Cover Photo: Tao Jones
Gig Reviews
[Originally published in BMA Magazine, May 2013]
Groovin' The Moo Festival
April 28, 2013 @ University of Canberra
Let me clarify one thing straight up: I’m not a festival kid. I don’t know the words to most of triple j’s major airplays; shutter shades accentuate my microencephalic head shape; and being hoisted on a dude’s shoulders to dance makes me uncomfortable. My experience at Groovin’ the Moo, however, proved that by unashamedly embracing all of the above (except the shutter shades, obviously, which look crap on everyone, always) even the most sceptical amongst us can have a ridonkulously good time.
Entering the meadows, we beelined to Elisha Bones. Having witnessed frontman Michael’s unfailing ability to transform humble local performance spaces into ephemeral stadiums with his commanding onstage presence, I’d always wondered if this effect would persist within a festival setting. Far from being muted by their surroundings, however, Bones and his bandmates seemed to use its power and grandeur to fuel their most impressive performance yet.
I can’t say whether it was simply because I was turned off by the overly-excitable tween crowd that had accumulated by the time Last Dinosaurs appeared, but the band just didn’t push any of my buttons. My friend summed it up best: ‘I’m sure they’re really good at whatever it is they do.’
We headed to the Moolin Rouge stage, curious to see how DZ Deathrays’ elusive description of ‘thrash pop’ materialised in their set. Unfortunately, all we found there was a small crowd of metal-covered teenagers dancing maniacally to filler music during a half-hour delay. Hightailing it back to the Channel V stage, we just caught the end of Matt and Kim’s animated performance, leaving me with a massive girl-crush on the stage-romping drumming queen, Kim Schifino.
Seth Sentry’s set was one I’d most keenly anticipated, and my high expectations were surmounted. Beginning with the upbeat Float Away, the sea of smiling faces sang along to every song word-perfect, spurred on by the notoriously mischievous Seth who thrilled the crowd with his onstage antics, including spraying fans with a super-soaker and whipping out a ‘hoverboard’ during Dear Science.
Thoroughly enjoying Alpine and people-watching from the hilltop pen we didn’t venture back down to the stage until frantic drums and hysterical screaming heralded Regurgitator’s arrival. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling a tinge disappointed by their set, which was dominated by their fast-paced, often jarring instrumental sound, rather than their kitschy electro-pop to which I’d grown attached during the Unit era. Nostalgia aside, Regurgitator delivered a tight, impressively energetic set; a swift ‘Fuck you’ to all who’ve doubted the band’s durability.
As the last glimmer of sun faded below the hills, night brought with it a magical kind of energy; an almost tangible exhilaration that seemed to concentrate itself amidst the buoyant crowd that had gathered in anticipation of Tame Impala. Greeted with ear-shattering applause, they played a flawless set to an impenetrable mass of fans, the sheer number and force of which eventually became too claustrophobic for my group, who budded off from the crowd to cartwheel on the lush lawns.
With grass in our hair and grins on our faces, we followed the sound of Alison Wonderland’s booming trap to secure a viable position before Flume’s set. Impossible. We arrived just as a rhythmic, hypnotic chant had broken out amongst the densely packed crowd; not the grateful cheer you’d expect in the given company, but a tactless, greedy call for the young Aussie producer who was not due to appear for at least another ten minutes. Holding her own despite the premature and unwarranted outcry, Alison was soon replaced by Flume, who was met by a rabid crowd.
I like Flume. But I think his set was average at best and nowhere near as mind-blowing as most local EDM sets I’ve seen. And yet, the audience went spastic. Shoulder-riding for a better view became futile as a whole second level of writhing bodies soon formed atop others.
My friends and I opted to keep the memories shiny and call it a night.
It was unanimously agreed that, while the whole festival experience was vastly more enjoyable once we lost ourselves amongst it, the Kanye shades would be snapped, recycled and never spoken of again.
[Originally published in BMA Magazine, October 2012]
Sidney Creswick, Lavers, The Folks
October 12, 2012 @ The Polish Club
When you next find yourself tossing up between heading to a gig or staying in and catching up on uni or sleep, remember: In ten years’ time, you won’t be fondly recalling that night you researched your biology assignment or surrendered to your bed sheets (possibly excepting the Egyptian cotton billion-thread kind – that sheet cray). Friday night at The Polish Club, on the other hand, offers a limitless source of warm, fuzzy (in more ways than one) experiences that are guaranteed to stay with you long after the stale Polish beer fumes have left your favourite sweater. Such was my reasoning when I cast aside my responsibilities in favour of what proved to be a more-than-worthy occasion.
