ROCKET SCIENCE
THE DEL EMMAS
Saturday, December 1 2001
@ the Annandale Hotel, Sydney

Only two groups on the bill tonight, so nothing's going to be happening before 9:30. This means that instead of being late, I'm early; very early. Fortunately Off The Hip co-publisher Chris Baty is already there propping up the bar, so I snag myself a Coopers Green (long experience has shown that it's best not to confuse bar staff by asking them to distinguish between the sparkling ale and the pale ale on their own; it's far easier and quicker in the long run just to tell them whether you want the red bottle or the green bottle) and settle in to pass the time talkin' pop. Power pop that is (hey Chris: Peabody was/were the support at that show at the Hopetoun show that I couldn't remember who the support was).

Tonight's gig is being filmed for a web cast, which bodes well for my attempts at photography also, since it means that there should be plenty of light on stage. Too much light in fact, at least according to the Del Emmas's drummer, who claims after a couple of songs that she feels like she's trapped in a tanning machine due to the overhead light being so bright and so close to her head! The Del Emmas have dropped their trademark identical black wigs and sunnies look and are taking their music much more seriously than they used to. While I've always enjoyed their garage-trash style, this set gives me a new respect for their musicianship, even though I do miss those wigs and the Barbara Feldon/Betty Page look.

For an opening act, the crowd isn't too bad, though as usual hanging back from the front of the stage, leaving plenty of room to move for an ace photographer; or even me. The only force standing in the way of my quest for the perfect rock shot was that bane of the photographer's life, the spastic dancer. There was only one of them, but then you only need one. This guy started with a mild variation of the frug, then took us through all the modern dance steps, including the I-think-I-might-have-wet-myself, the my-dick-is-tied-to-my-big-toe-with-a-fishing-line-that's-too-short, the damn-this-haemorrhoid-is-uncomfortable and finally its somewhat more frantic cousin, the I've-got-gerbil-up-my-arse. Actually, if I hadn't been trying to snare some half decent photographs which didn't also include any portion of his anatomy, I suspect I would have found his whole performance pretty amusing. He, of course, was in another world and didn't give a stuff.

Just to prove that the Del Emmas have not lost all of their sense of fun, they invited the entire audience to a party after the show and even gave out the address from the stage. I can only assume that the party was being put on by someone who either is desperate to have several hundred drunks turn up on his/her doorstep, or else the address belonged to someone they've recently had a falling out with...

After the Del Emmas finished, there was a long wait before Rocket Science. In the past I have been annoyed at being kept waiting by these guys when they headline, but on this occasion it certainly was not of their doing. Like several of the other good venues around town, the Annandale has taken to posting the set times at the front door and (presumably) insisting on the bands sticking to them. Rocket Science went on at exactly the advertised time but, for almost ten minutes or so beforehand, could be seen standing at the side of the stage, hands in pockets and/or beers in hand, checking their watches every couple of minutes until the hour arrived (well, quarter hour, actually). I'm not sure if the web cast was live or delayed but, if live, that may have had something to do with it as well.

Between sets the DJ, Jay Katz, spun some decent records and absolutely no techno bullshit which, if you're like me, is your immediate and overwhelming fear the moment you learn that there's going to be a DJ during the evening. I have no complaints with what he played, but he sure liked to blast it out, so it was almost as hard to communicate with the barmaids during the intermission as it was during either band's set. Fortunately my previously expounded strategy of reducing my request to two simple words ("Coopers" and "green") go me through.

As launch time drew closer, there was a general compacting of the audience at the foot of the stage. Once again, someone came up to me to ask if I was Glenn A. Baker (I wasn't). "You sure look like him", he offered in an attempt at keeping the conversion alive. "Nah", was my unhelpful reply, as several recent beers turned to bile in my stomach. I don't know whether he took "nah" as "no, I ain't", "no, I don't" or "no, don't talk to me any more" (all three were equally applicable), but he did give up at that point. Coincidentally I noticed that one half of Sydney radio team Merrick and Rosso (stuffed if I've ever bothered to work out which is which) was standing casually at the side of the stage, glass of red wine in hand. I wonder if people are always coming up to him and asking him if he's the other one?

Whatever the reason for the studious punctuality, within seconds of them placing hands on instruments "International Jetset" had us all trundling down the runway and then we were airborne. For the next thirty odd minutes, it was like being sucked into a jet engine as the time seemed to fly past with minimal distraction. I know they have been criticised in some quarters for playing "long, drawn out songs which gives off the impression of self indulgence" (Divine Riters doubtless will remember this discussion), but when a band flogs itself and its instruments as mercilessly as these guys do, they sure keep my interest and it doesn't sound like self indulgence to me (I do however remain convinced that the theremin is little more than an irritating toy in this context).

The next song I actually remember was "Astrobird", which then went into... fuck, don't know; everything becomes a blur again. At some point they did play their new single, "One Robot" (the first taste of their forthcoming "Contact High" album), the promotion of which was ostensibly the reason for this gig in the first place. Suddenly (well actually 51 minutes after take off by my watch) it was over and they were leaving the stage! Say what?

The DJ attempted to whip up the crowd to demand an encore and there was some sporadic clapping and cheering after each of his exhortations but, since they hadn't played two of their best known songs, no one really believed that the show was over. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes they were back for one of the most accident prone encores I've ever seen. Launching into "Burn in Hell", guitarist Paul Maybury decided he was playing the wrong guitar (the one he'd been playing all night) and switched to a black Les Paul; then he couldn't find the lead; finally he found it and slotted it in; then after a few notes the strap slipped off the guitar at one end; while he was trying to hold it up and play it at the same time, his lead dropped out onto the floor... Meanwhile keyboardist Roman Tucker had come out from behind the organ and moved around to the front of the cramped stage to incite the audience, inadvertently knocking over Dave Gray's bass pedals along the way. Gray tried to play on and right the pedals with his foot at the same time, which didn't work (to his increasing exasperation), so eventually he gave up, stopped and did the job by hand, immediately after which his own lead came out...

The band's detractors, of which I suspect they may still have a few (that being the nature of things), will probably derive some joy from news of this minor debacle, but both the band and the audience took it easily in their stride. Unlike far too many bands, who fall out of the sky over the loss of an instrument, even temporarily, this baby is certified to stay in the air even on only three engines and once these temporary setbacks had all been overcome they rock(et)ed on harder than before. Standing right up at the front of them, it was like having Mikey Robbins stage dive on top of you.

After the final encore, the title track of their first album, I left the pub shell shocked. There was little left to be said at that point and I wouldn't have been able to hear it anyway.

- John McPharlin
1/2 (and not just because my ears are still ringing twelve hours later)

BACK TO THE BAR

BACK TO THE REVIEWS PORTAL