Rob Zombie headlined a Shockwave sideshow at Melbourne’s Festival Hall on Thursday night, unleashing an hour and a half of metal goodness in the suitably bare bones venue.
With a fence between our seated area and the central floor, it felt like being in a boxing arena — funny that — and it was left to Zombie to deliver the knock out performance on a bill including Dommin, Monster Magnet and Murderdolls.
Extra lights and three screens — a big one at the back and two smaller ones for the sides, showing horror movie montages and raunchy anime — were rolled out, along with a small raised stage from which Zombie held court. It was an impressive rig — there was even a mirror ball, and inflatable beach balls! — that set the mood for a thumping sound and entertaining act involving several costume changes for the four-piece band. Joey Jordison provided some impressive drum solos, John 5’s guitar laid the soundtrack for a crowd walkthrough.
The set list — a song for every year since Zombie last toured, he promised, so that’d be about 16 — went way back to White Zombie and came up to the present. Highlights included More Human than Human, Living Dead Girl, Dragula spearheading the encore, and the Grindhouse faux trailer for Werewolf Women of the SS.
The crowd showed the range of Zombie’s influence: rockabillies, rock pigs, metalheads, goths, and a higher proportion of female fans than what might usually be expected at a metal gig: all bouncing shoulder to shoulder. Wicked fun, wickedly entertaining.
Back to back Amanda Palmer aka how sore are my feet? A little tenderness in the soles is well worth the effort of standing through performances by AFP, especially when she’s backed up by such splendid talent.
It’s a real cabaret atmosphere, with Palmer the centre of attention for the cultish fans: hence the non-stop murmur of conversation and bint-twittering throughout the rest of the gig. The inane shout-outs were saved for AFP: you know you’re old when you want to get to a gig that starts on time, where the crowd doesn’t squish you, where you can listen and watch and be a part of the performance without being a party to someone else’s casual chat.
But don’t let the grumblings of an old fart put you off, nor give you a false impression: last night’s gig rocked, and Melbourne’s Forum theatre, with its peeling walls, faux Roman architecture and star-studded twilight-blue sky, was the ideal backdrop for this kind of controlled mayhem. (Can’t wait to see Gary Numan tear it up!)
In fact, this was perhaps the most orderly show I’ve seen of AFP’s, though it wasn’t a regular rock gig, oh no (never!). Guests kept coming back; having played their own couple of tunes, they’d pop back to duet a bit later on. The Tin Stars, with Mikelangelo up front, provided the bulk of the backing — very sharp — after they held the main support slot, with the dashing Kim Boekbinder, the divine Jane Austen Argument and Jason Webley all contributing wee sets. With Webley in the house, it was always on the cards that Evelyn Evelyn would make an appearance — just the one song tonight. The line-up showed much parallel with AFP’s Opera House gig on Australia Day and Webley’s Fitzroy show on Friday night, but it ran to a much tighter schedule with changeovers quite quick. The atmosphere was always relaxed and comfortable, though there were sombre moments: a collection for Christchurch quake survivors (the Australian Red Cross is taking donations) and an echo of Oz Day with a rendition of The Drover’s Boy.
AFP began the night topless in safety harness atop the theatre staging with a quiet ukulele number (Makin’ Whoopee) before doing a slow quick-change on stage — Aussie and Kiwi flags prominent — to get the show on the road. An all-in encore, complete with strip-teasing koalas, of Map of Tasmania and Leeds United — earlier, Coin Operated Boy (and a promise of a possible Dresden Dolls tour Down Under) and Oasis were among the crowd pleasers in a set drawing heavily from the Amanda Palmer Goes Down Under album — led to another, a repeat of the previous night’s drinking song. As AFP remarked, you know it’s been a good night when the stage is littered with headless koalas, women’s clothing and beer.
A late start to the morning, now listening to Kim Boekbinder’s The Impossible Girl album hot off the merch stand at last night’s gig at The Evelyn Hotel in Melbourne’s Fitzroy, and again feeling really sorry for her that last night’s late start resulted in her set being reduced to two songs.
Boekbinder, who does wonderful things with loops and squeeze-squeak plastic crocodiles when she’s not simply enthralling with insightful snippets of love and life, backs up tonight and tomorrow, and is hanging in Oz for a while, apparently. Her album shows a wide range of musical styles and some quirky stuff to leaven the heartbreak and acerbic observations. Catch her if you can.