Greeted by soft, dulcet vocals floating into the entrance room, I couldn’t help but picture the doll-faced, waif-like body from which they emanated. Following their beckon into the main hall revealed the angelic, elfin-like source, almost eerily befitting of my mental depiction. In a manner consistent with their name, The Folks meandered through a number of covers at their own chilled pace, with an added indie edge. This being their premiere performance, the nerves of the youthful trio were apparent only during between-set dialogue, delivering an altogether faultless set with humble poise.
After months of feeling increasingly bombarded by gushing appraisals of the next band, I was keen to finally hear what all the hype was about. I couldn’t help but anticipate Lavers with the same sceptical intrigue I felt after finally conceding to read the frenetically glorified Harry Potter books. As it turns out, both occasions resulted in my hangdog adoration. Every one of the bizarrely mic-mac crowd seemed equally consumed by the infectiously upbeat, toe-tapping rhythms, which skilfully walked the indie-folk/country tightrope, gingerly dodging hillbilly territory. Even the cool kids who staunchly maintained their composure through the first song or two eventually caved to the rhythmic ‘box drumming’ of the recently acquired third band member, which added an organic, tribal element and even induced a wave of that so-corny-it’s-fun audience clap-along. And FYI: it’s not actually a wooden box – it’s a Cajon. Duh...
Each time I attend a Sydney Creswick gig, I find myself asking the same questions: How can one group be so bursting with talent? How long will it be before the rest of the world discovers them? How does Tom get his beard so lush? Tonight these thoughts buzzed particularly vigorously in this fangirl’s giddied head, as the audience were swathed in a skin-tingling catharsis for the ears and soul. All seven musicians offered a uniquely aesthetic stand-alone sound – from Callum’s lullaby keyboard notes, to Arlene’s incendiary double-bass thrashing – yet each eclectic instrument effortlessly intermingled to create a seamless symphony of hi-tempo jazz and soaring melodies. Vocalist Liam’s unwaveringly strong, soothing voice delivered each story-like lyric with the perfect balance of delicacy and passion. Ever deserving of adulation is trumpeter Tom who (aside from sporting a truly glorious chin-fro) never fails to induce an enchanting sensory experience with his visually evocative, hypnotic notes. Combined with Florence-esque rolling drumbeats and deep basslines, the result is a musical dreamscape as diverse and magical as the mini-worlds of Enid Blyton’s Faraway Tree. Such a sound can only fully be absorbed live – though that’s not to dissuade you from pouncing on their free online EP before they inevitably get snapped up by industry bigwigs and slap on a well-justified price-tag.
Adjourning home, sleep-deprived, to an unfinished assignment, I couldn’t help but feel more mental and physical contentment after a truly memorable night than any amount of As or Zs could have provided.
Groovin' The Moo Festival
April 28, 2013 @ University of Canberra
Let me clarify one thing straight up: I’m not a festival kid. I don’t know the words to most of triple j’s major airplays; shutter shades accentuate my microencephalic head shape; and being hoisted on a dude’s shoulders to dance makes me uncomfortable. My experience at Groovin’ the Moo, however, proved that by unashamedly embracing all of the above (except the shutter shades, obviously, which look crap on everyone, always) even the most sceptical amongst us can have a ridonkulously good time.
Entering the meadows, we beelined to Elisha Bones. Having witnessed frontman Michael’s unfailing ability to transform humble local performance spaces into ephemeral stadiums with his commanding onstage presence, I’d always wondered if this effect would persist within a festival setting. Far from being muted by their surroundings, however, Bones and his bandmates seemed to use its power and grandeur to fuel their most impressive performance yet.
I can’t say whether it was simply because I was turned off by the overly-excitable tween crowd that had accumulated by the time Last Dinosaurs appeared, but the band just didn’t push any of my buttons. My friend summed it up best: ‘I’m sure they’re really good at whatever it is they do.’
We headed to the Moolin Rouge stage, curious to see how DZ Deathrays’ elusive description of ‘thrash pop’ materialised in their set. Unfortunately, all we found there was a small crowd of metal-covered teenagers dancing maniacally to filler music during a half-hour delay. Hightailing it back to the Channel V stage, we just caught the end of Matt and Kim’s animated performance, leaving me with a massive girl-crush on the stage-romping drumming queen, Kim Schifino.
Seth Sentry’s set was one I’d most keenly anticipated, and my high expectations were surmounted. Beginning with the upbeat Float Away, the sea of smiling faces sang along to every song word-perfect, spurred on by the notoriously mischievous Seth who thrilled the crowd with his onstage antics, including spraying fans with a super-soaker and whipping out a ‘hoverboard’ during Dear Science.
