Roast

Sunday the 25 September felt truly spring-like. And what a beauty Spring is when she cares to show herself. Melbournians broke out into liberty-print sans the seemingly ubiquitous 180 denier opaque body stockings. Charlie Murray couldn't have appeared happier as she convinced her visiting Perth lover that, "There's nothing to see here...this is just Melbourne on an average September day". Meanwhile, the rest of the city guffawed audibly at a full day of more or less unbroken sunshine!

Over dreamy beans on the deck at Minor Place, a Sunday Roast was dreamt up for the sun trap of McKean Street. It fast developed into an extravaganza of lamb and pork and a scene stealing Lemon Meringue Pie expertly made and presented by Ed. The event almost encroached on the live music challenge, what with all that sunshine and preoccupation over whether the crackling would crackle, but was saved with some fancy fret work by middle man Fink. It was entirely instrumental and the perfect accompaniment to dinner preparations and the requisite pre-dinner kabana courstesy of Nick. I'll never give you a roasting about being ordinary again, Mr Fink. Especially if the sun keeps shining.

Check one, two

Described as 60s garage, freakbeat and RnB newcomers, The Frowning Clouds politely completed their soundcheck whilst exhausted 365oflive blogger, Jonny, stopped by his local, the Northcote Social Club (CONVENIENT), for a much needed Friday night lager and to steel himself for the weekend ahead.

After a ring around, it was clear that it would have to count as Friday's live music experience. We contributors were pooped. Between us we had seen some 12 bands or so over the course of a few days. When I received the text message, 'At Northcote Social Club, listening to The Frowning Clouds do soundcheck with fellow enthusiasts...This f*ckin' counts...', I was royally relieved.

And it's not like we can't follow up with some...now let me get this right...60s, freakbeat and RnB...newcomers...real soon. They're playing a FREE PBS gig as apart of the City of Melbourne Melbourne Music 2010 Festival Thursday 8 October in Swanston Street. (Actually, I saw them at the Retreat earlier this month and they are very cool and are garnering a cool little following [they're also from Geelong {which is okay, isn't it?}] and when I listen to them that remind me of so much: the Beatles, early Stones and even this...CLICK HERE...which is my go-to memory of the Easybeats.) Lock that shit down.

Emily bought a Jeep

One of the best things about seeing Charlie Parr is that he tells delightful little stories between songs. For instance we know now that his missus, Emily, bought a Jeep. And he delivered that line with aplomb. So well, that it's the opening for today's blog.

He also tells a narrative or two through his songs.  He sang penetrating Piedmont-style blues on his 12 string and evocative traditional folk songs on a Banjo he bought right here in Melbourne! He even said he'd probably leave it here, which prompted my fellow blogger to blurt with glee, "Giveaways!" But I think he probably meant he'll pick it up in December on his way down to Marion Bay Falls.

But let's face it, THE best thing about Charlie Parr is his guitar playing. He is so bloody adept. Last night Charlie Parr apologetically sat on the stage at the East Brunswick Club, the humble hairy creature that he is, and showed us that he clearly knows his way around a fretboard.

See Charlie Parr's performance of 1922 on YouTube

The crowd was ravishing after a rocketing performance by support act, the Brothers Grim. Lead singer James gave it his all, and then some. Wow.  At one stage he leapt into the crowd and with all those Jesus beards rubbing against one another, I felt like I was back in time. Bushranger time - what a thrill. The Brothers Grim describe themselves as bluesly Americana-style rock, and if you can catch them, do. They're hot.

Every single song Charlie sang was soaked up by the crowd of bearded enthusiasts, and Brunswick hipsters. Not least was his rendition of 'Cheap Wine'.  One cool cat was heard calling back through the crowd, "That was unbelievable, I've never heard it done that way before." 

I reckon the revellers in attendance would have stayed till dawn listening to the sweet finger-pickin' of Parr and insisted on an encore where a both a slow and upbeat song were delivered.  Nothing like finishing with an up tempo song, and joining in a completely unrhythmic white man's clapping effort. Again, what a thrill.

There was certainly a special spirit to the evening, which isn't guaranteed at a Thursday night gig.  It can be put down to a few things: authentic, real performances; completely humble musicians (I don't believe you James Grim - you might be a virgo - but I strongly doubt you were counting green m&ms backstage); and of course, facial hair.

