I had been told that Bastard was going to be something very different, and I didn’t want to go wholly unprepared, so I boned up on some Monster Zoku Onsomb! demos I had lying around and gave The Tango Saloon another whirl before heading out. The aforementioned were to be the highlights of the evening, but I was still unprepared for the lashing my aural senses would get by other acts on the line-up. You know you’re in for an interesting night in the Valley when, on your way to the venue, you step in someone else’s blood. But whatever had become of the former owner of such vital fluid, it probably wasn’t as bad as what happened to the dignity of a particular member of one of the acts.
As I walked down the steps of The Globe the first thing I saw was a clown carrying a bass amp through a curtain of bubbles, so I was assured I had at least got the right place. A town crier from somewhere announced that Crab Smasher would be starting, so I hastily consumed the whiskey I happened to find in my hand, and hurried towards the ‘main’ stage. I had caught them briefly at Summer Winds, but the impression left on me then was quickly dispelled and replaced with a better one when they started up atBastard. I can appreciate any band that boasts two drummers (especially when you consider the size of the stage at The Globe) and they were used to great effect, producing a sound that, I was reliably informed by a nearby bohemian, was described as “alternative noise grunge”. I couldn’t think up a better term, so made a note to use it in my review.
When their one track set finished it was back to the front stage, stopping off to acquire another whiskey on the way, where Trouble In Paradise were doing what they do best, namely crouching over very small record players and amps that produced the noise you make when you’re tuning your television and you’ve left the volume up. The lead singe…shouter added another layer to Trouble’s set, namely a very very shouty one. When listening to experimental music, I often find watching the crowd to be much more interesting than the performers and the crowd were looking as amusingly confused as I was expecting.
After dulling the senses somewhat with another whiskey, it was promptly back to the main stage to catch Silent Partners. Unfortunately their name came to resemble pithy irony as their dreadfully executed sound check (which distinctly lacked much sound) lasted longer than their set. The band consisted of a novelty assortment of characters that included a beatboxing terrorist whose orange jumpsuit suggested he had spent time in Guantanamo but whose balaclava alluded to Irish Republican loyalties, a fairly accurate portrayal of Ledger’s Joker when he dressed up as a nurse, a Robert Smith look-alike who couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be in Spinal Tap or The Libertines, and Norman Bates wearing a gimp mask.
A farcical scene unfolded as the fifteen-strong group attempted to get their instruments and vocal chords in order but unfortunately technology was not on their side and they remained for the most part disorganised and scrambling for sound. It was looking very likely that the only performance was going to come from the increasingly infuriated hissy fits the Libertine was having, but finally a compromise was reached and the set got under way. Unfortunately the compromise was that microphones, keyboards and a trumpet didn’t work, leaving half of the members with little or nothing to do for most of the set.
As the libertine tried to tell them all what to do, the nurse ran around ranting into other peoples’ microphones, but at least the terrorist looked like he was enjoying himself. Eventually it all got too much for the libertine and he stormed off stage, but not before screaming, “fuck off all of you.” This, apparently, was the end. The set mirrored the band left on stage; frustrated, lacking, and short.
Unfortunately it seems to be indicative of Brisbane’s alternative underground for a band of more than six members to overpower the sound system, to the point where only two thirds of the band has power. The result of such technical failings, as exampled perfectly by Silent Partners, is a band left in disarray and chaos, and such a band will eat each other.
While such shenanigans were going on I had dipped in and out of the main stage (not forgetting to pass ‘Go’ and collect my whiskey) to see what kind of sounds No Guruwere making. They appeared to have given themselves the task of investigating the nature of sound using objects that were as small as they were rudimentary. I recall plates being used as amplifiers, tiny LP players, and the smallest bugle I’ve ever seen. The member of the band playing a metal brick covered in electrodes was only overshadowed in his performance by the guy who seemed to do nothing but take data tapes out of their cases whilst holding a Dictaphone. So far this was the most polished set of the night.
I had to leave No Guru to their everyday household orchestra as the first highlight of the evening were about to set up. The Tango Saloon are a difficult band to describe generically, and an even more difficult band to number as they incorporate members from about ten other bands including Monsieur Camembert and Darth Vegas. Everything during the sound check was working so far so it was looking good already. When they came on, the crowd’s appreciation was borne more out of relief than anything else, and everyone settled in for a reliable mix of gypsy folk, Parisian chic, and spaghetti western.