Thoroughly enjoying Alpine and people-watching from the hilltop pen we didn’t venture back down to the stage until frantic drums and hysterical screaming heralded Regurgitator’s arrival. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling a tinge disappointed by their set, which was dominated by their fast-paced, often jarring instrumental sound, rather than their kitschy electro-pop to which I’d grown attached during the Unit era. Nostalgia aside, Regurgitator delivered a tight, impressively energetic set; a swift ‘Fuck you’ to all who’ve doubted the band’s durability.
As the last glimmer of sun faded below the hills, night brought with it a magical kind of energy; an almost tangible exhilaration that seemed to concentrate itself amidst the buoyant crowd that had gathered in anticipation of Tame Impala. Greeted with ear-shattering applause, they played a flawless set to an impenetrable mass of fans, the sheer number and force of which eventually became too claustrophobic for my group, who budded off from the crowd to cartwheel on the lush lawns.
With grass in our hair and grins on our faces, we followed the sound of Alison Wonderland’s booming trap to secure a viable position before Flume’s set. Impossible. We arrived just as a rhythmic, hypnotic chant had broken out amongst the densely packed crowd; not the grateful cheer you’d expect in the given company, but a tactless, greedy call for the young Aussie producer who was not due to appear for at least another ten minutes. Holding her own despite the premature and unwarranted outcry, Alison was soon replaced by Flume, who was met by a rabid crowd.
I like Flume. But I think his set was average at best and nowhere near as mind-blowing as most local EDM sets I’ve seen. And yet, the audience went spastic. Shoulder-riding for a better view became futile as a whole second level of writhing bodies soon formed atop others.
My friends and I opted to keep the memories shiny and call it a night.
It was unanimously agreed that, while the whole festival experience was vastly more enjoyable once we lost ourselves amongst it, the Kanye shades would be snapped, recycled and never spoken of again.
[Originally published in BMA Magazine, October 2012]
Sidney Creswick, Lavers, The Folks
October 12, 2012 @ The Polish Club
When you next find yourself tossing up between heading to a gig or staying in and catching up on uni or sleep, remember: In ten years’ time, you won’t be fondly recalling that night you researched your biology assignment or surrendered to your bed sheets (possibly excepting the Egyptian cotton billion-thread kind – that sheet cray). Friday night at The Polish Club, on the other hand, offers a limitless source of warm, fuzzy (in more ways than one) experiences that are guaranteed to stay with you long after the stale Polish beer fumes have left your favourite sweater. Such was my reasoning when I cast aside my responsibilities in favour of what proved to be a more-than-worthy occasion.
Greeted by soft, dulcet vocals floating into the entrance room, I couldn’t help but picture the doll-faced, waif-like body from which they emanated. Following their beckon into the main hall revealed the angelic, elfin-like source, almost eerily befitting of my mental depiction. In a manner consistent with their name, The Folks meandered through a number of covers at their own chilled pace, with an added indie edge. This being their premiere performance, the nerves of the youthful trio were apparent only during between-set dialogue, delivering an altogether faultless set with humble poise.
After months of feeling increasingly bombarded by gushing appraisals of the next band, I was keen to finally hear what all the hype was about. I couldn’t help but anticipate Lavers with the same sceptical intrigue I felt after finally conceding to read the frenetically glorified Harry Potter books. As it turns out, both occasions resulted in my hangdog adoration. Every one of the bizarrely mic-mac crowd seemed equally consumed by the infectiously upbeat, toe-tapping rhythms, which skilfully walked the indie-folk/country tightrope, gingerly dodging hillbilly territory. Even the cool kids who staunchly maintained their composure through the first song or two eventually caved to the rhythmic ‘box drumming’ of the recently acquired third band member, which added an organic, tribal element and even induced a wave of that so-corny-it’s-fun audience clap-along. And FYI: it’s not actually a wooden box – it’s a Cajon. Duh...
Each time I attend a Sydney Creswick gig, I find myself asking the same questions: How can one group be so bursting with talent? How long will it be before the rest of the world discovers them? How does Tom get his beard so lush? Tonight these thoughts buzzed particularly vigorously in this fangirl’s giddied head, as the audience were swathed in a skin-tingling catharsis for the ears and soul. All seven musicians offered a uniquely aesthetic stand-alone sound – from Callum’s lullaby keyboard notes, to Arlene’s incendiary double-bass thrashing – yet each eclectic instrument effortlessly intermingled to create a seamless symphony of hi-tempo jazz and soaring melodies. Vocalist Liam’s unwaveringly strong, soothing voice delivered each story-like lyric with the perfect balance of delicacy and passion. Ever deserving of adulation is trumpeter Tom who (aside from sporting a truly glorious chin-fro) never fails to induce an enchanting sensory experience with his visually evocative, hypnotic notes. Combined with Florence-esque rolling drumbeats and deep basslines, the result is a musical dreamscape as diverse and magical as the mini-worlds of Enid Blyton’s Faraway Tree. Such a sound can only fully be absorbed live – though that’s not to dissuade you from pouncing on their free online EP before they inevitably get snapped up by industry bigwigs and slap on a well-justified price-tag.
