I get a little misty-eyed when a totally empty room at about 8pm suddenly transforms into a happening gathering by about 10, all in the name of seeing some virtual unknowns make a hell of a racket. From being the sole punter, trying to raise the barkeeper’s hopes, I was soon happily engulfed by an impressive cross-section of folk who simply needed a reason to dance. Jolly good stuff.
Freud’s Pillow grabbed hold of that all-pervasive Am-rock sound and tonight attempted to play the stadium show of their lives. With the bass guitar tweaked to sound like a slap bass with every playful stroke, it was funk metal straight down the line which barely needs further explanation.
Plus, from the far end of the MX room, Freud’s singer could have been a teen Vedder, another of those worrying comparisons arising yet again.
‘Tractors’ is the word that continued to come to me as I watched Tucker Bs – these three, towering lads certainly own a Massey Ferguson or two. With the mic stands set at full height they still have to shout down at them, and as they cry out “I sing a song of love” everybody in the house is inextricably smitten with Blundstones and flannelette once again.
Totally raucous, with melody totally drowned out and covered in layers of paddock mud distortion, the Tucker Bs are the best band in the world ever.
I really shouldn’t mention Kerb on the outcome of this performance, whose usually airtight surf punk was tonight dismembered by a little thing called tuning. All of the bands mentioned a lack of foldback on stage, but it certainly doesn’t help if the guitar and bass are totally out of tune with each other. The ready-to-pogo populous sat down and read their Dolly magazines instead.
Prickle stormed the stage and hit everything hard, their single-digit gigging history somehow drawing a crowd the Hoodoo Gurus would be amazed by. Without having to give away tickets to the rugby to woo the punters in, or maybe the influx was from the women’s conference in town, the twin grrrl frontage of Rach and Mel had every femme bouncing, beaming and flailing in the room. Give a girl a spanner … and a big amp.
With their launch topic, the Mum CD, on full rotation with its two minute noodlings like Ballerina and Thief sending Rach belly-flopping and rolling about the stage, with guitar cushioning the blow, there was Pricklemania in the isles. I too screamed and slapped my hands to my face.
The music was grubby but the crowd were even grubbier. The audience won this night’s round.
Adam Connors
