Gig: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah @ HiFi Bar 22/05/06

Richard managaged to score a pair of last minute tickets to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's second ever Australian gig at Melbourne's HiFi Bar this afternoon.

I said yes, yes, yes immediately but two things kept me from jumping for joy.

i) I was dead tired, having stayed up until 1am that morning to try and figure out how to use Adobe Flash.

ii) Ange and James had told me just a month ago that their outing to see CYHSY was quite possibly their worst gig ever.

I rushed home to get some sleep before the show (which of course didn't happen) and then met Richard at the door at quarter to 10.

Richard was a little late so I amused myself by psychopathically calling his mobile and playing spot the CYHSY fans. Given that the HiFi Bar is on Swanston Street, the latter was quite easy: tight fitting striped knit = CYHSY fan, polo shirt tucked into pants ≠ CYHSY fan.

Inside was pretty much as expected. Crammed to the brim with people, smokey and by and large not somewhere you'd want to be when you are tired. The band had already hit the stage and were blaring out one of their new tracks.

When I say blaring, I mean BLARING!!! The mix was awful and only exacerbated by the volume. At times the keyboards were so piercing that I thought someone was stabbing me in the ear with their cutting edge hairstyle. We are talking ringing in the ears that could turn anyone into a post impressionist master. That said, the sound did seem to be geared towards the new material. As soon as they piped up with their dance rock single "Satan Said Dance" the band shone.

Unfortunately, it sputtered out again after that track.

It was the band's first time in Oz so they had resolved to play some of their older stuff (which was a bit of a blessing because their newer material is a little plodding, which possibly explains Ange and James' reaction).

Ounsworth's vocals, which are charmingly esoteric on their recordings, came across a little try-hard in performance, mainly because they had nowhere to go. Bands understandably want to give a little more when they go live but Ounsworth's braying was already a little testing on their albums, live, in trying to up the ante, he pushed it over the edge. The result was a lot of meaningless whooping, cracked notes and megaphones.

Once again, I sound like I am being picky. A lot of the show was fantastic, especially their old stuff. But it was hit and miss.

One of the highlights was a new (newer than than the new album I believe... strike that, I believe it no longer) track which started with Icelandic tinks and ended in a post rock homage to Mogwai, or as Richard suggested, the soundtrack to 28 Weeks Later.

A strange night that would have passed immeasurably more pleasantly were I not falling asleep on my feet.

Gig: Pet Shop Boys, Groove Armada, Gnarls Barkly and The Rapture @ Sydney Myer Music Bowl 3/4/07

I imagine there are a few punters in Melbourne pissed at Virgin's entre into the festival circuit. Firstly they didn't bring the whole kit and kaboodle down from up north even though they charged for the kit and two kaboodles. Secondly, they chose to fence the drinkink area into a corner of the music bowl that afforded little music. And finally, they locked most of the ticket holders far from the madding bands.

That didn't bother us because we had VIP tix, thanks to Don, and the wherewithall to outwit the gatekeepers and sneak the fest of our crew in.

Now, the music:

The Rapture was apparently good but we missed them for the most part. 'House Of Jealous Lovers' greeted us as we crested the hill and then it was all over. Pity.

Gnarles Barkly were interesting enough. Rather manufactured, as to be expected, all schoolgirls and shorts. CeCe was admirably frank about the revenue the album has brought him, which is obviously keeping him in hamburgers. I don't remember all that much about the music. Typical.

Groove Armada were enjoyable but surprisingly subdued. When they finally pulled their fingers out at the climax it was like looking into the show that could have bee. I did live the way the crowd cheered every time the boys pulled out a different instrument. I'd hate to see this crew seeing a symphony orchestra. Sheesh.

As soon as the Pet Shop Boys' dancers stepped on stage it was clear who the crowd had come for. They may wear funny clothes, they may not be able to sing, they may be heavy on the blips and have a rare fondness for spelling, but boy did they steal the show. In the absence of a Kylie concert, this was definitely the gayest thing I'd ever seen. E.N.J.O.Y.A.B.L.E.

I'd say more but the one handed typing thing is getting to me.

Gig: Snow Patrol @ Festival Hall 20/02/07

After a string of sweltering days Melbourne had decided to cool down a bit, as is the way with things here. It is a pity nobody told Festival Hall. If the Palais was steaming hot, Festival Hall was a veritable oven. Not that it really mattered. It could have been worse. We could have had the flu, just like every member Snow Patrol.

I don't know if it was the flu or the sound desk but the guys the first three tracks they played were terribly loose and rather uninspiring. Thankfully (and to prove there is some kind of literary providence out there) they really hit their stride about halfway through 'Run'.