Adjourning home, sleep-deprived, to an unfinished assignment, I couldn’t help but feel more mental and physical contentment after a truly memorable night than any amount of As or Zs could have provided.
[Originally published in BMA Magazine, July 2012]
BMA Magazine pres. The Bootleg Sessions
June 11, 2012 @ Phoenix Bar
It feels like only yesterday that the unanimously revered poetry-slamming Bootlegs MC and all-round creative genius Adam Hadley tipped his illustrious hat to the citizens of Canberra in favour of the sunnier (if curiously unbefitting) city of Brisbane. Yet it was almost a month later that I found myself reacquainted with that all-too-familiar emotional bipolarity evoked by the flight of another talented Canberran. Friends, musicians, and even the ordinarily indifferent barfly mélange gathered within the warm and homely surrounds of The Phoenix den to simultaneously mourn, sing, drink and dance their farewells to our enviably sagacious yet profoundly affable and widely adored former BMA editor: Ms Julia Winterflood.
It must be wonderfully gratifying to have some of Canberra’s most talented and esteemed young musicians feel as chuffed to perform in your honour as you are to enjoy them. As local luminary James Fahy strummed the opening chord of the night, I made a mental note to befriend every busker/music school student/person carrying an instrument whom I encountered. James’ performance was as electric as the hue of Joe Oppenheimer’s fetching cerulean coat that night, and perhaps even more warming. James is one of few artists whose technical skill and performance style seems to evolve exponentially from one show to the next. Each lyric, whether belted out with soulful passion or woefully crooned, was driven by an unconstrained honesty and raw emotion that seemed to flow through every vein, fuelling an emotive performance as absorbing to watch as it was to listen. I’ve always felt slightly cheated that I didn’t make it into the Gen-X cohort, purely for having missed out on witnessing rock history’s finest. Each time I experience local musicians like James, I feel a little less bitter about it.
Raising the mood level to an altogether otherworldly plain was the cobalt-clad chorister himself. Anyone who has experienced the magic of Joe Oppenheimer’s characteristically uplifting performances will testify that it is actually physically impossible to harbour even a vestige of negativity the instant he illuminates the ‘stage’. (I use that term very broadly – hand the man a guitar in the middle of the street and you’ll soon be wishing you’d brought along a tambourine to accompany his melodious impromptu.) As per custom, the entire concept of the stage/audience barrier was repudiated by light-hearted conversational interplay between audience and musician – words from which were frequently converted into spontaneous minute-long reprises by the master of musical improvisation. Also included was the ever-amusing sing-along experiment, which never fails to unite the crowd through both dubious pitch-matching and fond memories of our Peter Combe days. Also showcased was more unfamiliar material from Joe: a touchingly ironic collection of essentially mournful laments veiled by the paradoxically cheery tenor for which he is renowned.
I’ve found that my favourite Bootlegs have come to feature the same bunch of musos, not just for their performances as individuals or set bands, but because of the exchange of roles between them. Not only does it keep their sets fresh, it’s also a beautiful thing to watch: the friendship shared between James, Joe and the whole Fun Machine crew is saliently reflected through their grinning faces and on-stage energy, which radiates onto the ever-appreciative audience. Tonight we were treated to a particularly special Yes/No set in which, along with the usual crowd-pleasers, featured selected tracks from their latest album. Unfortunately, the star vocalist of my favourite track, tactfully titled The Lady Who Interrupted Us And Didn’t See The Microphone, was unable to make it to perform on the night.
And so it was that another Bootlegs Session aptly played host to an Irish-style farewell: it was not a night to mourn, but to celebrate good times had with an irreplaceable Canberra gem: We’ll miss you, Julz.
[Originally published in BMA Magazine, May 2012]
Effigy Entertainment pres. Synthesis
April 28, 2012 @ Transit Bar
Upon hearing that Effigy were presenting an evening of poetry slam followed by music spanning acoustic to acid-electronic my reaction was as sundry as the line-up. What was the motive behind this anomalous collection of acts? As I was soon to discover this was a night which showcased the impressive diversity of local creative talent like no other I’ve witnessed.
I’m ashamed to admit that before that night I’d never attended a poetry slam. I can’t think of a better way to be introduced to this potent hybrid art-form of lyrical expression and emotive performance. My lack of prior exposure might have hindered my acuity but all seven artists enlightened me to the undefinable uniqueness that is the essence and beauty of performance poetry.
