By their own admission of ’23 years and still no hits’, without even trying The Fauves reaffirmed themselves as national treasures, playing music of the highest quality to little acclaim or public recognition. Counting the few amongst us who have actually heard of them, who could name another Australian band that continues to release album after album of such melodically crafted and poetically rich songs that are also chock full of bitchin’ riffery? Certainly their performance tonight was sloppy, under rehearsed and vocally lacklustre at times, yet was still miles ahead of anyone performing music anywhere in the world at any time throughout history. Lead vocals were a pretty even split between guitarists Coxy and The Doctor, with dependable bassist Ted stepping up to centre stage for possibly the first time ever. Cox observed the risk of playing two Doctor songs in a row as ‘the least popular Fauve’, and then the band proceeded to play three more Doctor songs just to twist the knife. They wrapped it all up stylishly with the sure fire Cox ‘hits’ of Charles Atlas Way, Nairobi Nights, Celebrate The Failure and Going For My Blue Belt. If nothing else they showed that even when they phone it in, The Fauves are valid entertainment. Yet what’s most touching of all is the good natured, self deprecating and hilarious way they relate to each other individually, and to how they view their long career. They may even be pricks in real life but behind that invisible fourth wall, they feel like they’re me best mates Even are of a similar vintage and also have written more classic songs than you and I have had cans of Melbourne Bitter. At their best when they steer away from the long psychedelic solos, they also excel when they’re more rock than Rockwiz, belting through the faster ’60s tinged material and backed by a solid Wally vocal harmony. Lead singer Ash Naylor expertly disciplined some longneck swigging corporate arsehole heckler who demanded they play “some good songs”. They played loads, but this douche just wanted to hear early obscure B-side Orange Hair and had obviously stopped listening in 1996. I’m not saying these Gen-W dudes should just stay at home and raise their defacto’s kids in private, but it’s a definite buzz kill for everyone present when they’re that brash, loud, bald, and fat, and have no idea of proper gig etiquette.
BY NICK ROE
LOVED: The free curry puffs and spring rolls were a nice salty touch.
HATED: The Fauves keeping their set to just an hour.
DRANK: Nine beers, two ciders and one red wine.