This was to be the band’s Brisbane launch of their latest album Transylvania and understandably enough they opened with the title track. A sleuth of a song, the undercover rhythm guitar slithered its way around the tune before languishing in its own self-made percussionist ramblings, all topped off with an aggressively expert rhythmic accordion. Then Kiss of Death showed you that you can never have enough xylophone. Danny Heifetz showed his percussionist skills as he pounded the xylophonic keys and led the rest of the band into the intimidating transition with pounding drums care of Alon Ilsar and Marcello Maio’s masterful accordion skills.
The Tango Saloon have a great talent for one minute letting a frantic folk mash up take control and then instantly yet seamlessly turn it into a smooth and laid back samba. One moment a doom-mongering piano stirs up images of being chased my animatronic sharks but then a beautiful but almost violent transition will transport you to a cafe on a city street watching the nightlife go by as a rumba reminiscent of the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack intermissions plays with the scene.
They didn’t only play tracks from Transylvania and it was good to hear The Man With the Bongos. It does what it says on the tin, the bongo-fuelled intro leads in an electronica double bass and eventually the rest of the band join in with a sound that wouldn’t look out of place on the Bullitt soundtrack. Then, as the band are so brilliantly want to do, Steve McQueen racing through the streets of San Francisco is immediately mutated into something more reminiscent of an old eastern European jig. But before you can try and compile a clever description of the type of music you’re listening, you’re shuffled off to something Sergio Leone would have used in a heartbeat. Then back to a McQueen-esque climactic finale and you vaguely remember thinking this was going to be a laid back set, and not something that assaults the senses in a marvellous way.
As the rapturous applause farewells the Sydney maestros, I nip back to the front stage to briefly catch Sugar Logic. I described Trouble In Paradise as shouty, which in retrospect was harsh, for Sugar Logic take that title with ease. They had three vocalists, one doing your average, run-of-the-mill screaming incoherently into the mic you’d expect from an experimental music festival, and another had resorted to simple trying to swallow his own mic. Unfortunately he failed. Cymbals were stamped out of shape, a small bass drum was trashed, and the band ended up trying to cannibalise their own set up. This, as the looks on the faces of the small crowd that had gathered suggested, had gone beyond music. It was time for a swift whiskey and hop skip and jump back to catch the beginning of MZO.
This was what everyone had been waiting for and in a blinding flurry of strobes, colour, smoke and sound they immerged. The two delightfully pleasing on the eye leading ladies Miss P.Leisure and Sharkie Bubba came out scanning the crowd with their headset green lasers which had the desired effect and looked very cool. Then the imposing and always hilarious figure of Senor Tasty Taste comes out and it’s straight into the pounding hardcore grime.
First up was the title track from their new album Earth Eaters. Kiki ILL, the real brains behind the operation, has added more beats to this release and not simply stuck to his samples and mash ups. Miss P. Leisure also features more on the psychedelically enhanced vocals, or at least she would have if the sound at The Globe had have been up to scratch. Unfortunately the technical demons plagued her for a while, but instead of stalking off in a huff, she just put more of her energy and enthusiasm into dancing.
MZO’s brilliant use of ridiculous choreography was wonderful to behold and heightened the whole live experience. If you hadn’t have been paying attention, you wouldn’t have really noticed the sound problems; the stage was so busy with fabulous costumes and pumping beats that there was enough to take in already. Not even when the sound cut out altogether were MZO’s spirits dampened, they simply turned to telling bad jokes untilPleasure Cramps kicked and things were turned up a notch.
It’s easy to spot the influences MZO use so brilliantly for their own ends. They are reminiscent of an alien race of B52s trapped in a 1950s schlock horror movie direct by Richard D. James. The short, fast and loud bounding grime-fuelled breaks of Pleasure Cramps sums this up very well as it captures the spirit of a B52s Love Shack-style jig but then folds in on itself in the hardest of hardcore psy-trance implosions you could imagine.
A personal highlight for me however came in the form of _sTinkerbell; the grimey electronica driving breaks coupled with the fantastic choreography of Tasty, Leisure and Bubba made for a sight I won’t forget in a hurry. The track itself is a brilliant example of a simple hardcore rhythm played with and distorted until it resembles something easy to enjoy and more importantly easy to dance to.
Under the thin veneer of a novelty band with their ludicrous but wonderfully over the top costumes and their out of this world dance moves lies an outfit that can actually produce some great dance music in its purest form. This is simply music you want to dance to, and it makes you want to have fun. Ironic that the band who dressed up the most and had the most vivacious approach to their performance, came off displaying the least pretence.
This was their last gig in Australia before they shimmied off on their European tour. I get the feeling that the closer they progress across the continent towards the UK, the better the sound systems will be and the bigger the crowds will become. They certainly deserve a proper dancehall full of hardcore loving maniacs, and not a converted cinema that struggles with more than one keyboard.