After four tracks off their previous album, I was beginning to wonder if Snow Patrol had even released Eyes Open. Gary had nattered with the crowd about Melbourne's heat for a while, he piped up with something like, "Here's a song you might know, I don't remember the name of it or what it is about." which was pretty much his introduction for every song for the rest of the night. Then he kicked off with tracks off their new album. The change in quality was instantaneous. It was almost as if they had forgotten how to play their older stuff.

Not that most members in the crowd really minded. It seemed that most people had come along for the new stuff and when the boys kicked off with The Theme From Grey's Anatomy 'Chasing Cars' it was obvious that there was a stand out number in the collective consciousness of the audience.

From then on it didn't even matter that Gary wasn't able to hit many of the high notes due to the pesky flu, they rocked anyway. Melbournian Laura Jean pressed herself into Martha Wainwright's shoes and joined the band on stage for 'Set Fire To The Third Bar'. She did a brilliant job, so brilliant a job that I am going to link you to her *cough* myspace *cough* page here.



By the time the band left the stage, they hadn't really left much to perform for an encore. They returned with 'The Finish Line' (I think, I can't recall at the moment and I can't find the fucking setlist again - fans just aren't as fanatical as they used to be), which finished with a few nods of the head and the acknowledgement that they were going to plough into 'Hands Open' despite the danger to Gary's voice. I'm glad they did because it was easily the best song of the gig.

As much as I loved the gig, it was an absolute blessing to step outside into the cool air. A fantastic night. I was a bit miffed that they didn't play anything from When It's All Over We Still Have To Clear Up but they seem to have left their pre-Final Straw days behind them.

Gig: Damien Rice @ The Palais 19/02/07

A gig at the Palais is a rare treat. Okay, so it is not so rare, but it is rare that I end up going to one. It is a grand venue; cavernous, but in a luxurious kind of way. It takes a special artist to fill the space and I was quite concerned that a little Irishman from Dublin with a penchant for quiet folk-rock would be swallowed whole. He was anything but.

We arrived just about in time to miss the whole of the support act, a little Irishman from Dublin with a penchant for folk-rock, who was being unceremoniously swallowed. The theatre was like a giant sweat box and and the vinyl seats weren't helping the situation. Luckily we had a walkway at our feet so there was stretching room aplenty.

The stage was pretty barren. A piano and a keyboard, some scattered guitars and a chair or two. The whole scene was backed by a giant white screen. When the lights dropped and a scruffy little man walked out it could have been easy to mistake him for a roadie. He did nothing to dispel this when he stood with his back to the audience and started tuning one of the guitars. The tuning gave way to a song, an idling tune, which he seemed to be playing until he felt ready to turn around.

But he didn't.

With his back to the audience he crouched over as the idling tune grew into a fully fledged opening song. Huddled over, caressing his guitar, he began singing into the hollow, his voice echoed in the box and flooded the auditorium. It was truly haunting. Here was this man hunched over his instrument, seemingly retracting from the world and he was able to hold a sell-out crowd enthralled. When he finally turned and stood and took his place centre stage the crowd erupted. It was a brilliant opening and it segued beautifully into one of his most treasured numbers, 'Volcano', as his band joined him on stage.

There were clear cheers of relief when the crowd acknowledged Lisa Hannigan, Rice's recording partner to the stage. She cut an interesting figure as she sang, her neck stretched, her hands gnarled, but it only seemed to heighten the breathless beauty of her voice.

It was clearly evident that this crowd was in for a good night and that Damien and his crew were not only assured musicians but also willing to have fun and experiment with their music. 'Amie' crescendoed into a roaring feedback loop, which threatened to drop plaster from the Palais' walls only to calm down into a quiet coda of Damien's voice which formed the backing for his next track. Mesmerising.

It was one of those gig where the setlist covered pretty much all the recorded material. Damien's explanations of the stories behind the songs often ventured into the macabre, though there was always a wry smile on his face and despite the sombre mood of the music there was much jesting on stage. The impromptu rendition of 'Blue Moon', which cellist Vyvienne Long broke into when Lisa broke her sound feed, was a delightful treat, as was 'Random Man On The Motorway', which she treated the audience to during one of the breaks.

The middle of the show lulled a little. There was a good deal of interaction with the audience and some listless calls for songs to play but there was always an answer at the ready and Damien's response was never less than superb.

For the closing number Damien was left alone onstage. He wrenched the cords and cables from his guitar and kicked them from his feet. He moved to the front of the stage, out of reach of the microphone and stood in the light of a single follow spot. Everything else went black as he once again took on the crowd single-handedly, without any sonic protection, and sang his biggest hit, 'The Blower's Daughter' to the adulating crowd. It was quite transcendental (or it would have been if it weren't for the fucking cameraphones).

Oh, I shouldn't complain because if it weren't for cameraphones I couldn't show you this:



I haven't been able to find a setlist for this one either but I'll post it here if one pops up.

