Early birds were treated to the delights of the Steve Miller Band. Not the American MOR warhorse, but the handsome Antipodean one. Book ended by two female members, Steve Miller brought to life visions of Boss Hog, The White Stripes and any garage trio you could think of. Hunched over his axe like a demented Gene Vincent, Miller growled his way to oblivion. This band is going places. The surprise is where exactly that place might be.
The J.P. Shilo and Chris Abrahams tinkled and clanked their way through a short set which was, for the greater part, drowned out by the crowd and arbitrary clinking of glasses. Although J. P. Shilo is ever closer to becoming the more hirsute Warren Ellis.
Then it was time for one of the most loved Triffids records to get due recognition. The mix was unparalleled as everyone played and sang at their best. As Born Sandy Devotional came to life track by track, one could still get goosebumps to Stolen Property or Chicken Killer then be enveloped by the warmth of Wide Open Road or Estuary Bed. With the likes of J. P. Shilo, Gareth Liddiard and Jill Burt sharing the vocals, a glorious selection of Triffids favourites followed.
But rather than sticking to a formula, the band explored the darkest caverns of their legacy. So Good Fortune Rose, Hell Of A Summer, Save What You Can and Unmade Love stood resplendent next to In The Pines and Raining Pleasure.
And when a song like Bright Lights, Big City gets an airing you realise how privileged you have been. By the time Liddiard belted out an epic Field Of Glass, The Triffids had played a most generous and solid set.
As the crowd spilled out into Swan Street, you couldn’t help but think just how much more David McComb had to give as a lyricist, in whatever band that was, had his life not been cut so short. A reverential reverie bordering on the evangelical.
By Bronius Zumeris
Highlight: Everything.
Lowlight: Nothing.
Crowd Favourite: There were so many.
