Perched outside the unfamiliar likes of noble accommodation amid Fortitude Valley, Brisbane, a short trek from the proudest of erotic boutiques, Sonic Reducer had only one goal: to secure a cheap pack of Dunhills.
“25 fucking dollars,” mutters Sonic’s effervescent drummer, Lachie Grinbergs. At 21, he’s a self-appointed serial chain-smoker, but only in the circumstance of touring. “Smooth original ‘flayor,’” taunts bassist Louie Hanna, drawing attention towards the lack of spell check in cheap imports.
At five past nine, almost fashionably late, Sonic Reducer takes the stage, vigorously launching into the beckoning anthem of discomfort in the unknown, Stay Out from their EP Skewball. Frontman Cormac McKahey throws himself around in a quiet fury, all while retaining the charm of a flirt. His presence is unfiltered, the microphone seemingly the only thing that keeps him grounded, his doe eyes revealing the rawness of a performer, a musician and a freak.
Sonic Reducer
- When: 21 June
- Where: Bar Open
- Tickets here
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New addition, guitarist Ryleigh Hilton, takes on the title with pride, his shyness quickly dissipating at the tearing of each chord progression and riff, a controlled chaos that hits you square in the chest.
Lachie, classically trained in jazz, vitalises such skills in his drumming through an explicit use of syncopation, sound and texture, providing odd time signatures for what is stereotypically modest. Louie is unapologetic; by the way they aggressively manipulate the bass to deliver a definitive growl, it’s apparent they play as if their life depends on it.
Sonic Reducer is on a crusade. Their charm is reckless, a strange blend of vulnerability and charisma that makes it difficult to look away. They’re tenets of punk, though entirely polite about it.
Upon the culmination of their audacious set, it’d be appropriate to place the lot in a retirement home for a game of scrabble with your grandmother. Still, their ‘fuck the system’ mantra remains dangerously intact – brazen, unchecked and extending to the multitude of two-minute noodle packets pocketed at chain supermarkets.
Last year, Sonic was informed with only five days’ notice that they’d be replacing the original opening act for Royel Otis’ Europe and UK headline tour, going from playing pubs in Wollongong to packed-out European theatres.
Upon inquiring about Sonic Reducer’s European voyage, I was met with a handful of tales and assorted feelings.
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Gripping a can of VB, Lachie begins the tale with a grin reaching the crevices of both flushed cheeks. “We were stopping through Germany, a town called Duisburg,” – he interrupts himself – “You’ll have to look up how to spell it, I don’t have a fucking clue.”
“We were trying to find a bar to go to. It was the first night we had to ourselves, it was Germany for God’s sake, [so] we were bound to take up such an opportunity. We travelled the half hour into town, dressed up real nice, which didn’t completely match the context of the environment – Duisburg isn’t the fanciest of cities, you know? Regardless, we dress to impress ourselves, of course.
“We ended up at this tiny little bar, probably the smallest in the town, absolutely packed nonetheless, you couldn’t even walk around. There were people smoking inside, beer spilling from pint to pint. We went outside with our beers, two pints in, having smokes, and this little, absolutely minuscule French man had come up to us, pouring questions at us as fast as his liquor.”
He goes on to deliver a French accent. “‘Where are you from? Your accents sound very funny. Why be here?’”
After claiming he, too, was a musician, demanding they follow him on TikTok and showing them a bad serenade about being cheated on by a girlfriend, the man started breathing rapidly.
“And you won’t fucking believe this, his phone is still in our hands, his song whispering in the background, the geezer pops both his legs up on the table.” Lachie impersonates the man once more: “‘Bet you don’t know which one is a prosthetic.’”
“We only got bite-sized pieces of each place, really,” Cormac says. Ryleigh concurs: “I didn’t even realise we played in Prague. Everything was a bit all over the place. At times, the drives were more memorable than the hotel rooms.”
Although that’s not to discredit his fondness for the routine of touring life. “I feel like a misconception of being a band on the road is that it’s like a paid holiday, and although you get the occasional free time, it’s largely a very thoroughly planned-out process. And although it was hard at times, I think overall I really adapted to our day-to-day tour shit and actually loved how it felt like we were there to do our job. It made it feel very real.”
Louie goes on to offer up another story from the road. “We were playing in Newcastle, I believe.” They stop to reconsider. “Doesn’t quite make a difference anyway; it was one of those places where the crowd struggled to let loose.
“Regardless, the show prevails, and after the fact, I go into the photography pit to hand out our zines. This 40-year-old woman begins to stare me down with the biggest goo-goo eyes I’d ever seen.” They giggle: “I feel like I should preface that she wasn’t a very seductive cougar.”
“She began to query me in her thick accent: ‘Can I come backstage with you?’ I let her down easy, and she goes on to release the most bloodcurdling ‘NO’ I had ever heard in my entire life.”
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Now, the band’s gearing up to unleash their new EP SQUEEZE, set for June 13. Ahead of its release, they’ve dropped a handful of singles, the first of which, DIP ME IN HONEY, has been a longtime feature of their live set, written at a time when the band performed as a three-piece, with Cormac to play bass before the role was permanently sanctified to Louie. BABYMAN muses on consumerist drug use in a timeless manner, a high-energy anthem that comes at you swinging hard and slow.
Their latest release, NEEDLES came on a whim, singing to the posers. “All the young punks”, as Cormac puts it, hold very few principles except for their blatant glamourisation of drug use in a scene that has a messy history with such.
With the EP locked and loaded and enough manic energy to carry them through to whatever the future holds, Sonic Reducer is primed to make a name for themselves in more than just the punk scene. Or maybe working at a pub isn’t as bad as it seems. Better to keep your hopes up.
Sonic Reducer is playing Bar Open on 21 June. Tickets here.