5 woos out of 5

It's True, Cars Are Thirsty

'The car's out of juice,' MT thought to herself as she tried to rush to Fed Square to catch the veritable delights of FREE Thirsty Merc performance.
'Oh what shall I, what shall I do?'
It was 8 to 11 and Megan had just 11 minutes to get to 7-11 to fill up and smash it to Fed Square to keep up the 7 acts in 12 hours ambition that she had so long harboured..

After Thirsty pumped through a massive setlist of four songs that was CLEARLY worth the price of admission, Pot Bellez hit the stage, clearly angry at Dane Swan's inability to take out the Brownlow, but after they patched up the fist hole in the floor, they played ALL of their crowd-friendly hits to the crowd, who were also friendly.
Thirsty Merc and the other acts were clearly unaware of the presence of two award-winning online authors being part of the crowd as they both delivered incredibly average sets!
1 woo out of 5
J

Bluesday Tuesday

There was no two ways about it, $12.50 steak-night, six independent artists and two of the greatest blog writers of the millenium meant that The Espy was off the hook!

The stage was set, literally and metaphorically, as the slurring Espy host promised a 'more acoustic than not' evening.

In a veritable convention of bloggers, the amount of camera flashes suggested nothing short of a strobe party as Nicolette in her skin leopard suit, which took away from the spectacle, bashed out some crowd friendly hits with the assistance of 9 year-old percussionist, Jason, who banged on the bongos, inspired by a camping trip. Bizarre.

Lecia took the stage then returned it so she could perform on it. She had many strings to her bow, in fact her guitar, as she sublimely struck her way through chord after chord with her uppity rock-pop-Missy-Higgins infused numbers. She could beatbox, she could sing, she could play; she was the highlight of our Bluesday and the source of many an Espy erection.

Lecia on YouTube

C.O.B.

It was a full moon, it was the equinox, it was just the vibe of it, as C.O.B. roared to life on the stage, never revealing the full words of the acryonym: Care of Business, Cock of Balls and Carry on Bruce were popular suggestions. These old rockers didn't disappoint as their Hoodoo Guru-infused inoffensive rock didn't miss a beat, literally or metaphorically. The guitarist was fast on his instrument; the bassist competent. Very cleverly, they managed to write a feel-good tune about a man being threatened on the Geelong train and this turned out to be their closing number and literally and metaphorically left on a good note. One punter described the act as 'Dylan-esque' before semi retracting that statement saying, 'Oh, it was just one of the words'.

Michael Gambino was certainly 'more acoustic than not' and he was even quieter when he broke his G string. A replacement 'a-coolstic' guitar was summoned and he continued to meander through some XR, JJ and BH-infused ditties about his travels. His songs were as evocative as shit and two well-dressed bloggers at the event described him, very cleverly as vo-cool!

This was to be a great end to the night until City of Cool hit the Jimmy Page with amazing unthoughtful rendition of swearword-laced tracks that promptly cleaned out the Espy of human beings.

City of Cool (COC)

The night was incred.

4 woos out of 5.

JC

Elbowskin Comedy Degustation @ The Courthouse Hotel

A most resplendent evening of live music(al comedy) was enjoyed by all present at Elbowskin’s Comedy Degustation (Courthouse Hotel, 86-90 Errol Street, North Melbourne). The comedy degustation is a format invented by Elbowskin that incorporates fine food and fine wine with performances by some of Melbourne's best comedians, all punctuated with wine puns so hilariously bad that even your Dad probably wouldn't repeat them at a dinner party.


As always, Elbowskin delivered a great show with their sparkling comedy, witty banter and ability to make you picture what your mum’s clitoris would look like if it dropped off onto the floor and rolled slowly towards your foot. Elbowskin were joined on stage by Danny McGinlay, Sammy J and Geraldine Hickey, all excellent comedians who had the audience in stitches at all three levels of alcoholic intoxication ('sober', 'a bit pissy' and ‘I'm Charlie Murray the night before an interstate flight that she hasn’t even packed for yet and still hasn't washed those sheets she’d been meaning to wash and holy fucking shit that bloke she likes is flying in from Perth on Friday and he'll be sleeping on a mattress protector at this rate’).


