Left - Tinpan OrangeI gather, from its website, The Vanguard has been nominated as one of the ten best places in the world to see music. Christ! What, I wonder, are the criteria used in making that assessment? Sure, it's intimate. A little too intimate, when loudmouths come and invade your table and spill beer all over it and, very nearly, you too. For some reason, it attracts a quotient of pseudo-sophisticated, insecure, bogan space-invaders, determined to make loud, inane conversation throughout a performance. Why the fuck are they there?
It's purpose-built, but its shape and numerous aspects of its design are not conducive to accommodating punters especially comfortably. Acoustically, the truth is very good sound is achievable in there, but not with an over-amplified full band, which results in as much (or more) resonance and distortion as music.
True, its '20s bordello aesthetic is warm, unpretentious and comforting. One thing, however, leans undeniably in its favour: the consistently surpassing quality and surprising diversity of its acts. Soon, founding member of The Backsliders, Dom Turner, fronts with his latest project, Supro, an unholy alliance, fusion, confluence, call it what you will, of blues, surf-rock, deep-grooving dub, funk & hip-hop: hold onto your incontinence pad. Even sooner, uber-ranga Katie Underwood, ex-Bardot poptart turned torch singer, is in the house.
Last Saturday night was a typically big, late-starting triple-header, kicking off with the demure, sweetly clueless indie folk-popster Cilla Jane, who cynics might've surmised as high but who, I think, is just authentically naive; innocent would be a better word; a babe-in-the-woods or, perhaps, jungle. Whatever the case, she seemed oblivious, blissfully so, to the rude inattention of the audience. But putting the character assessment, or assassination, to one side, her songs are charming, her pretty voice imbued with personality, colour, character and class, in an early Angie Hart kinda way: no bad thing! She's a very capable acoustic guitarist and, on this occasion at least, was accompanied by former rock drummer turned cellist (and, I have to say, possibly the world's worst glockenspiel-player), Andy Picker.
From a distance, with her mini-me golden ponytails and girl-next-door disposition, she looked a little reminiscent of Livvy. With an EP (Drifting) and full album (When The Night Falls) already under her belt, she's one to watch. John Butler evidently thought so, in bestowing one of his seed grants; a high compliment, as well as helping hand.
This was her single launch: it's called Until Morning Comes. 'The sun is shining down on me, the breeze is blowing gently, there's not a cloud in the sky', the opening lyric from No Cares, seems to sum her up to a tee: a gentle soul, sensitive and optimistic; a beautiful dreamer, dreaming her dreams, by turns melancholic and sunny, generously allowing us to share them. One to see live, too: her recordings sound a little more sombre.
Next cab off the rank were the quite serious-minded and definitely into-it and on-it Melbournians, Husky, named after 'lead singer, songwriter, guitarist and poet', Husky Gawenda, who, like his cousin, keyboardist and co-producer, Gideon Preiss, hails from Poland; both testifying to being very much influenced by the lives, loves and songs of their antecedents. Even in ignorance of this, one could hardly help but note the tending-to-dark European moodiness; a sense of shared memory & aliveness to loss pervading every phrase of their wintry songs. Happily, collaborators Evan Tweedie (bass) and Luke Collins (drums) are as virtuosic as G & P, playing with remarkable sympathy, as if to prove Melbourne and Warsaw, or Cracow, or Gdansk, needn't be Poles apart. It's no surprise to learn, given his concentration and intensity, Gawenda sang before he talked, or that Dylan, Cohen, Mitchell & Simon have been seminal influences. With two very solid albums behind them, a unanimity of critical and popular acclaim, here are four musicians in a marriage made in heaven (even if their songs speak of a day-to-day purgatory), fused, with their sound found and continuing to evolve.
They're not necessarily about heartbreak, but they are about heartache: the inexorable passing of time and what goes with it; the futility of love. OK, maybe they are about heartbreak. It is fitting Husky should follow Jane: their sensibilities aren't a million miles from each other and they share a vision of the past, present and future that is transcendent and dreamlike. if you doubt me, compare & contrast, say, Husky's Dark Sea, with its irresistibly oceanic melody, with Jane's Drifting.
After two vastly impressive, if not downright life-changing, revelatory acts out of Melbourne, we hardly needed the headliners, Tinpan Orange. But thank God we got 'em. Tinpan has its legends as well. Once upon a new year's eve, snuggled in sleeping-bags in their Woodford Folk Festival tent, the Lubitz siblings (Emily & Jesse) were not-so-rudely awoken, transfixed and intoxicated by the mesmeric violin of Garfunkel-'froed Alex Burkoy. And then there were three, recording the album Death, Love & Buildings a few short years ago. Here and now see the release of their second, The Bottom Of The Lake, produced by Harry Angus (in fact, he's done much more than produce: like the fifth Beatle, he's become a virtual, honorary fourth Tinpan).
A quote from the band's bio affords ample insight into their mindfulness, mindset, attitude, approach and even sound: "I think longing is really expansive," says Emily. "I think it's an amazing space to be in. If I can catch that, if I can capture my longing for someone or something, or my desire to run away or go somewhere exotic, it's comforting. Those states of being are what brings you closer to contentment." Just as with their supports, the same dreamy, sometimes nightmarish allusions, dark reflections, knowing and summoning of ghosts informs their sound and consequent effects on the senses. But then there is the almost bouncy brightness of Lovely, so tearily tender and unselfconsciously nurturing: "I know people don't really fix things anymore, but if I ever break you, I swear, I'll put you back together again; I'll prop you up with wire, sit you by the fire, sew you up with white cotton thread".
Emily's presence is quirky and commanding; she won't be ignored. Her stories sometimes trail off; she cares not. Her vocals have a similarly compelling warmth, honesty and intimacy. As do the lyrics. which are confessional and emotionally real-world, without ever being in any way overladen with metaphor, or cringeworthy adjectival abandon. It's their simplicity and musicality which is winning. Just try not to be moved to still more tears by the sweet swell of strings which opens Romeo Don't Come; its aching melody, or humane story, contrasted by a pained, 'dirty' guitar-break. Nothing fancy. Nothing extraneous. It's all about the songs, which are spare, but robust constructions; profoundly architectural, but speaking of and to the fragility of the human heart and tragedy of the human condition.
Live, they are each and all, musicians' musicians; the Lubitzs, singers' singers. Burkoy is almost offensive in the propensity of his genius, on violin and electric mandolin. Em's uke imparts an inveigling, childlike quality. Jesse's guitar is not for show, but for enhancement and enrichment of what they've written.
"I know people don't really write letters anymore, but this is mine to you": Tinpan Orange is a discovery as expansive as Columbus', full of promise, their material will help fill your heart, furnish your mind and adorn your soul.
Tinpan Orange
Venue: The Vanguard | 42 King St, Newtown, Sydney
Date: 14 August 2010
Bookings/Info: www.thevanguard.com.au | 02 9557 7992
