Corin began by sitting behind her enormous synth and swaying along to the sampler/sequencer at her side. From it emerged a slow evolution of beats and pads drawn from the same electronic well as ‘90s science-fiction film and video game soundtracks. Completely unhurried in her approach, the producer added little lines and flourishes, unwilling to fill-in space simply for the sake of it. Groaning dub step bass drones, like the death rattle of an iron leviathan, shook the room, setting into motion demented bell loops which seemed to hang in the air like spectral butterflies. Gradually, Corin unfurled the true scope of her skill. Still swaying, the classically-trained pianist hammered away at the keyboard with the kind of power and precision that voids warranties faster than you can say ‘outside of intended use’. It was a wonderfully unassuming display of synthesiser virtuosity.
Nico Niquo slid easily into a set of ambient techno with an opener of soft synths and gentle swells that steadily reined-in the gathered attentions. Then, like a vaporetto slipping off to an unknown destination, the track departed, and the producer called collaborator Jared Becker to the stage. The saxophonist’s influence on the music was immediate as he breathed through the tenor sax like a horse whisperer in the ear of a skittish colt. The combination of electronic soundscapes and an acoustic instrument conjured up images of neon-noir on empty Berlin streets and really took the material to the next level.
PVT swanned onto the stage like footballers at a grand final parade. It had been a long time between drinks for the band, and their enthusiasm for finally being back in Melbourne was returned in spades by the jovial crowd. The math-pop trio warmed up with some classic material as Richard Pike danced around his microphone, rotating between guitar, bass and keys as the mood took him. Dave Miller boogied behind his laptop with his venerable hair game totally on-point. With a bit of energy out of their system, the band launched into cuts from their latest album, New Spirit. Salt Lake Heart was a chance for Laurence Pike to assert the drumming prowess that’s always underpinned PVT’s live show. The physically-imposing percussionist belted out ornamental rhythms like a rogue teppanyaki robot on a murderous rampage.
Morning Mist, Rock Island Bend settled things down a little, as Pike sung slowly through a voice-scrambling effect not-unlike an unsolicited ransom demand. Unfortunately, it did nothing to mask the lyrics. Seemingly written in a Year 12 General Studies class, they were delivered with an earnestness that belied the vocalist’s years. It was an unwelcome dichotomy, as the ever-impressive band were maligned by an air of self-congratulation and a mislaid sense of importance. The things of real significance, if one would have only looked back from the stage, were the hundred smiling heads – so happy just to be sharing the space after so long – jiving away and screaming for more.
Highlight: Corin being the cyber-punk enfant terrible of classical piano.
Lowlight: Poor microphone positioning swallowing Jared Becker’s clarinet parts.
Crowd Favourite: Every move PVT made.