The reason for last night’s foray was Evelyn Evelyn, a concept act put together by Amanda Palmer and Jason Webley. Webley was headlining last night’s bill, which also featured the intriguing Jane Austen Argument (although it was only Tom last night, with support from guitarist-singer Gemma O’Connor whose voice was sensational).
It’s an amazing line-up of talent for a pub gig.
The conceit for the Evelyns is that they are conjoined twins: Palmer and Webely sharing a suit, the illusion given a delightful touch of the absurb by Webley’s beard (the other one should grow a beard, he reckons, to much LOLing). The Evelyns were much fun, though the theatrics did drag out the set a tad — moments of too little happening stretching an uncomfortably crowded room’s attention span, allowing the bar chatter to rise. I couldn’t see much of them when they were playing the keyboards, a hand a’piece and brilliantly clever, ripping out a cover of Lean on Me that was a highlight of the night.
They juggled an accordion, a guitar and then — with a sly wink to a third hand — Amanda’s trademark ukulele, and then did a bit of improv word-by-word Q&A with the audience.
Later, when Webley, ripping through Gypsy-ish accordion tunes (fave: Dance While the Sky Crashes Down), called Amanda back for some duets, the rapport between the two was centre stage. As was the rapport between Amanda and the audience; she strikes me as a natural cabaret star — the cellar kind, not the Vegas kind.
The gig dragged on a bit, given the crowding, the malfunction of Webley’s guitar undercutting his set, and the night stretching out past 1am, but you’d be hard-pressed to get better bang for your buck than this line-up offered.
Gustave Moreau has turned out to be something of a surprise package. I rolled up to NGV International for its Gustave Moreau and the Eternal Feminine exhibition expecting a bunch of, well, second-tier oil-rendered classical views of some cool myths, and was pleasantly enlightened.
Mr Moreau, painting in the 19th century and not someone whose works I was acquainted with, might have started in such terrain, but his use of wide-ranging cultures, abstract elements, patterns and different media, proved there was a lot more going on.
Lady Macbeth by Moreau
I loved his Salome series — sadly, this exhibit of more than 100 of his works did not include a couple of key pieces referenced with working sketches — and two exquisite pieces, one showing three sirens as the vaguest of shapes lurking on the shadowed shore, the other a featureless Lady Macbeth roaming the gloomy castle with a taper. There were others, of course, ghostly renderings, emotive splashes of bright oil amidst the dark, textures of oil and inlaid pieces of coloured stones. This article from The Australian gives a much more informed overview.
The Apparition by Moreau, showing Salome encountering the ghost of John the Baptist
Also showing, and free, is Unnerved, a survey of modern art from New Zealand on loan from the Queensland Art Gallery. There are a lot of photographs, a striking sculpture of a seal balancing a piano, and some audio-visual presentations, as well as paintings and installations. Post-colonial themes abound. I particularly liked Lisa Reihana’s large digital images reflecting Maori heritage.
It’s impressive that a collection such as this is free.
I can also recommend lunch at Persimmon, a restaurant tucked away at the rear of the gallery flanked by water features and offering a view of the gardens. For $55 a head, we enjoyed two courses — we had a prawn salad each for starters and lamb backstrap and pork belly for mains, with a glass of chianti and coffee, and tickets to Moreau. The food was delicious — note that the kitchen shuts at 2.30pm, though the restaurant hours are till 4pm, and the gallery’s till 5pm.
Note that you’ve got till the end of February to catch the Rock Chicks exhibition at the nearby Arts Centre: free, and a wonderful introduction to the history of women in Australian rock and pop.
How to make the most of a languid Australian summer evening, Melbourne-style … get thee to the Botanic Gardens, ensuring you have a blanket, wine, cheese and other essential victuals. Perhaps some mossie spray, but last night, the bites were few. And enjoy, under a gibbous moon and occasional small aircraft, the romp that is Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors.
Played by the Australian Shakespeare Company, Comedy added Pythonesque elements and slapstick to the play about mistaken identity to make it absurdly chuckle-worthy.