The silence within the appropriately dim-lit bar was shattered as Jason Andrews spat the words of American artist Saul Williams to a captivated crowd. His energy-filled hip hop style was driven by such a fiery, candid passion that I found myself continuously resisting the urge to cry out in solidarity.
The atmosphere was dramatically altered as Brian O’Biri Asare recited his original material, of which both the story-like content and style were efficaciously visual and deeply moving. His subtle body language and verbal nuances were all that were necessary to maximise the impact of his poetry, which at some points was literally spine-tingling. VJ Caitlin Welch’s original short films were effective here, providing a visual representation of themes exploring human vulnerability and the delicacy of life.
First-time slammer Ellie Malbon’s emotionally charged theatrical enactment flowed as organically as her euphonious words, instantly charming us all. Seasoned poet Andrew Galan delivered a set of priceless crowd-pleasers riddled with satire heightened by his deadpan expression. Anna Potter led the crowd into the musical realm with sweet, soulful melodies carried on heavenly guitar chords. Her lyrics echoed the passion and poetry of the performers preceding and were sung with an angelic yet undeniably strong voice consistently belying her youth.
A smooth transition from acoustic to electronic came in the form of Gabriel Gilmour and the Gojiberry Jam, where bouncy basslines and dubby beats were accompanied by blissful electronic guitar and soaring violin. Anyone who was lucky enough to catch these guys warming up for Opiuo will agree they are among the most talented and conceptually interesting groups to enjoy.
What we were treated to next transcends the available diction required to accurately and justly describe it in terms of musical style, quality and entertainment value. Listening to Electrocado was like giving my brain a therapeutic massage and my whole body an ephemeral vacation to a sensory paradise. An extensive range of genres were seamlessly interwoven into a colourful, sonic tapestry, which amply satiated musical appetites of every variety. A flawless balance of psy, electro, glitch and prog was speckled with video game bleeps and cosmic sound bites to create a perfect high-energy fusion. The room became a blur of arms and feet and one continuous grin seemed to stretch across the face of the dancing mass.
If there’s one prevailing feeling I left with that evening (besides the ache of my severely abused feet), it was an overwhelming sense of pride and affection for every one of the performing individuals and the local creative community they represented. And also a resolution to never, ever again question a line-up organised by Canberra’s finest entertainment pioneers. Great work as usual, guys.
[Originally published in BMA Magazine, May 2012]
Machinedrum / Jacques Greene
April 6, 2012 @ Trinity Bar
I wonder if there’s an equivalent to writer’s block in which the creative process is hampered not by lack of inspiration but a total stimulatory overload. Such is my dilemma when trying to recount the night of Friday April 6.
My night kicked off with Melbourne-based ABLE8, whose set hinted at the musical wonderland ahead. An extensive array was seamlessly interwoven, from alternative hip hop and smooth soul to self-labelled ‘Nintendo/Sega-hop’. (For all you ‘80s kids, imagine playing Mickey’s Castle of Illusion on the Megadrive while listening to Samiyam.) By the end of his set the crowd was primed.
Whether performing to 100 frenzied youths in a house party or a more intimate group of chilled two-steppers, Rachel Haircut (formerly known as Paqman) never seem to have any trouble grabbing a crowd’s attention. The dance floor seemed to undergo a kind of metamorphosis, hypnotised by liquid keyboard and vintage synth. All eyes were closed in ecstatic appreciation or fixated intently upon the duo. Their synergy has evolved to the point of onstage symbiosis, in which a mutual connection with their music and audience transcends the need for verbal communication. The result of this is a skilfully produced eargasm of eclectic and euphoric sounds, as enchanting to observe as it is to listen to.
Elliot was up next to lead the night into a subsonic landscape of cosmic sound bites and hypnotic beats. Chilled hip hop and 2-step was overlaid with an aesthetic blend of samples, including heavy industrial hammering mixed with ambient piano. Throughout all of this the crowd was treated to his Launchpad wizardry, on which he pounded like a modern day beat-making Hendrix.
Having thoroughly enjoyed floating on the kaleidoscope of pretty melodies thus far, the time had come to tune the ears to the complex electronic craftwork of Jacques Greene. Drowsily pulsing beats eased the crowed into an intricate hybrid of progressive house and minimal techno, mingled with R’n’B and glitch-hop. To the untrained ear Jacques’ set may have sounded conventional, containing all the typical house music ingredients: heavy kicks, soaring synth and bouncy bass lines. But what sets his music apart is its execution. Each component is laid down with care and precision, patiently building to a crescendo which may only be realised after it’s hit, evidenced merely by the dubbing out of pleasantly dizzying looped vocals.
