoops' for good measure. And in this song we were treated to the beauty of Roger's wit and intelligence. Being a Perth boy, he often substitutes local words to enhance the experience. So where normally he would sing "I was doin' all the things which I used to hate the worst, I was listenin' to Joni Mitchell and I was tucking in my shirt" he would instead sing "...I was listenin' to Bob Evans and I was tucking in my shirt". References to places that are normally Sydney-centric become the bus to Scarborough Beach, or the basement at 78s Records.
It's the little things, truly.
In a break between songs, Rogers regaled us (graphically) with the story of how her first saw the drummer from You Am I, Rusty Hopkins. He said, in seeing Rusty drum in a band in Freo, he turned to his friend and said "I think I want to sleep with a man", reminding us that he was a rampant and belligerent heterosexual.. But for Tim, instead of the usual sense, he wanted Rusty to "ejaculate directly into him brain". Graphic, but effective imagery. If there's one thing to be said with Tim Rogers, you know exactly where you stand with the man.
Case in point; our Kiwi friend. Still not content with quietly watching the show, at one point he could be overheard (quite softly) saying "he looks like Keith Richards" and without skipping a beat, Rogers sang the next line of the song as "I do not look like Keith Richards" following it up at the end of the song with "Could Keith Richards stick it through the goal posts from 40m out with both legs"? Not only had he won over the crowd, but he'd made a life long Kiwi fan.
Each song on the set list had it's own poignant story and I'm sure with this review already blowing out it's probably best not to regale my humble (still reading?) readers with those details. Suffice to say that at a Tim Rogers gig, it's as much about the reason as it is the music. And that adds dimensions.
A surprise finale to the main set had Rogers joined on stage by, introduced only as Megan, Washington. They performed, inclusive of choreographed hand clapping, a cover of "That Thing You Do" the single from the movie of the same name. It was twee, for sure, but sincere and well belted out.
After a short sojourn off stage to no doubt get some fresh air, Rogers returned for two more tracks. He describe "Keep It Rollin'" as a song about his band which he prefaced with a story that no one writes songs about their band, except the Eagles. He stated that he then developed a coke habit and realised that he loved the Eagles. So he wrote a song about You Am I. And it was great.
Before closing out with the gorgeous "Please Don't Ask Me To Smile", Rogers thanked the crowd with a true sense of humility and sincerity. He praised them for taking the time to 'experience art' and 'take in something true'. Truly the crowd were thankful for what had been given, though it may be that Tim Rogers was just as thankful for how it had been received.
Bursting forth into the night air, the crowd was a buzz with stories of the set, how it had been so heavy in You Am I tracks and how wonderfully charismatic and 'on' the man with the sideburns had been. He is a true, wonderful talent whose songs are sketches of this great land we call home. I urge you to see him any chance and in any form you can. You will not be disappointed.
Set list - A couple of songs I had to guess as I couldn't reconcile them back once I got home. Any pointers appreciated.
What I Don't Know 'Bout You
Weeds
Someone Else's Home
If We Can't Get It Together
You've Been So Good To Me So Far
?Cleveland, Ohio?
Hourly, Daily
Dinosaurs (With thanks to jimmy)
The Beast in Me - Nick Lowe cover via Johnny Cash
Heavy Heart
That Thing You Do (duet with Megan Washington)
~
Keep it Rollin'
Please Don't Ask Me To Smile
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