A simple backdrop, showing German expressionism in its cityscape, featured three doors plus a balcony, all that was needed as the sun went down and the lights came on. (The site is well chosen, with plenty of shade cast across the space.)
The back story about how the two sets of twins have come to meet under such circumstances is told in instalments that intersect with the main story at the climax; cleverly interwoven and and offering some of the play’s driest humour in the person of the bestilted Duke.
The costumes were gorgeously over the top, vaudeville meets Venician masquerade, and the performances were so physical and such good fun, with modern touches to add extra laughs without deconstructing the whole.
I’ve previously seen Midsummer Night’s Dream by the same ensemble here, and I think I’m going to be a regular from now on.
Food and beverages are available to buy, but BYO is welcome. There are chairs for rent.
More than four inches of rain overnight (much more in places), hail, blackouts … Yasi’s long tail lashes Victoria causing major disruption and damaging property across Melbourne. Spare a thought for those poor buggers in the regions who’ve already been flooded this year, now copping another soaking and wondering if the river’s coming up to meet them yet again.
In terms of performance, I don’t anyone at Melbourne’s Rod Laver Arena last night could say that they didn’t get their money’s worth. Leonard Cohen promised he and his brilliant band would give everything they had, and they certainly delivered: for nigh on three hours.
The hits just kept coming: ‘Suzanne’, ‘Bird on a Wire’, ‘I’m Your Man’, ‘Hallelujah’ …
He’s a fascinating performer, Cohen, the quintessential gentleman on stage, full of grace and modesty. When was the last time you heard an act thank their sound and lighting guys by name?
The night got off to a splendid start thanks to Deborah Conway and Willy Zygier, offering an acoustic set that was a mite too short, their rapport and her pipes proving to be a winning combination (it’s been a long time since Do Re Mi and the Sweet & Sour soundtrack, eh?).
And then it was time for the main event, complete with intermission, and thanks to the venue for letting food and drink be taken into the auditorium, a glass of red the ideal accompaniment on a rainy night.
There was a similarity to the set list in terms of mood and tempo, occasionally breaking out of the meditative lounge setting to trot or waltz — ‘Everybody Knows’ (such a brilliant song, I highly recommend the Concrete Blonde version), ‘First We Take Manhattan’, ‘Take This Waltz’. The musicianship was superb, clarinet and bass doing wonderful melds, Javier Mas on bandurria adding that hint of otherworldliness, Bob Metzer’s electric guitar adding some glue, the Hammond organ… each got their moment in the spotlight, often with Cohen singing their praise, but it was the combination that made the night, all those pieces fitting together, humbly, to make the big picture. And then there were the backing singers: Cohen’s long-time collaborator Sharon Robinson, who got her solo on ‘Boogie Street’, and the Webb sisters, Hattie with her almost-Celtic vocals and Charley with a dusty quasi-Stevie Nicks rasp.
Lighting and sound deserved their kudos, from what we could see and hear from way up side-on to stage. I never did see the drummer, the big screen being sufficiently tilted to cover him without actually showing much of a view of the action, and both bass and guitar being mostly obscured by a pylon. If I had a gripe about the evening, it was the undisclosed sub-standard seats for the price (buyer beware at the Rod Laver Arena!).
But it was the words and the man that the crowd was there for, and they were paramount. With each song offering Cohen’s gorgeous phrasing, delivered with such distinctive aplomb — the man picked up his guitar for a stretch, too, making those almost 80-year-old fingers do their thing, and delivered spoken word on ‘A Thousand Kisses Deep’ — you’d have to be made of stone not to be impressed, if not carried away. Love lost, love found, melancholy nights on the street, a touch of gospel and a slice of Bible story, cynicism and self-deprecation and songs about songs and those rays of hope, all sitting so seamlessly side by side.
There were two encores, the Webb sisters performing ‘If It Be Your Will’ with guitar and harp in the second before Cohen and Co. brought the curtain down with ‘Closing Time’. Outside, the puddles on the pavement and the mist hanging over the city’s neon heights were the perfect setting for the post-show walk to the station.
