A shitty day weather wise, so it was an unusually late front-up for this lazy sod.
Apologies to all the early bands we missed, but you know we love ya anyways.
Skunkhour were funkin’ up the Big Top as we arrived, on their last leg of farewells before calling it a day. They always were a wicked live entity, and today is no exception.
Eskimo Joe help the first chicken satay go down, as the drizzle gets a little more persistent. Jumpy, poppy, electric snap turtles are they.
I dunno why, but they always put a smile on my dial…have ya seen their latest vid? Total cranker! As were they on this miserable day, as that wickedly infectious warmth of theirs crept so cruisily into my system.
Back on centre stage, The Superjesus put on possibly the best show I have EVER seen them give. Fuck me sideways if they didn’t just blow it all out of the water in an almighty display of rock that’s as solid as shit one minute, with those serrated riffs in full flight, and all mellow and beautiful the next. Slick as bejesus, and ringin’ in my head for hours after. Paul Mac has the Big Top completely under his God-like spell, and he’s so happy, I swear he’s gonna burst. We wander on over to the hill and in a feeling of déjà vu, Machine Gun Fellatio battle early sound cockups to pull off their usual reverend irreverence. Cool. Smooth. Catchy, and as funny as fuck. Crazy bastards!
28 Days are putting it on the line in remembrance of their recently departed drummer Scotty, after his unfortunate fatal encounter with a car.
That power punch seems to have an extra zest today, and ya can’t help but feel for them. "We’re not Blink 182"…and it’s straight into the funkoid quirkery of "Say What"…the twin-headed squelch pellet that jumps, raves and rocks so perfectly…a lot like 28 days actually.
Out back on The Hoey stage, it’s a complete change of pace as the sparsely beautiful Art Of Fighting unravel that haunting, mesmeric and very special magic of theirs. Coaxing vox draw silvery grey moodscapes that wind and waft.
Before disappearing into the void. And what better way to follow this one up, than to lose yourself with Melbourne’s own masters of the magic moodscape thing Augie March.
With Paul Mc Kercher on the mix (after their regular guy fell off his trail bike), they’re fighting hard to get over Something For Kate’s din on centre stage. But it’s all in the name of having a good time, and it doesn’t seem to faze the Augsters one iota.
They come on quite lightly carnaged, before settling into that soul stepping, subtle seduction they do so fucking beautifully well. Yearning vocals, penetrating keys and acidly gentle guitars all go together to make the perfect drug. A pristine gem.
Something For Kate swing from rocket jabs to grey mood weaving. Always pop-stamped, and they cover all bases beautifully. Sweaty. Succint. And sharp as shite. TISM love the spotlight, and it’s bloody hard to ignore a bunch of balloon bedecked disco-poppers with the wit of an electric knife. Love em or hate em, ya cant ignore em. For the record though, we love em to bits! Classic satire Oz style never sounded so cool!
And speaking of cool, the old guard renegades The Hoodoo Gurus haven’t lost any of that swampesque guitar pop charm that kept ‘em at the helm for so many sweaty, thready-haired years. Guitars that sing and straggle along beautifully.
All the hits dragging back memories of venues that are now carparks or high rise apartments. Hmmm sigh. Go the Gooeys. Go Homebake. Go home grown! Yay! Mark Fraser - redbackrock.com
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