Sammy J’s ‘Driving Song’ was a highlight for me, along with Elbowskin’s ‘Song for Mum’ and McGinlay’s impersonation of Bear Grylls hoping the piano on stage doesn’t suddenly spring to life and attack him. I'm also pretty sure that everything Geraldine Hickey said was fucking hilarious - I don't care how drunk I was. A late appearance from Barry Rossa certainly added a touch of class to the evening.


All in all the Comedy Degustation is great evening that will almost certainly result in a McDonald's drive through run at 11PM once you’ve realised that you’ve only had four morsels of food to dampen the eighteen standard drinks you’ve just consumed. The morsels just happen to be lovingly prepared by the excellent kitchen at the Courthouse, so don't you go complaining about small servings - this is a degustation after all, and they gave you four glasses of wine and four comedy acts too, and maybe you should have ordered some chips in the bar before you went in or something, so stop whinging you fat stupid cuntfaced cunt.


The evening was drawn to a most splendid close when Chris Judd won the Brownlow, resulting in much front bar revelry for us all. I mean, have you seen that bloke wearing a towel?


He did it once on the telly.


SERIOUSLY.



Please find below a photo of Elbowskin on stage after paying homage to their mums. Note: I do not have any Hipsterdouchebag-o-matic applications on my iPhone camera, so I just photoshopped the picture below to make it look like it was 1972.

Why fly south when we've got the North?

 

What a fine way to begin blogging week two: listening to one half of talented Melbourne duo Fly South sing a little improvised number about venturing North!  In an ode to Brunswick, dear darling Jade's homely home, bats and balls, and the humble ukulele (amazing instrument), Matt Welch excelled himself.  And time is the revelator, of course, because had I known Matt's family name was Welch, I would have insisted on a cover of my other favourite singer/songwriter by that name: Gillian. Anyhow, now that seed is sown, maybe Fly South can indulge 365oflive on that front when they play at the Edinburgh Castle on the 10 October?

Accidentally Kelly Street

Kelly's Gone Viral

The corner of cool and happening, the hallowed  streets of Collingwood, are not the first places you'd expect to see a a To Her Door rendition being eaten up the locals, but as I wandered by with musical confidant Charlie Murray, I saw just that.

Paul Kelly also dominated the broadsheet arts sections heralding the release of his memoir How To Make Gravy. Paul Kelly's been telling stories for years. His story, your story - stories of power, disenchantment, justice, love. Everthing basically. And judging by the extract, the upcoming memoir, which started off as a few notes to his A-Z live music project, will be a pearler.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCCdxVQN4e8

When speaking to The Australian on the memoir Kelly said, "I didn't set out to write a tell-all type of biography...My main rule was that it had to be an interesting piece of writing...when I realised it was turning into an accidental memoir then I had to honour that."

Well, PK, we salute you.

HOLY SMOKES IT'S HAYFEVER

In an unusual setting for a mega-star, Greg Templeton played a sold out loungeroom on Friday night - sold out in terms of the three-seater couch being occupied by three humans with incredibly bad posture and an affinity for an arrowroot.

Spurred on by low-level gambling and photo-sharing from a decidely unattentive crowd, Greg was on fire, and then started playing guitar and singing after shruggig off the health and safety concern of being alight from an errant vegemite-on-toast bread-crumb being incredibly close to the heating vent, which was adjacent to Greg's playing arm.

Pacifier, Colin Hay and Something for Kate were all late cancellations for the gig, with Greg seemingly taking a parting shot at the anti-ominipotent artists non-showing by rendering versions of the song pitch-perfect to the adoring throng of couch-dwellers.

On Waiting For Your Real Life To Begin, Greg smashed the record for the longest holding of a note, since the bottle Lyn Murphy from Fremantle found washed up on the shoreline, that contained a note penned from the fingers of none other than Czar Nicholas III after he allegedly tried to break up with his girlfriend from the New World in a romantic way rather than texting.

All were welcome in the loungeroom at McKean and everyone there believed that MUSIC was the real winner.

