Radio Birdman at
Central Coast Leagues Club, Gosford, January 9th 1997
and at Selinas Coogee Bay Hotel, Sydney,
January 10 1997

It's Gosford Leagues on a Thursday night and there's not a poster in sight for tonight's gig.

Radio Birdman are playing the biggest beer barn on the Central Coast, a former weekend holiday region for Sydneysiders about 50 minutes north of the city.

As grey-haired pensioners shuffle out of the downstairs loungue bar after their early evening meat raffles and cheap meals, the town's reputation as a retirement home provoke thoughts that it's an odd venue for a Birdman show.

The Central Coast certainly lacks the tradition of producing (or hosting) great bands of industrial cities Newcastle to the north or Wollongong to the south, which were both stop-offs on last year's Radios On Tour.

Although it's also close enough to Sydney to drive to on a weekday night but I (correctly) think most fans will wait until the weekend show at the traditional rock pit of Selinas.

Upstairs in the half-full auditorium there's a buzz about another band touring after a lengthy break - Midnight Oil - who played a well-received show here last week.

It's ironic that the Radios are following them a week later considering how much the Oils took from the Birdman legacy, while at the same time denying any influence.

Support band Front End Loader is first up and while they're tight and intense, it's hard to see why they bother having two guitarists when, for most of the night, they play the same thing. I want to like them but I can't help thinking Helmet do the same thing, only better.

Radio Birdman saunters onto the stage in front of the enormous red and black flag at 10pm and waste no time cranking into Smith and Wesson Blues.

Rooms like this are potentially a sonic disaster (like their show in the abominable Go Pavillion at last year's Sydney Big Day Out), but tonight's mix is transparent and focussed.

Close to the front with an uncrowded view, it's easy to see why the Birdmen have inspired so many imitators as they roll relentlessly forward through Crying Sun, Iskender Time and onetime show closer Do the Pop.

It's all in the attitude and feel as Deniz Tek and Chris Masuak lean into the music, wringing feedback out of their overdriven Marshalls.

Occasionally rusty last time out, Ron Keeley's right on the money and he and Warwick Gilbert are like tentpegs, holding down the framework nicely as the rest of the band bounces back and forth around the beat.

Once the junior partner, Chris takes two-thirds of the lead breaks and is sharp without over-playing. His contribution on Revelation is a stand-out.

Rob Younger's obviously taking care of himself tonight with half the contents of a (solitary) bottle of beer he grasps for most of the set ending up on the front-row of dancers.

Pip Hoyle is nicely placed in the mix and his washes of sound really fill out some of the songs that weren't keyboard-oriented on record.

A vibrant Aloha Steve and Danno and then New Race round off the set nicely and it's time to grab liquid reinforcement before the inevitable five-song encore. Snake makes an appearance along with Monday Morning Gunk and TV Eye (which segues into LA Woman).

So to Selinas on Friday night. The beachside pub is a less frequent hang-out these days for those of us with flecks of grey hair, a family and a mortgage, but it's still the favoured Sydney venue for name bands playing "once only" club-sized shows.

We give Front End Loader a miss and head for the front bar. The gig's not a sell-out as it lacks the "event" status of last year's reunion, but it's still respectably full.

That 1996 gig was one of those memorable, sticky summer nights when sweat dripped from the low section of ceiling at the back of the room, and sales of bottled water rivalled that of canned beer as hoarse fans struggled to replace fluids.

Support act Wayne Kramer primed the crowd with a searing, flashy set which ended with him introing a "sensitive love song" by summoning the fast-filling pit with the call: "Kick Out The Jams, Motherfuckers!"

An appreciative Rob Younger and Friends looked on approvingly and applauded from the VIP balcony before themselves laying waste to the place with a fiery, ragged set many fans had waited years for.

A fortnight short of a year later and it's midnight when Smith and Wesson opens proceedings. The result is, again, instant madness in the mosh pit.

We watch from the relative security of a raised platform halfway to the back of the room which gives a great view, even if the peculiar accoustics of Selinas cut out some of the top register of the PA.

If anything Birdman's in even hotter form than last night, playing a near identical set with seemingly more purpose for their hometown crowd.

Deniz again cedes many of the leads to Chris while Pip proves he's no fashion clothes horse with an ensemble of black shirt, red tie and matching baseball cap.

My wife notes an uncanny resemblance between Rob and John Malkovitch as he sheds his black jacket and shock-dances his way around the stage.

The songs gel and there's a sense of momentum that can't be denied.
New Race caps the set proper before the encores start.

TV Eye is spat out, mutates into Looking at You, turns back into itself and crashes to a finish before it's all over, far too soon.

A writer from one of Sydney's two daily newspapers who reviewed last year's gig called it "historical rather than historic" and called Birdman "simplistic" and "derivative" - a rich call considering he slavishly apes the "I'm-too-hip" critiques churned out by NME in England.
He ignored them this time around...and that probably suited band and fans alike. 

The Ritualism Tour proved that Radio Birdman did - and do - shit on anything else around at the moment.

Let's hope they realise as much and juggle their other commitments to produce new and worthwhile work for years to come.

- THE BARMAN