People will tell you that Melbourne’s social animals don’t pay too much attention to bad weather – they can’t, otherwise they would never leave the house. The insistent rain over Collingwood is testing that theory tonight, especially for the committed smokers huddling under the two square metre undercover area in the beer garden, but so far the worst side effect is a band room that smells strongly of an old Labrador.
The Clits begin proceedings sounding like they have melody to spare, packing plenty of jangly pop ideas into 180 seconds before unceremoniously moving onto the next song. There are some rough edges to the performance, and at times you sense that their ambition has sped ahead of their performance skills, but the trio pull people closer with their ear worm choruses. There’s a peculiar sweetness in guitarist Lucas singing a few bars of Rain by Dragon as he leaves the stage.
In case you couldn’t tell from all the denim, The Living Eyes are going for something a bit more sharp, aggressive and snotty when their set comes around. Where The Clits draw rough sketches of songs in 2B pencil, The Living Eyes write everything down in thick black marker, filling any hint of silence with caustic guitar lines and ratatat rhythms. The fresh-faced naivety of how clearly they wear their influences is an asset – there’s nothing here that isn’t cribbed from the garage-rock handbook, but they do it very well. Young naivety had a dark side though. I can’t have been the only one to cringe when the singer thanked The Clits for opening tonight before ‘jokingly’ calling Lucas a faggot. The schoolboy punk angle comes with some baggage.
The stage props have been there from the start – hanging streamers, paper fish, pineapples and maracas chaotically thrown about the place like the dying moments of a beach house party – but with Super Wild Horses it makes more sense (and not just because it’s Hayley’s birthday when the clock strikes 12). Fashionably laconic, elegantly apathetic, this is the space that the Melbourne duo inhabit on stage and on record. Both Hayley and Amy (switching between vocal, drums and guitar duties throughout the set) are comfortable drowning in a sea of reverb. Not to fill up any vocal shortcomings, it’s just the way they like it, and having a sound where everything is supposed to bleed into everything else is well suited to The Tote. Members of Twerps, Dick Diver and Lost Animal pop onstage from time to time for guest performances that range from vestigial – whacking drum sticks together, anyone? – to off-putting, with a Theremin-like device particularly prone to audio demons. But it is a celebration, there’s a new album to be heard, why not bring a few buddies in to share the fun? It’s Super Wild Horses’ party, and they’ll do whatever they want to.
BY MITCHELL ALEXANDER
LOVED: Spotting a who’s who of Melbourne’s indie music scene in attendance.
HATED: The internal waterfall near the sound desk – that can’t be good.
DRANK: Mountain Goat Steam Ale.
