It was a long night, at The Gaelic Theatre. Holly Austin & self-confessed nerd (he even has a song about it, featuring the telling lyric, 'we like our books, we love our mums, we're nerds'), Fergus Brown, hit the stage, in the barely-furnished venue, around 8.30, I think. Austin is part-thespian, part-cabaret diva, part (it appears) singer-songwriter-keyboardist-percussionist (if anyone knows a good drummer, she's interested; she was jesting; presumably they have one, in their full band, name unknown to me). Fergus Brown looks a bit like Elvis Costello, in a parallel Aussie universe and, perhaps, sounds a little like him, too. That's a good thing. Resisting the comparison & assessing him purely on his own merits, he's a mighty fine vocalist, who also strums acoustic. He's just finished his debut solo record, which, I believe, features a song called Last Winter, a hauntingly melancholy, reflective, confessional, somewhat Beatlesque, super-sophisticated pop ballad. Good choice. Of course, he mightn't be breaking down the barricades of commercial cut-through, like, um, Shannon Noll; but we wouldn't want that, would we? And he's supported Martha Wainright, on a none-date tour. Good choice.Assessing & characterising unfamiliar material, clouded by a craptastic mix (by an 'engineer' that looked, uncannily like one of The Three Stooges), is tricky. This will have to suffice: the pair warrant further & closer scrutiny. (You can exercise it, this coming Tuesday, at The Hopetoun, should you be a neighbourhood Dicko, dedicated to discovery.)
Next up was Tracy Redhead, who also has a debut record out, and band. Notwithstanding some reservations about the drummer's apparent lack of finesse & imagination (maybe a confidence issue) and Tracey's own guitar work (arguably style, over content), they seemed to be having a good time and, I think, so were the rest of us (especially their loudmouthed and breast-baring mates). Bass & keyboard were, for mine, the instrumental strengths; my main squeeze reckons Redhead sounds like Little Birdy's frontwoman which, presumably, is no bad thing. Again, shying away from comparisons, Redhead's is a powerful and compelling instrument. But, again, thanks to muddiness & distortion (probably a by-product of excessive volume, given the lively acoustic of the 'theatre'), lyrics were difficult to discern, so much was lost in translation, as with Austin & Brown. And, again, I'm unfamiliar with the material, so judgement is difficult. What I can vouch for is commitment: they put out. Having done my homework and Googled the ubiquitous MySpace, I will venture to say TR's songs would be congenial companions on your classic Aussie roadtrip. Blackest Night is, indeed, a born-and-bred highway song, in the manner of Chris Isaak, perhaps; not least by way of a kind of attractively-contrived bleakness ('the blackest night has fallen on my head'). Well, that's my first reaction. It floats in, on a mellow electric piano line, with a trickle-through of guitar effects, then the drums kick in and it fairly bops along.
The Dawn Collective is a dapper Sydney (waistcoats, ties, that kinda clobber) bunch, who seem to take life more seriously. Well, their music, anyway. Theirs is an almost symphonic approach; dynamic, even apocalyptic, executed by five superlative musos. Percussionist & drummer, Robby Fernandez, for instance, might've listened to a few of his dad's ELP records. Demure bassist, Stacey-Ann Pietersen, was right on the money, with every note (there's little that augurs better, in a live band, than a tight-as rhythm section). The lead guitarist (Greg Bell, whose name I know, primarily, thanks, again, to the main squeeze, who went to highschool with same) is something of a virtuoso, but one, given his relatively tender age, who exhibits an uncommon restraint, which equates to very tasty, but still tasteful, playing. Simeon Johnson, on electric 'cello adds a classy dimension to the band befitting their gladrags, & Andrew Bennett, on lead vocals & guitar, makes for a charismatic leader. They've been called all sorts of names: all, as far as I know good and I wouldn't seek to dissuade, in any way, shape or form. They've just released their first album, following a run of EPs, festivals and prestigious gigs (given their billings, with the likes of Faker and, of course, Fourth Floor Collapse). Again, there is palpable sadness and solemnity in their songs, which seem to draw on everything, from heavy, if progressive, 70s rock, to Celtic melodic affinities, to Michael Nyman. The Dawn Collective is very much worthy of your time & attention, which they'll command, live, or on record. Live, they exhibit the utmost in slickness and confidence.
Headliners, FFC, made no big show of coming on stage; instead they launched into a relentless delivery of their powerful material. Salvo, after salvo of songwriting craft, originality and, especially, the astounding vocal prowess of Michael Miller (who also plays acoustic guitar & piano), upfront. The band hails, originally, from the northern suburbs of Perth, but sounds infinitely worldlier. It's no real wonder they've such synergistic power: Miller met the retiring Rhys Kealley (guitar, piano, melodica & vocals) at kindy, or something like that; the more outgoing Dan Forrestal (guitar, mandolin, piano & vocals) joined the inner circle at highschool; the band's been playing a good decade. It took next to no time for them to become the most highly-awarded & honoured, unsigned band in the country and, if you see them live, you'll know why. But even topping The Next Big Thing comp and a swag (ten!) of WA Music Industry Awards didn't appease their appetite for critical acclaim: they relocated to melbourne a few years ago, doing themselves the favour of picking-up the kickarse rhythm section comprised by Jesse Delaney, bass, and Michael Parker, drums.
Without telling a long tale of their extensive recording history, suffice to say their new album, the fourth, is called Victoria, presumably in honour of their Mexican relocation and in homage to the southern capital's style. The single is Drive On Regardless, an apparent metaphor for insecurity (in an insecure world), nagging self-doubt and the only alternative & remedy for the human condition: driving on, regardless. This is how the band resonates: in its knack for articulating things practically all of us feel, know, sense, suspect & imagine, but too few of us can express, whether for lack of the capacity, or courage, to do so. The commitment to such, on stage, is mighty! Seeing, and hearing, however, is believing. And believe you me, you will.
Fourth Floor Collapse
Venue: Gaelic Theatre | 64 Devonshire St, Surry Hills NSW 2010
Date: Sat, 13 Dec 2008
Tickets: www.moshtix.com.au and venue
