Solo time with the Epi at the Espy.
Pip and potted palm.
Nik nails it.
Jim does his bass thing.
THE ONYAS
SCOURGE
@ The Tote, Collingwood
Friday, December 15, 2000
DENIZ TEK GROUP
ROWLAND S HOWARD
@ The Esplanade Hotel, St Kilda
Saturday, December 16, 2000
And so to a rare Melbourne visit by the Iceman and band, tacked onto a return to Australia, mostly for family reasons, by the former Radio Birdman guitarist-composer. And you'd think the venues in what's purported to be Rock City Down Under would be bursting at the seams for a taste of Tek-phonic Tonic with the divide between Sydney-styled Rock Action and Melbourne Art Rock Shoe Gazing has been long gulfed by bands of both persuasions. (Shit, he even brought the white Epi!) Alas, for some unfathomable reason (maybe it's because the Meredith Festival is the same weekend) the reception is enthusiastic but modest in size. Hope wherever they were was good because the punters who were MIA missed two fiery shows.
Friday night's venue, The Tote has a venerable name and a steady stream of great acts pass through its doors, so its small dimensions were a surprise to this Sydneysider, who was brought up on a mix of similar rooms mixed in with massive beer barns. Not that the size of the place (a tad bigger than the Iron Duke) detracted from the night - it was a plus as the crowd was comfortably accommodated.
First support was Scourge, about whom little was known but, from the vantage of the front bar, seemed to be a line in black metal. It's not this Barman's cup of tea (or pot of VB, "pot" being a middy that slips through your schooner-accustomed hand) so myself and fellow traveller John McP give them a miss, content that they probably won't miss us. The Onyas, on the other hand, rate a full viewing and lighten the mood with their brand of beer-fuelled Yob Rock. Frontman Mad Mick's not happy with the stand-offish antics of the slightly swelling crowd so he takes his guitar onto the dance floor, dicing with the feedback trouble that strikes when you set up a microphone stand in front of a PA stack. It's fast and loud and over a little too soon - but not before an imposing bloke with beard and shaven pate lends a hand on backing vocals. Good onya, it was good fun.
The DTG line-up for these shows is the tried-and-true configuration of Jim Dickson on bass, Nik Rieth on drums and Pip Hoyle on keyboards, and they've charged through the crowd and onto stage to rip into the opening number before anyone realises they've entered the room. It's "Alien Skies", the soaring Birdman instrumental that swells and fills the space before we hit the pedal and charge into a brace of more aggressive numbers. "Day to Ride", with its salt-stained surf charge, the little-heard "Black Tulip" from early Deep Reduction days and the dizzying dynamics of "Lunactics at the Edge of the World" are all highlights that interspersed with breath-catchers like a seering "Give It Up" and "Hondo's Dog".
"Christmas Eve" does its thing very, very well, "Searching" explores feel territory before an explosive "Outside" sets off fireworks. "Love Kills" and "Brother John" bring the biggest cheers of recognition. A steady stream of wellwishers and assorted liggers makes its way to the dressing room (expatriate Japanese Ramones band Mach Pelican among them) and it's a great night.
Saturday night is at the historic Esplanade Hotel (aka the Espy) at St Kilda, a decaying seaside pub with ballroom, replete with Edwardian light fittings, peeling gold inlay ceiling and earplug vending machine (no bullshit). It's called the Gershwin Room - and old George's "Summertime" might have made an appropriate afternoon soundtrack as it's a good five degrees hotter than outside, thanks to an apparent absence of air conditioning. Instead, there's a blues band blaring away in the front bar.
Tonight's support is - appropriately enough, considering the history of this place - Rowland S Howard, once of the Birthday Party. He wanders in at sound check, looks around, declares his band is at Meredith and he hopes they're coming back in time for the show, and wanders out.
Come 9pm and the Rowland S Howard Band IS back from Meredith, but their soundman and their drummer's cymbals are not. They go on an hour late, using some borrowed drum equipment and their no-longer AWOL soundo (who upsets his DTG counterpart Trevor when he flauts written instructions not to mess up the desk pre-sets). It's a short and shambolic set, with Howard running his trademark guitar noises and tortured blues lyrics over minimalist backing from a rhythm section that includes the Very Rock Brian Henry Hooper (late of the Surrealists and Beasts of Bourbon) on bass. It all seems a bit short, not only in duration but in songwriting. A pity, because Mr Howard extracts an interesting array of sounds and does a good line in seemingly dazed stage-staggering.
Not dazed or in any way short in songs are the DTG, who line-up with a similar set to the night before but with Pip's keys much more prominent in the mix (which was fantastic, by the way). Pip, by the way, also gets a fake potted palm tree to share the stage with which must be some unfair division of the rider. The energy levels are higher, with the band all the more happy after putting one night under their belts. Their clean, sharp sound cuts through the brutal heat (which then has its edge taken off as the aircon thankfully, if belatedly, cranks into action) like few other groups around at the moment, but the crowd is again, thin on the ground, and a little stand-offish, chosing to keep their distance from the raised Espy stage. (Their number includes, by the way, Charlie Owen and Penny Ikinger, with Kent Steedman dropping by earlier to say hello, leading creedence to the claim that Melbourne is a real muso community town).
This time, "Agua Caliente" bristles to be the highlight of the set, by a nose from "Shellback" (in which Nik almost beats his kit through the stage floor), "Hangin' On" and an even more dynamic "Lunatics". "Mesozoic Cave" and "Outside" bring up the rear in dazzling fashion , and at set's end it appears Pip is going to do a one-man encore with the band remaining in the dressing room as he bounces back out. This is, he explains to the crowd, "the city of my birth" as he rallies the rest of the crew, but it's over too soon, rivalling the previous night's 80-minute plus set for duration but outstripping it for intensity and drive.
If you're reading this prior to the Sydney shows (December 22 at Caringbah Bizzos and December 23 at Bar Broadway), be warned you'd be mad to miss them.
No pretension, no bullshit. Simply great.
- The Barman
3/4
