The night closed with the reformation of The Crayon Fields. Has it really been that long? They sounded great, encapsulating the era in which they existed, if it’s not too early to look back on it as an era. Geoffrey O’Connor slipped back from his karaoke aesthetic and into pristine guitar-pop frontman guise effortlessly.
Standish/Carlyon rued their truncated set after being given the wind-up notice. They were just hitting their stride, so fair enough, I guess. I’m starting to come around to their onstage gimmick, but it’s still too boring to recount here. But the bassline worship is most definitely a palatable delicacy and I want more of it.
Synth lothario Jonny Telafone likes to fuck. He also likes to punch. He also likes to pantomime both actions at once onstage. He pseudo-raps a bit like Muscles. He doesn’t wear a shirt to show off his muscles. He has a very good song called Make Your Pussy Cum. It’s a metaphor for making your pussy cum. It samples pornography in which someone’s pussy is cumming. There was a song with bass so deep that it rustled my retinas and tickled the dust from the North Melbourne Town Hall rafters. Thank you Jonny Telafone.
Punk icons Primitive Calculators dealt in disdain. Intra-band disdain preceded Sick Of Myself, as did a goading of the crowd’s self-disdain. They sounded fucking amazing.
Laura Jean has written a lot of songs about songs. There were also some songs about kelpies. It was pleasant, but the overbearing meta-ness brought back bad memories of hackneyed writing workshops. Man of the hour (one of two mans of the hour, to be precise) Guy Blackman made a lovely keyboard/backing vocal cameo too.
Downstairs at the supper room, which was decked out like it was in preparation for a suburban 21st (I suppose it is a 20th birthday celebration), Dick Diver performed in acoustic mode. Sans bassist Al Mountfort, the remaining three-quarters of the group performed a selection of new material and a number of cuts from last year’s New Start Again. Keno is a corker even in the stripped back setting.
Clag were a bloody great way to kick off the day’s festivities. They owned the loud-quiet dynamic with their thrashy and trashy closing song Chips And Gravy.
Darlings Twerps were on early to accommodate a quick dash to a wedding this evening. The jangle was blasted at a pretty harsh volume, but my mates at the back said it sounded alright. Maybe put it down to having the sound desk at the rear of the expansive hall. But as they often are, Twerps were on point. Latest single Work It Out was a treat, as was the performance of self-titled LP standouts.
New Estate were in blistering form, with a gun of a drummer proving to be one of their many aces in the hole. Top notch.
Local gadabouts Bum Creek let loose on the ample PA with their brazen fuckery, hitting a few highs during their late-night slot. Their uninhibited, primal dick-flapping is hit and miss, but tonight it was primarily a hit.
There was a moment during the interstitial soundtrack when Essendon Airport’s Martial Art filled the hall. It’s one of my favourite songs.
Beaches were great, as they often are. It’s good to have them back in full swing. They played a new song where all members shouted “hey” and it sounded brilliant. Again, I wanted more.
It was a long, rewarding day and a worthy celebration of 20 years of excellence from Guy Blackman and Ben O’Connor.
BY LACHLAN KANONIUK
LOVED: Digesting a hearty, eclectic serving of terrific Australian music.
HATED: Really, really hated missing Pikelet due to a massive wait for a dang burger.
DRANK: Ice tea and ginger beer from the convenience store across the road.
