Sorry for the delay in getting this review up, but Our photographer spent the better part of the weekend being dragged between Redfern Police Station and Prince Alfred Hospital. So we spent the better part of the weekend worried for him (read: I was waiting for his photos).
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We missed the first band due to a nasty case of the drunks, but we caught the second band fellating the audience with their constant barrage of insincere compliments:
“You guys are great”
“Woo – you guys are hot”
“Yeah, we’re digging you guys”
“You guys are so great”
“Yeah guys, woo!”
“You guys are awesome”
A compliment or two does wonders for the ego, but a flood of fucking flattery just comes across as creepy. Like the overly-eager douche-bag that always seems to be at university parties, sucking-up to strangers and telling you about the bands he’s met.
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Art Vs Science were the same band we saw play the same gig a few months back, playing mostly the same songs – but they were better in every fucking way. They were bigger, louder, smoother, more experimental and better dressed.
There’s been a lot of typical, tall-poppy bandwagon band-bagging when it comes to these guys… which I’m assuming is the collective moan of a thousand jaded musicians, but their gigs are fucking amazing.
They play original songs, but the crowd sings along as though it’s a covers band. They play shiny instruments, yet the crowd dances frantically as though it’s a DJ night. These guys have taken every bit of corroded brilliance from the Sydney scene and welded it together to form a shiny hotrod of noise.
And any question as to their musical skill or showmanship was pissed on at their last Oxford gig, when they lost their drummer for an hour mid-show and managed to keep the crowd screaming until the prodigal drummer returned. These guys know how to keep the audience wanting more – and I’m jealous of their charisma.
Anyway, we’d been denied a meet with the band, based on George’s poor correspondence with the management (all apologies Claire), so Rob was hanging around the side of the stage like a superbly dressed groupie, sliming his way back stage for some photos.
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Armed with casually tipsy conviction and camera adorned with a US one dollar bill (for diffusing the flash – silly), Rob happily trod through the dressing room. The support bands were as dazzled as they were flattered when he pumped off a few courtesy shots in their direction and in a moment he was on the side of the stage.
Rob’s faltering balance convinced him to lean on a (non-existant) speaker stack behind the curtains, resulting in his gung-ho, rolling, flop-out onto the stage. After taking this opportunity to get a few close-ups of the band, Rob was promptly thrown not only from the stage, but from the venue.
Whilst we didn’t sight Rob again that evening, the morning revealed that his journey didn’t end immediately.
After purchasing a pastitsi, Rob teetered vulnerably across Taylor’s Square, through an alley-way, and directly into the fists of a large, popeye-built character. Without phone, money, keys and camera, Rob then ate his pastitsi in a hospital bed adjacent to a frail old lady whose terrified warbling created an apocalyptic ambiance for Rob’s lonely come-down.
Apparently Heart-monitors don’t do lullabys.
I had a chat with the band outside while I was waiting for someone / something (can’t remember who / what), and they explained that the drummer broke his pedal halfway through so had to disappear to a nearby shop to get a new one.
This begs a couple of questions:
1. How did he manage to leave the stage with the rest of the band apparently not knowing wtf happened and where he went?!
2. How did the other dude (forgive my ignorance – the one with the long-flowing locks) manage to fill the drummer’s shoes AND make a very convincing kick-drum sound without a working pedal?!
3. What music shop is open at midnight?!
Wicked gig though – props to the band for easily smoothing over what could have been (in any other bands’ case) a disastrous gig!
Forgive my Woman’s Day-like ambiguity, but “A source close to the band” told me about the incident and I can answer your questions.
1. Dan W (Drummer), upon realising that his kick drum pedal was broken, panicked and ran backstage to see if he could borrow the support band (Papa vs Pretty)’s one. Upon discovering that they had already left the venue (they are still in high school after all), he panicked further and saw only one cause of action: run back to his house in darlinghurst where he knew there was a kick pedal. A solid 10 minute full-sprint from the back door of the venue.
In the meantime, Dan Mac and Jim Finn assumed he was still back stage repairing his busted pedal.
2. After a time, some helpful people backstage actually managed a shoddy repair job on the offending pedal using gaffer tape and McGuiver-type ingenuity, thus allowing Jim Finn (of the long flowing locks) to get on the drums and add some bass drum energy to the equation.
3. See answer 1. Re home in Darlinghurst.
Hopefully this answers your questions.
Flic.
The important thing is that the kids had fun and no-one important got mugged/beaten to a bloody pulp.
Ok that’s it. What comes after post-modernism?
Knew that would stump you.
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