*UPDATE* Setlist:

‘Never Been In This Place Before’
Volcano
Amie
9 Crimes
Coconut Skins
Dogs
Rootless Tree
Random Man on the Motorway (Vyvienne)
Cannonball
Cold Water
Hallelujah
The Professor
I Remember

Rainy Night House (Lisa unaccompanied covering Joni Mitchell)
Delicate
[Blue Moon]
The Animals Were Gone
Blower’s Daughter

Thanks to realityescapeartist for the pic

Gig: The Killers Andrew's Birthday @ Festival Hall 01/02/07

First Shamil turns 33, now Andrew turns 25; I am starting to see a pattern here.

If we thought the gods were smiling on us on Monday night, last night they were positively beaming at us. Somehow, despite it being fully booked until next Tuesday, we managed to score a table at Movida. Best restaurant in Melbourne. Well, my favourite anyway. The costillas con sobrasada are to die for and certainly a good primer for the night's entertainment.

The Killers rocked. The sound was shit, the seats were shit but it didn't matter. The Killers rocked!

And Brandon Flowers is SO gay. (And not in that school yard way.)

I was a little worried in the beginning when they opened with a song that only the people in the mosh pit seemed to know (and I think they were just pretending so they looked like they were cooler than the rest of us), then they chimed up with "We Hope You Enjoyed The Show". By the second line I was getting ready to push back into my seat and settle in for a night of disappointment but they didn't finish the song, it was simply a lead into "When You Were Young", which in turn pushed into "Somebody Told Me".

As soon as they kicked off, Festival Hall stood up and didn't sit for the rest of the gig. The crowd were instantly on side. Fuck, Brandon Flowers (SO gay) didn't have to sing for the whole gig - the crowd did it for him. By the time they got around to "Mr Brightside" someone could have recorded a live album from the other side of the Westgate.

I'd like to develop an algorithm to ascertain the success of a live performance. I am convinced it has something to do with the spread of the mosh, the angle and number of rock hands, the persistence of the clap and the volume of crowd singing. However the formula works out, last night's gig was a success despite the fact that we were sitting in the focal point of Festival Hall's plentiful echoes.

I'm trying to hunt down a setlist for y'all but it is proving difficult. It was a good set though. I would have liked to have heard "Midnight Show" but we all need something to grumble about.

*UPDATE* Setlist:

Sam's Town
Interlude
When You Were Young
Somebody Told Me
Smile Like You Mean It
Bones
Bling (Confession Of A King)
Read My Mind
Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine
This River Is Wild
Why Do I Keep Counting
Mr Brightside

My List
For Reasons Unknown
All These Things That I've Done
Exitude

Gig: Muse @ Festival Hall 31/01/07

Last night took a very unexpected turn from the ridiculous to the sublime.

We rocked up to Templebar on Smith Street to enjoy an evening of "Spag and Drag" with Neale, Andrew, Zoë and the Bens and before we'd even ordered Bens mentioned they had to leave early to reach Festival Hall in time to catch Muse.

"You lucky bastards, I really wanted to see them tonight!"
"Oh, we've got two free tickets, if you want them..."

So in the time it took to blow off our other friends and sit through an amusing rendition of "The Girl With Emphysema", we were sitting centre-stage watching Supermassive Black Hole.

How's that for a nice turn-around.

Muse absolutely rocked. The rocked so hard they were almost a parody of themselves. But that is why I love them so. At one stage I looked down and thought - all this kick arse sound is coming from those three unassuming Brits and their insignificant little instruments. Thank SBLJ for electricity!

The boys were flanked by two huge LED screens and spotted by scores of scores of cameras that threw their images up, all psychedelically altered. The lighting and stage setup was phenomenal. Every glittery piano note was mirrored by a pretty light flash.

Lots of glittery piano notes = lots of pretty light flashes!

And the crowd ate it all up. Being in seats we were a little removed from the action but it was interesting to see the spread of the mosh pit and the waving sea of rock hands.

To add to the spectacle, at the first break, as Plug-in Baby screamed to a halt, massive, clear rubber, confetti-filled balls were released into the auditorium. Nice touch (until the lighters came out).

Revved up on their fit of destruction, the crowd set about clapping to Starlight. One of those brilliant "we're all in this together moments".

Clap - clap clap - clap - clap clap clap!

Priceless.

Setlist:

Take A Bow
Hysteria
Supermassive Black Hole
Butterflies And Hurricanes
Map Of The Problematique
City Of Delusion
Citizen Erased
Sunburn!!
Apocalypse Please
Invincible
Time Is Running Out
Plug In Baby
(Release crowd balls here)

Soldier's Poem
Starlight
Stockholm Syndrome

Knights Of Cydonia

The Killers tomorrow night.

Same bat-place. Same bat-time. Shittier bat-seats.