I like the sound that is coming from the general direction of Melbourne’s Neighbourhood Youth. It’s morose and melancholic, yet melodic and slightly anthemic. That’s not to say these qualities are mutually exclusive: if you get the pounding drum rhythms right – as Neighbourhood Youth do – you can almost dance to the band’s misery. However, the sound is really only coming from their general direction – not directly from the stage and its residents – sloshing around the room in waves of warbling bass and echo-drenched vocals. The wall of sound complemented the tracks at the best of times, but in other moments, you couldn’t make heads or tails of a track. In one song with a slightly more intricate shifting bass line, it almost sounded like the band were playing in two different keys. This is fine if you’re playing a jazz bar, but Ding Dong is not a jazz bar. Fact.
After a very quick turnover, in which there is barely enough time to be accosted in the smoking area by Brisbane migrants scabbing cigarettes, Go Violets are pushing out boisterous rock & roll and having a lot of fun in the process. Their syrupy-sweet vocal melodies come thick and fast, with taut guitar lines bringing a few more people to Ding Dong’s pit. It’s straightforward jangle pop with a few rough edges and everything the band’s four females do – from the banter to instrument switchovers to multi-part harmonies – is pulled off like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Having grown up in Brisbane, you can become inexplicably territorial about the bands that come out of there. There’s no point being proud of a band from Melbourne or Sydney, because every band comes from Melbourne or Sydney. But a Brisbane band that gets national coverage is a rare beast – or, at least, that’s how it feels. You can move states but still feel a sense of duty to support your local band, even though they’re not yours anymore. This might explain why most of the crowd seem to be ex-Brisbane dwellers and the conversations with strangers and minor acquaintances, each huddled over my cigarette packet, revolve around how shit bar X is now or why suburb Y is the place to go. This is a gig, not an ethnographic study, yeah?
The John Steel Singers’ early singles were a national youth radio station wet-dream, with blasts of 60s pop with lashings of Zombies-tinged harmonies and enough hooks to power a tiny town powered on choruses. Songs in TV ads, supports for internationals, festival favourites…these five guys could have pumped out happy sing-a-longs ad infinitum and I would have lapped it up. But this, right here onstage: the five minute throbbing drum-and-bass groove holding everything together, while guitar freak outs explode around them? Yeah, this I can do, as well. Reductively, I will say that JSS have steered in the direction of krautrock, but it’s more a change in percentages than a rapid departure. The fun pop is still there, and the setlist still has a place for the fairy floss joy of Strawberry Wine, but the tripped out jams only hinted at on Rainbow Kraut are fully formed tonight. They’re good at it, too – so good, you can get lost. Bob your head for a few bars, and before you know it bassist Scott Bromiley and drummer Ross Chandler have been locked into a solid groove for the last five minutes. All of a sudden, their gig a month back with Baptism Of Uzi makes a lot more sense. JSS are a bold band inching away from proven success to something much more niche and esoteric – and I’m ready for the journey.
BY MITCH ALEXANDER
Loved: Getting deep into JSS’ luscious jammed-out grooves.
Hated: Self-induced dumpling coma.
Drank: Judging by Saturday morning, apparently everything.