Just as I felt myself melting into the hypnagogic sounds of the night, Machinedrum injected some fast-paced hallucinogenic energy. Boasting an impressive discography, including tracks for two of my onscreen favourites, Black Swan and Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim, my expectations were high. I was not disappointed. An almost limitless variety of genres were incorporated into a heady fusion of overlapping polyrhythms and cascading vocal grabs, but mixed with obvious delicacy and consideration that reflected his acoustic background. Up-tempo R’n’B and glitch-hop had everyone’s feet moving before some heavier dubstep and D’n’B were served up for the bassheads. Dancing anywhere within the vicinity of the speakers was at the individual’s peril, with arms and legs flailing hazardously in all directions.
Onetalk and 2Fuddha rounded out the night with smooth beats to satiate those who had not quite fulfilled their dance quota and provided the perfect soundtrack to what had been an amazing night of genre defying, mind-blowing music. Once again Blahnket had delivered: it certainly had been a Very Good Friday at Trinity Bar.
Effigy Entertainment pres. Synthesis
April 28, 2012 @ Transit Bar
Upon hearing that Effigy were presenting an evening of poetry slam followed by music spanning acoustic to acid-electronic my reaction was as sundry as the line-up. What was the motive behind this anomalous collection of acts? As I was soon to discover this was a night which showcased the impressive diversity of local creative talent like no other I’ve witnessed.
I’m ashamed to admit that before that night I’d never attended a poetry slam. I can’t think of a better way to be introduced to this potent hybrid art-form of lyrical expression and emotive performance. My lack of prior exposure might have hindered my acuity but all seven artists enlightened me to the undefinable uniqueness that is the essence and beauty of performance poetry.
The silence within the appropriately dim-lit bar was shattered as Jason Andrews spat the words of American artist Saul Williams to a captivated crowd. His energy-filled hip hop style was driven by such a fiery, candid passion that I found myself continuously resisting the urge to cry out in solidarity.
The atmosphere was dramatically altered as Brian O’Biri Asare recited his original material, of which both the story-like content and style were efficaciously visual and deeply moving. His subtle body language and verbal nuances were all that were necessary to maximise the impact of his poetry, which at some points was literally spine-tingling. VJ Caitlin Welch’s original short films were effective here, providing a visual representation of themes exploring human vulnerability and the delicacy of life.
First-time slammer Ellie Malbon’s emotionally charged theatrical enactment flowed as organically as her euphonious words, instantly charming us all. Seasoned poet Andrew Galan delivered a set of priceless crowd-pleasers riddled with satire heightened by his deadpan expression. Anna Potter led the crowd into the musical realm with sweet, soulful melodies carried on heavenly guitar chords. Her lyrics echoed the passion and poetry of the performers preceding and were sung with an angelic yet undeniably strong voice consistently belying her youth.
A smooth transition from acoustic to electronic came in the form of Gabriel Gilmour and the Gojiberry Jam, where bouncy basslines and dubby beats were accompanied by blissful electronic guitar and soaring violin. Anyone who was lucky enough to catch these guys warming up for Opiuo will agree they are among the most talented and conceptually interesting groups to enjoy.
What we were treated to next transcends the available diction required to accurately and justly describe it in terms of musical style, quality and entertainment value. Listening to Electrocado was like giving my brain a therapeutic massage and my whole body an ephemeral vacation to a sensory paradise. An extensive range of genres were seamlessly interwoven into a colourful, sonic tapestry, which amply satiated musical appetites of every variety. A flawless balance of psy, electro, glitch and prog was speckled with video game bleeps and cosmic sound bites to create a perfect high-energy fusion. The room became a blur of arms and feet and one continuous grin seemed to stretch across the face of the dancing mass.
If there’s one prevailing feeling I left with that evening (besides the ache of my severely abused feet), it was an overwhelming sense of pride and affection for every one of the performing individuals and the local creative community they represented. And also a resolution to never, ever again question a line-up organised by Canberra’s finest entertainment pioneers. Great work as usual, guys.
[Originally published in BMA Magazine, May 2012]
Machinedrum / Jacques Greene
April 6, 2012 @ Trinity Bar
I wonder if there’s an equivalent to writer’s block in which the creative process is hampered not by lack of inspiration but a total stimulatory overload. Such is my dilemma when trying to recount the night of Friday April 6.
My night kicked off with Melbourne-based ABLE8, whose set hinted at the musical wonderland ahead. An extensive array was seamlessly interwoven, from alternative hip hop and smooth soul to self-labelled ‘Nintendo/Sega-hop’. (For all you ‘80s kids, imagine playing Mickey’s Castle of Illusion on the Megadrive while listening to Samiyam.) By the end of his set the crowd was primed.