Songs we heard (I’ve probably missed some, and they aren’t in order): Dance Me to the End of Love (opener), Suzanne, Bird on a Wire, I’m Your Man, Hallelujah, A Thousand Kisses Deep (spoken word), Boogie Street (Robinson), Sisters of Mercy, Take This Waltz, The Gypsy Wife, In My Secret Life, Everybody Knows, There Ain’t No Cure for Love, Waiting for the Miracle, Feels So Good, A Singer Must Die, Born In Chains, Tower of Song, Chelsea Hotel #2, The Partisan, The Future, Anthem, first encore: So Long Marianne, First We Take Manhattan, second encore: Famous Blue Raincoat, If It Be Your Will (Webb Sisters, spoken intro by Cohen), Closing Time (closer).
If you haven’t checked out the Wheeler Centre’s amazing program of mostly free events, now is a great time to do so. This month, they are hosting much-awarded Shaun Tan, best-selling Kate Morton and tunesmiths Stephen Cummings and Clare Bowditch, amongst others. Not bad diversity, that.
And in other events to keep an eye on, it’s worth noting that an uber expensive Tutankhamun exhibit is on its way to Melbourne next year. Despite the level of crass commercialism suggested by the article, I still *shiver in anticipation*.
The penultimate gig of their Australian tour, at Melbourne’s Palace theatre last night, found Concrete Blonde in fine form indeed as they celebrate the 20th anniversary of their breakout album, Bloodletting.
Lead singer Johnette Napolitano is clearly relishing performing: she was relaxed and smiling, utterly gleeful as she called support band Melbourne-based Graveyard Train up to provide backing vocals on the whimsical Ghost of a Texas Ladies Man and the grin never left her face.
For the Brisbane gig, four nights before, I’d hugged the barrier to catch every expression from this big-hearted singer, but this time I hung back on the rail of the balcony to take in the scene and let the music do its stuff.
The lighting was simply effective, the stage bathed in lancing red spots for the opening Bloodletting (again segueing from a tape of the ominous bassline of Bauhaus’s Bela Lugosi’s Dead) flicking to greens and blues for the chorus, and thereafter continuing to reflect the mood and highlighting solos.
With Jim Mankey on guitar — occasionally smiling, a big display from a man who tends to not give much of himself away on stage preferring to let the guitar do his talking — and Gabriel Ramirez on drums, Johnette laid down some thundering basslines as the band rocked out.
But Johnette’s voice was the key instrument, showing nuance and power as she cajoled, mourned and raged. When I was Fool exploded, Your Haunted Head became a jam, Run Run Run was as hard and heavy as you please. The crowd sang along, the chorus especially noticeable on Happy Birthday and the closer, Tomorrow Wendy (about a woman with AIDS who commits suicide), during which Johnette issued a plea to support gay teenagers and reduce the instance of suicide. She changed the finale of the song, saying she’d think everything would be all right, yes she did.
It was a shame there were a few in the packed house who didn’t respect the band’s request to forgo taking photographs — honestly, dickheads, do you really think flash from a distance is going to achieve anything but annoyance for the artists and those around you? (sigh: that’s a rant for another day)
There was a lovely dig at BP on Everybody Knows (she plugged the upcoming Leonard Cohen tour after this cover) — the Gulf has not been forgotten — and she added what sounded like a Native American chant to the cover of Midnight Oil’s Beds are Burning.
Humble and self-effacing, yet passionate and possessed of one the most striking voices, Johnette — in her 50s — appears to occupy a happy place indeed in her musical career.
How fortunate we are that she continues to share the love.
The set list was, as far as I could tell, the same as in Brisbane, though they played Someday last night and I didn’t note it on Tuesday; possibly I missed it in my recollection, though last night’s gig did last the best part of two hours, a little longer than Brissie.
Huzzah! The support for Concrete Blonde’s 20th anniversary tour of Bloodletting has been announced: Melbourne’s Graveyard Train. Get your rockin’ darkly tinted blues n country gumbo here (apparently). Net snippets suggest they’ll be a superb match. Only a week before the curtain goes up!
That would be Tuesday, rather than, um, Someday:
SPEAKING of Melbourne bands, it was sad to read that The Vagrants played their last gig in September. I’d only just stumbled across their bluesy Aussie rock — innocuous but mighty fetching, and I had a hankering to catch them live to see if they’d go all firecracker like they sound as if they might on their album Be True. A shame. Here’s a taste of what we new chums missed out on:
