Instrumental act Forest of Eyes bellowed, sans amplification, that we were witnessing their first ever show. The young group clearly relished the opportunity to play to a sizeable crowd upon debut, their childlike glee near-palpable. Their rambunctious, cymbal-crashing prog-rock tore through the venue, comparisons to Cream and Led Zeppelin inevitably sprouting. It wouldn’t be a stretch to picture the lads rifling through their fathers’ records, amassing inspiration with each landmark album discovered.
While in a visual sense, Forest of Eyes weren’t especially stimulating, they more than made up for it with their technical expertise. The band professed an extreme cohesion, their rambling tangents performed with precision.
Their set was short but sweet, Forest of Eyes emerging an ideal warm-up act. “We don’t have a website, we don’t have a Facebook or anything!” a band member declared post-set, the curtains closing. The last-gasp farewell drew a few laughs, but it seemed strange that a band so accomplished should simply disappear into the ether. They earned the right to take their profile seriously. Hopefully Forest of Eyes shed a little modesty, kick things into gear and get some gigs.
Meanwhile, Dune’s set emerged a definitive highlight. Each track resembled a rich slice of nostalgia – a half-hour-long nod to ’80s new wave trends – and the band’s execution proved irresistible from beginning to end. The trio achieved an impressive output, with barely a hiccup evident. They exuded an effortless charisma, thanks in no small part to the exceptionally talented Jade MacRae. Her sublime vocals combined with her comfortable stage-presence contributed to a strong showing for the band, their set comprised of beautifully sculpted electro-pop.
The murky Beware The Gaze Of Ghosts, one of their recent releases, demonstrated their melodic prowess. Later, eccentric treat The Sea unfurled with a fierce 8-bit-inspired bass line, before a bubbly, silver-tongued finale sealed the deal for the Corner crowd. Dune are an exciting prospect, especially given their tendency to so casually flirt with the form of big commercial hits. It was easy to imagine things blowing up for the band in due course.
The curtain opened on a segment of sax-fuelled funk, emphatically introducing the evening’s headline act. Clairy Browne & The Bangin’ Rackettes were terrifically crisp and cohesive, an ensemble of nonchalant, technical brilliance. Browne was naturally captivating, dressed in gem-and-sequin-encrusted attire. There were no signs that she had been battling laryngitis only a day before the gig, Browne rising to the occasion with a fantastic vocal performance.
Clairy Browne & The Bangin’ Rackettes proved their credentials as a formidable live band. However, with sassy single Love Letter easily the most fun and infectious song within their repertoire, they proved a little less beguiling than you might expect. Though they professed a likeable blend of funk and soul, their songs often ventured into faintly progressive territory. A taste of their new material (Walk of Shame) was appreciated, though it was equally as difficult to penetrate. On this particular evening, you couldn’t fault their execution, but rarely were the band nearly as memorable or as immediately potent as desired this Friday night.
NICK MASON
LOVED: Being treated to three acts radically different from one another.
HATED: The apathetic crowd. If you’d rather be somewhere else, piss off so I can see.
DRANK: Mercury. The cider, not the chemical element (nor the planet).
