Nostalgia for original line ups can conjure up such intense feelings the announcement of Veruca Salt’s tour at the Corner Hotel saw the show sell out within eight hours. Is it because we’re sentimental for a genre that made the alternative music scene popular or are we suckers for catchy harmonies and copious use of distortion pedals?
The Corner was packed tighter than the tobacco in a Cuban cigar. While punters waited for the band, who has, in their own words, “Hatches buried, axes exhumed,” Sydney garage, punk-pop rockers Bloods unleashed their frenetic paced, surfer-tinged songs, punctuated with impressive vocals and witty repartee. Single No Fun from latest EP Golden Fame incited the throng while lead vocalist MC confessed her love for Veruca Salt.
From the get go, Veruca Salt put on a solid performance that lived up to the hype; loud, grinding guitars, Post and Gordon’s hair thrashed about while they assaulted their axes, endearing harmonies and fans sung every word of even the lesser known songs. It brought back memories of when we were younger; life was simpler and fashion was easier. Checked shirt and black Levis anyone?
One More Page of Insincerity Please opened the set with enough feed back to satisfy the most avid fan. Drawing heavily from albums American Thighs and Eight Arms to Hold You,plus a preview of their upcoming album release with singles It’s Holy and The Museum of Broken Relationships, Veruca Salt sounded as relevant as they did in their heyday.
Seether was a force to be reckoned with, and their live rendition did justice to its memory, while All Hail Me, Victrola, Spiderman 79 were equally as potent and Sundown, as an ode to Kurt Cobain was a sad reminder of that era. Minor quibbles were the intermittent weak vocals and insincere-sounding between-song banter. Does anyone except the diehard fan really care about Louise Post confessing she’ll eat a Cherry Ripe on stage and how good looking we all are?
Repartee aside, Veruca Salt are back with a vengeance. Post, Nina Gordon and her older bro drummer, Jim Shapiro, and bassist Steve Lack put on a killer show, resurrecting the grunge of old and rekindled fond memories of the ‘90s.
BY ANNA-MARIA MEGALOGENIS
By Mary Boukouvalas
Loved: The feedback squall of dueling guitars.
Hated: The trite between song banter.
Drank: It all in.
