Just as it’s lazy to judge Brian Jonestown Massacre on the basis of the band’s caricatured representation in Dig!, so too is it erroneous to interpret the Dandy Warhols’ career trajectory as a linear progression from that portrayed in that colourful documentary.
But there is something in the film’s contrasting assessments of the respective bands: Brian Jonestown Massacre has remained a notionally functioning unit, its simmering internal tensions managed by luck and commercial pragmatism; the Dandy Warhols has evolved into a musical brand of consequence and reliability. You attend a Brian Jonestown Massacre show half expecting there to be some on-stage drama; you know when the Dandy Warhols come to town, they’ll put in a solid show, packed full of hits and devoid of clichéd artistic pretension.
And so it is that the Dandy Warhols’ 2014 tour of Australia expanded to included five shows in Melbourne – five shows, dammit, all of ‘em near perfect. The line-up is stable: Courtney Taylor-Taylor has shed his fringe for a pig-tailed look that’s somewhere between Duane Allman and Sunbury-era Billy Thorpe. He’s the consummate professional on stage, his interaction with the crowd cloaked in a veneer of familiarity and sincerity. Zia McCabe: cool, enigmatic and chic, in a rock chick sort of a way. Brent de Boer is free from his local union of immigrants, and reveling in the moment. Peter Holstrom wears the type of leather cap you can only reasonably get away with if you’re in a band, and a very good band at that. The band is flawless; they know what they’re doing, and what the audience has come to see.
Sun God Replica had already come and gone by the time we arrive; Link Meanie is a legend, and Sun God Replica are a great band, playing skewed garage rock. Everyone should see Sun God Replica, and the only consolation for missing them tonight is the still lingering memory of a show at the Public Bar recently when Link softened his sickness-ravaged vocal chords with Coke, and tore through a killer version of The Stooges’ No Fun.
And then the Dandys. The aesthetic is one of psychedelic pop – you can dance to every song, every melody reminds you of the good things in life, and makes a mockery of the tedium of daily existence. It’s a greatest hits show: Not If You Were the Last Junkie on Earth, Crack Cocaine Ranger, We Used to Be Friends, Get Off, Godless, All the Girls in London. If the band is tired of playing Bohemian Like You for the 1034th time, they don’t show it: the crowd whoops along like a room full of alcohol-enthused punters at a suburban nightclub, and everybody is happy.
The band plays for 90 minutes, and there’s no encore: the band members wave and depart, their contented demeanour mirroring the satisfaction in the audience. The Dandy Warhols remain an excellent – and disciplined – unit.
BY PATRICK EMERY
Loved: The warm and fuzzy atmosphere.
Hated: The inherent strictures of a school-night gig.
Drank: Coopers Red and Green, and Goats to see out the night.
