The Spinning Rooms tempted chaos and unleashed something akin to fury. But overall, The Spinning Rooms seemed largely harmless. It’s not a description many punk bands would ask for, but The Spinning Rooms were just so likable. Punk rock surely began as a people’s movement, but over the last few decades a sort of punk fundamentalism has developed, where devout followers adhere to a strict doctrine of punk principles. As well as being totally alienating, this mutation of punk rock is more than a wee bit tiresome. By contrast, The Spinning Rooms are an every-person variant. Although the mess of noise coming from the stage awakened one’s love of chaos, the underlying energy – that all-important force you can’t necessarily hear or see – was very becoming.
Entirely without pretensions, the five-piece didn’t restrict themselves to one method of stylistic operation. Over the course of their set, they sounded just as comfortable locked into a cumulatively-expanding krautrock drone as spasming through a horror punk freak-out, replete with vocal yaps and gymnastic saxophone.
Everyman accessibility is something Spray Paint brought in spades. Tonight was the Austin three-piece’s Melbourne debut. However, they had none of the trappings of an international headliner. In fact, the way the band members were just casually hanging out before their set – more than happy to chat about baseball – you could easily have mistaken this for a hometown show.
Meanwhile, the band’s music isn’t compliant or easily filed in a succinct category. Their set-up consisted of two guitars tuned dangerously low, thus ensuring the bottom end was accounted for. The drumming was also dutiful in this respect; the thumping floor tom created a sound akin to the constant low-frequency whirr of an aeroplane flight. After a certain point, you just accept its presence, but Jesus Christ, that noise is responsible for moving you rapidly through the air.
Spray Paint’s movement was ongoing, but it was never guaranteed to persist. The songs mostly forwent verse-chorus structure. In actuality, the setlist was more a succession of impressionistic blasts, rather than a number of tidily constructed songs. Vocally, the three members combined to execute a convincing Thurston Moore impersonation. Lyrically, there was plenty to grab your ear. But in keeping with Spray Paint’s structural idiosyncrasies, the lyrics didn’t depict a lucid picture. The band excelled in evoking sharp sensations – fleeting, perhaps, but no less forceful.
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
Loved: Friendly filth.
Hated: Star Wars, The Phantom Menace.
Drank: Alone, together.
