The crew at Bone Soup pride themselves on putting on shows with eclectic lineups. Obviously there are limitations to how far you can take that mantra. You can’t (or at least probably shouldn’t) organise bills for local venues that feature an assortment of acts so diverse each will inevitably alienate a different segment of the audience, especially if you’re organising your show at a venue with a rock’n’roll history as celebrated and infamous as The Tote. On Friday night Bone Soup seemed to be persisting with this idea. They prefaced the performance of American garage-punk outfit The Coathangers with a succession of local acts that together formed a good representation of the Melbourne garage world as a whole.
Pow Pow Kids opened the night. Featuring members of WOD, Dumb Punts, Bonnie Doom, and for one show only Drunk Mums, they brought effortless buoyancy to the show early. The Pink Tiles also maintained that light and bubbly feeling, but with a little more bubblegum and a less typically rock’n’roll sound. Scotdrakula, as is often the case, were unrestrained and energetic. The recent addition of another guitar brought a new dynamic to the sound, one that opens the door to new possibilities for one of Melbourne’s busiest bands. It’s fair to say everyone could’ve found something to like in the lead up to The Coathangers’ performance.
There was certainly a large amount of buzz surrounding The Coathangers at the time of their arrival. They’d toured the USA alongside garage luminaries Black Lips and received a lot of praise for their girl-punk/anti-girl punk garage sound. I guess it’d be hard to avoid being lumped in with other all female outfits when you play in a band like The Coathangers. It’s such an unfair and unnecessary setback to confront, having your gender inform the opinion of your audience before you’ve had the chance to listen to anything you can do. The Coathangers oppose the idea of what girl punk bands should sound like pretty well. They’re a celebration of the sound that I’d warily and hesitantly refer to as traditionally ‘girl-punk,’ but they remove themselves from the sound at the same time. At points, there are stretches of ‘bubble gum,’ but they’re separated by moments where everything descends into a brutal slop of abrasive guitar screeches and manic drums.
The arrangement of their songs, and even their entire set more broadly, maintained the enthusiasm of the Melbourne crowd who had moved about to fill every cavity of the legendary band room. Though the crowd wasn’t as vicious as others have been, they were every bit as interested.
At the conclusion of their final song, vocalist Julia Kugel announced that she hated her Dad, dropped the microphone and then walked through the crowd that had parted like the red sea. The crowd chanted for an encore. I joined in. Now though, looking back, it was probably the best ending to a set I’d seen in years.
BY KEATS MULLIGAN
Photo by David Harris
Loved: The drummer’s shrill voice.
Hated: The ATM wasn’t working (again) and I had to hoof it all the way to Smith St.
Drank: Whatever I could get my mits on.
