George McEncroe stood up and spoke at Bella Union tonight, but only after she sang, 'What a man, what a man,' along to her Salt'n'Peppa introductory track, especially for us! It was a sliver of live music, allowing us to proceed with this ridiculous premise.
George is a people's champion. And very funny too. She basically taught us to be zen. Her show is called 'The Care Factor' and is worth the trip to Lygon Street. The Age has described her as 'plenty clever'. We concur. See her before the end of the Fringe.
Info and tix here.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Crowd Says No to De-Sal.
Who are you? Who am I? What are we doing here? Well, what we were doing there was watching Diesel, 44, shred seven cherished axes on stage at the Northcote Social Club.
The American born- sandgroper, but now east-coast stalwart, went Hans-solo on stage, letting his axes do all the talking. It smacked of a mid-life crisis on sticky carpet with NONE of your closest friends, as the very unknowledgeable Northcote crowd waited politely to the end of the set to hear Crying Shame. Prior to that, Diesel took us all on a chronological journey through his life of guitar purchases.
Diesel, sans the Injectors, with axe number one, White Fang, launched into two unfamiliar hits of repute as the incredulous Northcote crowd bayed for blood and/or Crying Shame. Dressed for a bogan’s wedding, Diesel then brought out the mandolin which would be the second axe he would shred as he launched into his first single 'Coming Home' which brought two or three more punters in the fray as they nodded to their girfriends with VB in hand, that 'yes - I know this one'.
An avid Ebay consumer, Diesel nee-Lizotte, dared the audience to dream unleashing a guitar solo on a '$12.50 Ebay Sunburst' purchase to shock the adoring crowd into a veritable stupor.
There was an 8th axed on stage that night, but sadly it was never ground, as the mathematically inconsistent Diesel worked his way through a Steve-Martin inspired banjo-induced rendition of Old Man. This was one of five covers that sparked the interest of punters, already VB-soaked, as he indulged in Hendrix, Redding and Baccharac on a series of guitars, laden with effects.
Diesel was 'on-song' all night, but it was the guitarist in us all that was the big winner as he shred his way to a 10 minute version of Crying Shame that involved a crowd clap along from the three people not drinking VB.
7 guitars, 7 avid fans at the NCS and 7,000 VBs sold and two incredibly happy bloggers went home with melted hearts despite the non-enthusiasm of the crowd.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Win, Lose or Draw?
Grand Final Day 2010 will go down in the annals as a bit blah. But enough about football.
Questions about Australian blues must be posed and pondered.
Whilst sitting at Jim's Greek Tavern and realising that my use of expletives was better suited to a hotel, combined with the fact that I had to find some live music within walking distance, my mate Nick kindly googled gigs in Fitzroy and discovered that Australian blues legend Chris Wilson was about to let forth at none other than, The Rainbow.
Clad in an Adidas sweatshirt, the kind Dads just shouldn't wear, Chris sat playing chords on a modest electric guitar. The way my brother did when he was learning eight carefully selected and compiled songs downloaded from tabsrus.com back in '98. He was accompanied by a competent drummer and it was just sort of a bit...well...blah. It's difficult to write this. Chris Wilson is a musical idol of mine; he's spiderman, and Live at the Continental was a constant in my life at one stage.
I remember once seeing him at the Cornish Arms and dancing fervently with fellow enthusiasts. We had such a roaring good time he announced after four or five encores that he would shout everyone a drink. He's a top bloke.
But GF Saturday was a different story. A fellow Rainbow punter was similarly underwhelmed and asked many of the questions I couldn't articulate through my whiskey haze, "Is he a classic blues man cashing in on a reputation? Underneath that reputation is he a desperate man hard on his luck paying his way? Is a guy like Chris Wilson falling out of the scene or has the scene fallen in on itself?"
These are questions bound to be revisited very soon on 365oflive. We welcome your thoughts too.
Anyway, the best and the worst of times can be had with Chris Wilson I suppose...and that's what the blues is all about.
I've also checked his schedule and he's playing around quite a bit at present, so it's only fair to organise a rematch. After all, he is the best harmonica player in Australia. Case in point: Chris Wilson plays harmonica @ The Rainbow.
Jess McAvoy blows up the Grid
Robert Hoddle laid down something Melbournians ought to be very proud of; how good is it when you're standing at Southern Cross station and someone from say, Adelaide, stops and asks you where Elizabeth St is and you can do the whole, "Well, it goes: SpencerKingWilliamQueenElizabethSwanstonRussellExhibitionSpring." It's just neat.
The City of Melbourne is currently at pains to liven up Hoddle's Grid with some free musical acts. They're bloody good names, but the problem might be that the Grid ain't that neat on closer inspection. If that same interstate visitor asks you where the Shanghai Dumpling Restaurant is, or worse still Yu-Y, you have to make your way to the banks of the Yarra for some sand mapping. Melbourne loves her alleyways, but sometimes things get lost.
The diminutive Jess McAvoy was somewhat lost in her Gig on the Grid performance for the Melbourne Music Festival. Did the City of Melbourne mean business when they positioned her in the forecourt of 120 Collins? It wasn't aided by the unseasonably cold LATE September evening either. Perhaps she was there for the corporate types as the lingered home from after work drinks? Didn't work. From what I could tell they'd all fastened their running shoes firmly to their hosed legs and were making for Parliament station much like ants for the Queen Bee.
As disappointing as it was to watch Jess's intended audience furtively glance her way before rushing home to the warmth, boy, it was a pleasure to sit there and listen to her (she's a songbird). She sang beautiful love songs and the mix was pretty good. It certainly took the edge off the glacial wind as it tunnelled past.
Jess plays again tonight between 7 and 8. Not at 120 Collins, thank goodness. Now where is she playing...Cohen Place...pop down to the Yarra and I'll scratch something in the sand. Or check out the Melbourne Music website.
Jess sings The Sailor
Jess sings Dynamite
The City of Melbourne is currently at pains to liven up Hoddle's Grid with some free musical acts. They're bloody good names, but the problem might be that the Grid ain't that neat on closer inspection. If that same interstate visitor asks you where the Shanghai Dumpling Restaurant is, or worse still Yu-Y, you have to make your way to the banks of the Yarra for some sand mapping. Melbourne loves her alleyways, but sometimes things get lost.
The diminutive Jess McAvoy was somewhat lost in her Gig on the Grid performance for the Melbourne Music Festival. Did the City of Melbourne mean business when they positioned her in the forecourt of 120 Collins? It wasn't aided by the unseasonably cold LATE September evening either. Perhaps she was there for the corporate types as the lingered home from after work drinks? Didn't work. From what I could tell they'd all fastened their running shoes firmly to their hosed legs and were making for Parliament station much like ants for the Queen Bee.
As disappointing as it was to watch Jess's intended audience furtively glance her way before rushing home to the warmth, boy, it was a pleasure to sit there and listen to her (she's a songbird). She sang beautiful love songs and the mix was pretty good. It certainly took the edge off the glacial wind as it tunnelled past.
Jess plays again tonight between 7 and 8. Not at 120 Collins, thank goodness. Now where is she playing...Cohen Place...pop down to the Yarra and I'll scratch something in the sand. Or check out the Melbourne Music website.
Jess sings The Sailor
Jess sings Dynamite
Thursday, September 30, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)