JC

One Is The Loneliest Number

... so said Harry Nilsson. And tonight, at the Wesley Anne in Northcote, there was no exception to that seemingly steadfast rule. Ryan Murphy played a solo gig, and he seemed to be at pains to explain this to the crowd after every song. Perhaps he had a massive complex about appearing to have no friends, maybe he was there to promote his band, 'Ryan and The Lion', but at no stage during the performance did he want us to be under the impression that he was normally a solo artist.

"This is just a solo-sort-of-thing that I'm doing tonight" he told the crowd in a very cool and aloof manner - which is just the sort of thing that High St artisans love to hear. "I'm usually up here with my band, Ryan and the Lion - but tonight, on this ocassion, it's just me".

The three minute information report of his missing myriad of musical mates was commonplace after every song as Ryan used advanced technology to record and loop sound effects that he was making on his guitar and with his voice, that was clearly a desperate attempt to fill the musical soundscape left vacant by his bereft band.

He sang songs about bitches, songs about chicks, songs about girls and songs about being beaten up - which a lot of High-St hepcats can relate to as the Northcote area prides itself on loose women and unprovoked beatings.

His return to the stage next Thursday at the same venue "with my amazing band" was announced before his last song in one last desperate attempt to assure us that heaven no, he's NOT a solo artist.

Desperate I was, after the show to approach him and ask him if was in band or something.

His Roger Federer good looks, his increasingly clever use of the guitar to gain anything but conventional sounds, and his verbal re-iteration of blatantly pointless points, will be enough to ensure my attendance at next Thursday's gig.

3 woos out of 5.

JC

*Pics of the good looking man to follow...

Vicarious Aquarius

Wednesday 15 September

The rules of this social experiement aren't set in stone. They're fluid; like water flowing in and out of a terracotta urn, and I should know plenty about that because I'm an aquarian, the horoscopic water carrier. Very occasionally I spill a drop or two as well. Like when I signed up to participate in this critically acclaimed blog and then realised I might have to experience a concert or two vicariously.

Metallica played at Rod Laver Arena last night and this single event whittled a weekly Reality Street dinner down markedly. It seemed the return of the best aquarian girl born of the 1980s on the planet, played second fiddle to the best metal band born of the 1980s. Not only did a coterie exclusively of men miss Charlie's homecoming, they missed an antipasto platter last seen in 1995, delicious lemon, chilli and smoked trout pasta and potatoes roasted in Costco duck fat. Rock on that.

Nevertheless I've got back sufficient feedback, and read probably the best online heraldsun.com.au article ever, not least because it included statements such as, 'the unbridled manlove in the room was extraordinary' and 'even drummer Lars Ulrich regularly left his kit to bond with the front row - by spitting his drink onto them, much to their joy,' to feel as though I was there.

Just now I emailed old mate and wrote, "What were they like, Timmy?" :

He replied:

Awesome. They’re old, but they put on a great show.

It was the first time I saw them and apparently a lot of the things I found odd are normal. For example. Hammett seemed almost uninterested at times, Trujillo left the stage after each song before returning with a different and amazing new bass (they all did except Ulrich on drums), very…very staged and restrictive (pyro, set movement, comments to the crowd)

The set (physical, not playlist) was pretty much pointless and appeared expensive (and probably transported from the US ). They played on a central stage and ensured that all sides of the stage got a good view of each of them. For punters like me in the pit, it was amazing. They were only 3 feet away.

I should preface each performance by explaining that the mix was terrible. Instruments faded in and out and they could never really get the volume right for the solo guitar – hopefully it was better for the seated patrons.

Trujillo – was intense as I expected him to be. Flawless performance. Did the crab all over the stage (I have no idea how he plays so well with his bass 1 inch off the ground.. unreal)

Hetfield – really in his element on stage, interaction with crowd, singing and guitar…all pretty much spot on

Hammett – seemed to enjoy himself and soloed pretty well.

Ulrich – his drumming was pretty much spot on. The tempo was high so he was flat out all night (possibly too fast in places). I realise it’s metal, but why would I want to open my mouth for him to spit water into it… I found that a little weird….now, if it was beer…..

