Flannies, beanies, skinny jeans and doc martens stretched as far as the eye could see. A kaleidoscope of fashionable hipsters comfortably paraded The Espy like it was their second home, frog leaping their way across the dance floor. Yes, just like their umbrella name suggests, they also have their own individual dance moves. Some flattering, others not so much.
The Spray N Wipe festival, an annual musical fruit bowl sported some of Australia’s hottest indie pop and rock outfits, spread over four stages. On the front stage, Brisbane trio Gung Ho were reminiscent of fellow QLD neighbours Hungry Kids Of Hungary and Last Dinosaurs, recycling similar bright guitar riffs. They played quite well, except their indifference on stage made for a stagnant performance. You know something’s wrong when the crowd possesses more energy than the band.
Disappointed, we moved towards the Gershwin room where we caught the final song of Melbourne indie pop duo, Deja. They sounded good and the lead vocalist had a quirky intonation, complemented by the mellow Royksopp-esque electronic backbeat.
Pissed off that we didn’t arrive at the Gershwin earlier, we found our compensation in The Reprobettes, a hilariously kooky punk group. Showcasing a ’70s revival of grungy surf rock beats, their music would have blended perfectly into a Tarantino film. Despite looking barely old enough to be let in that night, they owned that tiny mezzanine, their surfy tunes causing a reaction of dorky twists among the small crowd. It was Mia Wallace and Vincent Vega to a tee. The Reprobettes were great, a band definitely worthy of a bigger stage and audience.
Up next in the Gershwin room was The Griswolds, a Sydney-based quintet who took forever to start their set. They were okay, sounding very similar to Gung Ho, yet with more energy. They improved as they performed, however the biggest let down was the lead vocalist. His falsetto was consistently weak and cringe-worthy. We didn’t stay there for long.
Heading over to the Front Bar, we joined an exuberant young crowd awaiting World’s End Press, a refreshing indie-dance repertoire differentiated from all the other acts so far. No surprises, they were eclectic, groovy and pitch perfect. Initially looking like he belonged more in a chemistry lab than on stage, lead vocalist John Parkinson evolved into a manifestation of vigour and eccentricity. Everyone on stage was into it, and the crowd loved it, simulating the wacky moves of Parkinson. Revelling in a ’80s synth pop sensibility, World’s End Press were a definite show stealer. As soon as they exited the stage, there was a subtle buzz among the crowd as we anticipated the next arrival, Alpine.
A personal favourite, the Melbourne sextet were received on stage with an enormous roar. Sporting floral jumpsuits this time, vocalists Phoebe Baker and Lou James were as dynamic and complementary as ever. Their pitch wasn’t perfect, but they made up for it with their prowess and energy, enriching that tiny stage with an abundance of theatrics. As Phoebe and Lou prowled along the edge of the stage like trapeze artists, they knew they owned the crowd. Everyone was a slave to the music, dancing feverishly along with the girls to favourites Hands, Villages and Gasoline. By the end of the set, everyone was exhausted, saluting an unforgettable live performance. Alpine and World’s End Press were definitely the most popular and brilliant outfits of the evening, with a nice little surprise from The Reprobettes and Deja. The others were mostly cacophonous, yet an appropriate addition to an indie spectacle.
BY DINA AMIN
LOVED: Alpine, of course.
HATED: The female bathroom line.
DRANK: Double espresso.
