The Barebones mix elements of Wilco’s alt-country and the UK’s pub-rock of Nick Lowe and Elvis Costello, while also recalling Aussie-indie forebears Bluebottle Kiss and The Panics. Tonight, the well practiced five-piece impressed with tight arrangements and even tighter harmonies. The adroit preparation was something of a curse however, because it meant that nothing daring jumped out to surprise you. Nevertheless, the band exhibited admirable commitment to this performance and the songcraft and musicianship both recommended a repeat viewing.
During Peabody’s stage setup, frontman Bruno Brayovic looked rightly offended to hear Powderfinger’s Passenger blasting through the PA. See, when the ‘Finger’s Internationalist record came out, Peabody was already a couple of EP’s into etching out a teeth-baring rock sound, which has far more in common with Stiff Little Fingers than their adult-contemporary countrymen.
Tonight’s show marked Peabody’s 20th anniversary and, appropriately, it was just some gig in a pub (albeit the much-loved filth barn, Yah Yah’s). Throughout a double-decade career, the band’s existed at the fringes of recognition. They’re one of those gems discovered during an early-hours Rage session, or that impressive mystery support act. Thankfully, tonight’s show proved that this hasn’t hampered their enthusiasm. These blokes mightn’t be rock gods, but they still played as if these songs are the most important creations on earth.
Peabody sounds something like Mission of Burma fronted by Jello Biafra and tempered with beer soaked pub-rock energy. The setlist started with the current four-piece lineup (who have been together since 2007) stamping through a stack of whip-your-tailbone tunes from the two most recent LPs. For the show’s final third, they downsized to a three-piece and ‘classic-era’ drummer Graeme Trewin jumped behind the kit. Trewin’s presence was not only technically exceptional, it further intensified the performance of bandleaders, Brayovic and bassist Ben Chamie.
Peabody doesn’t have a hit song by any means, but its catalogue possesses indomitable life-force. The Sydney band’s legacy mightn’t be inscribed in the history books, but tonight, when they pummeled through 2005’s Got You On My Radar, you couldn’t help from feeling haughty satisfaction at being privy to this underground workhorse.
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
Loved: Sarcastic school teacher stage banter.
Hated: The cops showed up, but left before Peabody played.
Drank: Melbourne, Victoria.