This tour really felt like they were doing it for the fans. They spent plenty of time on stage after the gig throwing out free stuff and thanking people for coming. They played a good mix of old, new and covers (interesting that the people I went with all knew some songs and not others, so you had your new fans, your old school fans and the people who liked load and reload…. I fit into old school with a little of the new stuff). There was a sea of black last night in the crowd…. Or fat guys with their tops off (made me laugh)

A human water carrier nourishing thirsty fans, and a sea of black punctuated with fat guys with their tops off? I'm laughing too.

PS. My day wasn' t totally devoid of live music. Bellowed three hymns at chapel to the superepic transylvanian sound of the organ.

CHOIR CHOIR PANTS ON FIRE

September 14.

If festivals have keynote speakers then the Darebin Music Festival must surely have keynote singers.

In a performance reminiscent of LIVEAID, the volunteer choir 'Arcapella', led amorously by David Perry performed hits from every continent of the world besides Africa, South America, Europe, Aisa and Australia - but boy did they dominate North American hits. Tunes such as 'I'll Be There' by Michael Jackson and Trent-Terrance Darby's signature piece, so signature that I can't remember the title.

The choir wasn't alone in the singing, especially whent the crowd joined in.

Ably supported by Watsonia North Primary's middle years choir, the evening of songs will long live in the hearts of those who attended and if the quality of writing in this blog is anything to go by, then hopefully you will feel like you were there!

These guys put the 'ho' in the choir


4 woos out of 5.

JC

Go Cats.

MONDAY SEP 13

As I walked around aimlessly contemplating my life and the near certainty that I'd end up living in a dilapidated hut surrounded by inbred cats and saucers of sour milk, I happened upon a music school where a student and teacher were dueling violins. 

It was serendipitous, not because the sweet sounds encouraged my thoughts to more positive shores, which it did, but it also reminded me that it was morning tea time and that I should promptly make my way to the tea room for what would have been my thirteenth cup of coffee. And as stood faced with the thought of missing my thirteenth cup of coffee, I supped on the the sounds of that talented young student and felt a bourgeoning urge to join the musician ranks.


Spring is surely a perfect time to pick up an instrument. But when is it personally too late? Twenty, twenty-five, thirty years of age? And how long does it take to get good? If middle man Fink has been playing for twenty years and he's still quite ordinary, then what hope have the rest of us got? In twenty years, could I be up to playing a slightly off beat, out of tune, alt-rock-pop cover?


So I guess today's live music experience was subtle, but a wateshed moment. The  inspiration to play music means that as an ailing cat woman I might just be up to playing a Cat Power or Cat Stevens cover (because I would probably be really thematic by then and fill the hut with cat paraphernalia, like cat clocks and hobby tech pictures of cats playing with round balls of wool, and music would be no exception).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDsxkQk6DWw

Denim on Denim

SATURDAY SEP 11

Fireworks, parades, crowd surfing, power-ballads, massive crowds and an electric atmosphere - The Lucky Crow pub had it all - but across the road at Yah Yah's, Jo Meares' Band played.

Besides for three sharply dressed individuals in attendance, the crowd lacked the fashion arrogance usually reserved for Brunswick St, as Jo Meares et al sauntered and sauteed through mega-hit after mega-hit.

Warmed up by three talented female sopranos straight out of the fifties, Jo Meares took the stage with seven of his mates to rock Yah-Yahs to the point where the bartender misheard Jon and offered him a Draught rather than a Coopers. During a soft love ballad, Jon was overhead commenting to a hot girl dressed solely in denim that his 'shirt has come up nice in the wash'.

The show was amazing, according to Thommo, rock-star fan and avid 80's dresser who was quoted as saying, "The show was amazing". Others in attendance just described the mood as incredible. "The mood was incredible," Matilda 'Beryl' White said.

The climax of the night for me was later back in my bedroom, but prior to that, Jo and Co. ended their show with a very rock, 'I think we have time for one more,' comment, before launching into a crowd favourite (judging by the swaying of 17 white guys on the dance floor) to end the show.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Psp8azQWUj4

His silence on the issues surrounding the September 11 anniversary and the Fremantle Dockers exit from the footy finals made a very strong political statement - which was no doubt in the minds of most punters as they left to make the time-honoured march to the Rochy*.

Jo Meares - 3 'Woos' out of 5


*Matilda - this could be the shittest pub ever.