If punk and mariachi had a baby, it would be the Puta Madre Brothers, and they were in fine form tonight. You come for the spectacle as much as the music. They’re quiffed, suited and booted as federales and spit out just about every imaginable permutation of mariachi-mixed-with-something-else – Tex-Mex met punk, funk, country, rockabilly, hillbilly, jug band, surf guitar, indie and ‘60s garage tonight.
A couple of their tracks owe a clear debt to The Cramps (one of the lads sounds a lot like Lux Interior, which is a good thing), while others pass nod to The Pogues and The Blues Explosion. In fact, the last track sounds like the Talking Heads in Spanish. What unites the genre jump is the mariachi twist.
Essentially, Puta Madre Brothers are a one-joke band, but it doesn’t wear thin because they’re too damn good and it’s too much fun. There are not too many other bands who can provide a backdrop for daydreaming about being in a spaghetti western (The Young Horse, off It’s A Long Long Way to Meximotown was particularly good for this tonight).
The Puta Madre Brothers have an eclectic cult following and they were out in force. To say that there’s a festive atmosphere is something of an understatement – at various points it’s something more akin to a riot (albeit one of the nicer ones).
The lads are at their strongest on their scorching instrumental tracks. There was a string in quick succession and by the third song questions were validly raised about whether The John Curtin is structurally sound. People don’t so much dance as stomp, jump and holler, which sets the upper floor bouncing by a couple of inches.
The whole thing’s anarchic fun, which befits the band’s irreverence. “We played in Hobart last night and someone died. Try not to do that,” mutters one of the lads. Later, while dispensing freebies to the crowd, someone announces: “I’ve got one of our old CDs. I’m gonna throw it, but it’s your responsibility if you get hurt,” leaving us to wonder if that’s how the Hobart victim met his or her demise.
What a bummer that this was their only Melbourne show for the year.
BY MEG CRAWFORD
Loved: That they finished with a flourish of pocket glitter.
Hated: This is a public service announcement. Deodorant people – don’t leave home without it.
Drank: Diet coke.