Whether performing to 100 frenzied youths in a house party or a more intimate group of chilled two-steppers, Rachel Haircut (formerly known as Paqman) never seem to have any trouble grabbing a crowd’s attention. The dance floor seemed to undergo a kind of metamorphosis, hypnotised by liquid keyboard and vintage synth. All eyes were closed in ecstatic appreciation or fixated intently upon the duo. Their synergy has evolved to the point of onstage symbiosis, in which a mutual connection with their music and audience transcends the need for verbal communication. The result of this is a skilfully produced eargasm of eclectic and euphoric sounds, as enchanting to observe as it is to listen to.
Elliot was up next to lead the night into a subsonic landscape of cosmic sound bites and hypnotic beats. Chilled hip hop and 2-step was overlaid with an aesthetic blend of samples, including heavy industrial hammering mixed with ambient piano. Throughout all of this the crowd was treated to his Launchpad wizardry, on which he pounded like a modern day beat-making Hendrix.
Having thoroughly enjoyed floating on the kaleidoscope of pretty melodies thus far, the time had come to tune the ears to the complex electronic craftwork of Jacques Greene. Drowsily pulsing beats eased the crowed into an intricate hybrid of progressive house and minimal techno, mingled with R’n’B and glitch-hop. To the untrained ear Jacques’ set may have sounded conventional, containing all the typical house music ingredients: heavy kicks, soaring synth and bouncy bass lines. But what sets his music apart is its execution. Each component is laid down with care and precision, patiently building to a crescendo which may only be realised after it’s hit, evidenced merely by the dubbing out of pleasantly dizzying looped vocals.
Just as I felt myself melting into the hypnagogic sounds of the night, Machinedrum injected some fast-paced hallucinogenic energy. Boasting an impressive discography, including tracks for two of my onscreen favourites, Black Swan and Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim, my expectations were high. I was not disappointed. An almost limitless variety of genres were incorporated into a heady fusion of overlapping polyrhythms and cascading vocal grabs, but mixed with obvious delicacy and consideration that reflected his acoustic background. Up-tempo R’n’B and glitch-hop had everyone’s feet moving before some heavier dubstep and D’n’B were served up for the bassheads. Dancing anywhere within the vicinity of the speakers was at the individual’s peril, with arms and legs flailing hazardously in all directions.
Onetalk and 2Fuddha rounded out the night with smooth beats to satiate those who had not quite fulfilled their dance quota and provided the perfect soundtrack to what had been an amazing night of genre defying, mind-blowing music. Once again Blahnket had delivered: it certainly had been a Very Good Friday at Trinity Bar.
[Originally published in BMA Magazine, March 2012]
Hudson Mohawke / Ras G
March 1, 2012 @ Transit Bar
I think it’s a pretty safe bet that gig attendance in Canberra has undergone a severe culling in recent months, due to this miserable non-season formerly known as ‘summer’. Admittedly, I’m amongst the many regular punters who have, on at least one occasion recently, chosen to stay comfortably snuggled up on the couch with a steaming cup of tea over experiencing the rapidly expanding Canberra music scene. Last Thursday, March 1st, however, I’d happily have rafted down the rapids of Sullivan’s Creek in order to witness the phenomenal double headliner that was Hudson Mohawke and Ras-G at Transit Bar.
As has become a custom of Treehouse and Blahnket (pioneers of Canberra dubstep, hip-hop and glitch events), Thursday kicked off on a high note with the musical stylings of various talented local DJs. I think it’s worth mentioning here that over the past few years of attending some of my favourite international DJs, I have inadvertently been lucky enough to witness the creation and amazing progression of some of Canberra’s most gifted young electronic artists who have supported these acts. Whilst dancing to The Beatsmugglerz’s opening fusion of dub, 2step and glitch, followed by Deaf Cat’s cleverly spliced experimental jazz-influenced hip-hop, it occurred to me that my motivation for attending such nights has recently been attributed as much to the headliners as the supporting locals.
Of these, there are none who I’ve enjoyed seeing perform more than the group up next. Since their first major gig back in January 2011, Onetalk’s technical skill and musical style has evolved exponentially with each performance. Sure, the same could be said of many other Canberra DJs, but what really distinguishes this duo is their unmatchable on-stage energy, which allows for the full potential of their unique music style to be experienced. It’s impossible not to get up and moving when these guys are clearly having so much fun themselves, and I swear they’ve induced bouts of involuntary head nodding from even the most musically apathetic, quiescent of barflies.
An almost tangible awe resonated throughout the crowd as Ras stepped up next. I can only describe the music of this LA master as well as the man has himself: “ghetto sci-fi – an extra-terrestrial soundwave transmission of dub, white noise, glitch, off-kilter boom-bap and sound bites”. Whatever the hell it was, it seemed to induce a pleasant hypnosis amongst the crowd, and by the end of his set, I for one felt as though I’d just returned from an intergalactic journey to some kind of futuristic space ghetto.
