A few minutes after arriving at the Melbourne Town Hall, we found ourselves in a queue to the bar. At least, it seemed to be a queue, beginning at the make-shift bar secreted at the rear of the room, and snaking around into a horseshoe shape. But was it a queue? The people immediately in front of us weren’t sure, and no-one seemed to be falling into line after us. When, after seeing other punters approach the bar without recourse to the queue, I wandered down parallel to the queue, only to be rebuked sharply for not adhering to queuing protocol. By the time we were served, the apparent queue had disappeared; there never really was a queue.
That wasn’t the highlight of tonight’s gig, but it did provide a suitable conceptual context. Goblin, the legendary Italian prog rock outfit of yore, was in town for the first time, playing the equally impressive Melbourne Town Hall, complete with 29 pipe grand organ as part of Melbourne Music Week. The concept was perfect – and an intriguing concept can go a long way.
We missed Night Terrors for reasons not germane to this review; suffice to say, we were celebrating a life well lived, and someone always loved, and forever missed. Consistent with the intensely pluralist nature of subjective musical experience, subsequent reports were mixed: it was either a transfixing experience, or nothing to write home about, depending on your source.
Thematica, a supergroup of sorts featuring members of the Midnight Juggernauts, The Smallgoods, Lost Animal, Pikelet and Architecture In Helskini, took full advantage of the acoustics, and the grand organ, to perform various movie tracks, including the theme to Midnight Express, and the Star Wars cantina song. The only thing missing was John Williams – not to be confused with that bloke that Steve Waugh likes – and a lavish orchestral accompaniment.
Goblin is best known for its cinematic associations of yore, most notably the soundtrack to the ’70s film Suspiria. Like the best progressive rock, Goblin finds a riff, sits on it, and turns it inside out. The sound is one aspect of the composite aesthetic; it’s a casual walk down a rural road, an inebriated late night thrash at a favourite rock club, a reflective emotional moment. It all holds together like a multi-dimensional sonic collage. It’s weird, but inviting.
Not surprising, it was Suspiria – delivered around three-quarters of the way through the set tonight – that generated the most significant reception. An attempt by keyboard player Claudio Simonetti to start an audience sing-along ran foul of enigmatic local crowd custom; arms folded or not, it metaphorically brought the house down. Guitarist Massimo Morante barely utters a word all night, leaving his elaborate guitar licks to do all the conversing. Simonetti scales the stairs to play the grand organ; we hoped he’d stay there, but sadly it’s only an occasional treat.
The show ends on a crescendo of intensity: Tenebrae, Phenomena and the mesmerising Profondo Rosso. The band bows gracefully and the lights come on. The queue is a distant memory, and we’re all in a happy place.
BY PATRICK EMERY
Photo credit: Richard Sharman
LOVED: Claudio Simonetti on the grand organ.
HATED: The bar set-up.
DRANK: In open defiance of the regular logistical and transaction difficulties.
