Bored Nothing – the stage name of young, lanky Melbournite Fergus Miller – has been delivering pleasant, scrappy college-rock sounds for a few years now. A handful of EPs with fuzzy bar chords and rudimentary, almost monolithic rhythms bear the band’s name, so it’s disheartening that after this many years the band (and particularly awkward wee Miller) are a vacuum when it comes to engaging with an audience. Wave after wave of low-fi tunes are well-received by the respectable crowd, but only at the end of the third song does Fergus even address the audience with a forced “thank you”. We’re not asking for a magic show or world-weary banter here folks, just something to mask the sound of tuning instruments.
While we’re being hyper-critical about superficial things, the percussionist for D.D Dumbo just might be the Bez of the Melbourne music scene. He waits vacantly while his partner – already handling guitar and vocal duties – records and prepares drum loops; all Bez has to do is occasionally wack a bongo and dance like a shock victim. Regardless, D.D Dumbo’s enigmatic blend of droning hippie rhythms – he’s got a 12-string guitar and he’s not afraid to use it – and Afrobeat-tinged grooves is a crowd pleaser, even more so when he turns his attention to a brooding cover of Roy Orbison’s Crying. The crowd don’t dance as much as protrude hips generally in time with the polyrhythmic sounds, suggesting Bez might be ahead of the style curve after all.
Remember a few years ago when The Middle East unexpectedly announced their break-up at Splendour In The Grass, before ending their set with two minutes of fuzzy guitars and thrashing drums, possibly in an attempt to cast off their reputation as twee-indie folksters? The similarities are plentiful in the first few minutes of R.L Jones’ set, the former Middle East guitarist lashing out at his guitar alongside friendly backup band The Phony Mexican Diner. It could be announcement of intention, of retaining the past while turfing out a future path, or it could be to make sure he’s got your attention. Tonight’s show is foremost to road test songs for an upcoming album, and it’s an experiment in most senses of the word. Jones has an open canvas at the moment, so one minute he’s picking away at a wistful ballad, the next is fully of jangly chords with a nod to Tom Petty. The result is somewhat schizophrenic, but he’s like that jerk in high school with straight top marks and his pick of careers. Spoilt for choice, but he’ll do swimmingly in whatever direction he chooses.
BY MITCH ALEXANDER
LOVED: Jones’ beard – half hobo, quarter Crazy Horse roadie.
HATED: How much I ended up enjoying dancing Bez.
DRANK: It was cold and in a pint glass. These are the only two requirements.