By the time the main headliner stepped up, my mind already felt sufficiently blown. Perhaps this is partly why I failed to engage with Hudson Mohawke’s set to the extent to which I’d anticipated. Perhaps it was also because I found many of his track choices surprising to say the least. Having worked with a diverse range of artists, from Rustie and Alex Smoke to the more mainstream Chris Brown, Jay-Z and Flo Rida, I couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed that his set on Thursday seemed to predominantly reflect the latter of these collaborations. Nevertheless, HudMo’s ability to transform even the most cringe-worthy of R&B anthems into unique electronic masterpieces was testament to his indisputable skill, and above all, enough to build an impressive, energised dance floor that held strong until the very last beat subsided.
I’ve come to associate Treehouse and Blahnket events with quality music, responsive crowds and a chilled, positive vibe, and that’s because of nights like this one. It also reaffirmed to me the ever-increasing standard of our local artists, without whom such nights wouldn’t be the same. So next time you find yourself deliberating over braving the elements for a gig, why not head there early? Not only will you avoid the worst of the late night chill, you’ll also be supporting your local DJs – and I guarantee that’ll leave both parties feeling warm and fuzzy.
Hudson Mohawke / Ras G
March 1, 2012 @ Transit Bar
I think it’s a pretty safe bet that gig attendance in Canberra has undergone a severe culling in recent months, due to this miserable non-season formerly known as ‘summer’. Admittedly, I’m amongst the many regular punters who have, on at least one occasion recently, chosen to stay comfortably snuggled up on the couch with a steaming cup of tea over experiencing the rapidly expanding Canberra music scene. Last Thursday, March 1st, however, I’d happily have rafted down the rapids of Sullivan’s Creek in order to witness the phenomenal double headliner that was Hudson Mohawke and Ras-G at Transit Bar.
As has become a custom of Treehouse and Blahnket (pioneers of Canberra dubstep, hip-hop and glitch events), Thursday kicked off on a high note with the musical stylings of various talented local DJs. I think it’s worth mentioning here that over the past few years of attending some of my favourite international DJs, I have inadvertently been lucky enough to witness the creation and amazing progression of some of Canberra’s most gifted young electronic artists who have supported these acts. Whilst dancing to The Beatsmugglerz’s opening fusion of dub, 2step and glitch, followed by Deaf Cat’s cleverly spliced experimental jazz-influenced hip-hop, it occurred to me that my motivation for attending such nights has recently been attributed as much to the headliners as the supporting locals.
Of these, there are none who I’ve enjoyed seeing perform more than the group up next. Since their first major gig back in January 2011, Onetalk’s technical skill and musical style has evolved exponentially with each performance. Sure, the same could be said of many other Canberra DJs, but what really distinguishes this duo is their unmatchable on-stage energy, which allows for the full potential of their unique music style to be experienced. It’s impossible not to get up and moving when these guys are clearly having so much fun themselves, and I swear they’ve induced bouts of involuntary head nodding from even the most musically apathetic, quiescent of barflies.
An almost tangible awe resonated throughout the crowd as Ras stepped up next. I can only describe the music of this LA master as well as the man has himself: “ghetto sci-fi – an extra-terrestrial soundwave transmission of dub, white noise, glitch, off-kilter boom-bap and sound bites”. Whatever the hell it was, it seemed to induce a pleasant hypnosis amongst the crowd, and by the end of his set, I for one felt as though I’d just returned from an intergalactic journey to some kind of futuristic space ghetto.
By the time the main headliner stepped up, my mind already felt sufficiently blown. Perhaps this is partly why I failed to engage with Hudson Mohawke’s set to the extent to which I’d anticipated. Perhaps it was also because I found many of his track choices surprising to say the least. Having worked with a diverse range of artists, from Rustie and Alex Smoke to the more mainstream Chris Brown, Jay-Z and Flo Rida, I couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed that his set on Thursday seemed to predominantly reflect the latter of these collaborations. Nevertheless, HudMo’s ability to transform even the most cringe-worthy of R&B anthems into unique electronic masterpieces was testament to his indisputable skill, and above all, enough to build an impressive, energised dance floor that held strong until the very last beat subsided.
I’ve come to associate Treehouse and Blahnket events with quality music, responsive crowds and a chilled, positive vibe, and that’s because of nights like this one. It also reaffirmed to me the ever-increasing standard of our local artists, without whom such nights wouldn’t be the same. So next time you find yourself deliberating over braving the elements for a gig, why not head there early? Not only will you avoid the worst of the late night chill, you’ll also be supporting your local DJs – and I guarantee that’ll leave both parties feeling warm and fuzzy.