First published in The Brag.
Were I Lambchop’s publicist for Mr. M, I’d allow a long lead-time between promo copies and the record’s release date to give critics the longest possible time to let this one marinate. Like furled seedlings, all Lambchop records need time and attention to bloom. All are eventually growers. Especially Mr. M.
March 8, 2012.
First published on The Vine, here.
There’s no music while we wait for Aphex Twin. Just roadies roaming the first few rows bearing video cameras with searchlights, gathering footage of faces in the crowd. Purposeful and silent. Some people try to duck the interrogative shaft of light but most stare back, enjoying the confrontation. They’re fans of Aphex Twin, after all. Confrontation is the point. We’re all strapped in here.
Aphex Twin live at Future Music in Brisbane. Photo C/O Justin Edwards
First published on The Vine, here
When I first heard The Orb as a 15-year-old they detonated my idea of what music was and how to listen to it. And when the pieces settled again they were in a different shape for good. As the years passed, I could place their influences and see where they slotted in. But by then it was too late. The Orb had already dissolved into my psyche as a whole and original sound.
In 2012 I still cherish them because much of that early delight is preserved. Tracks like the 17-minute subterranean epic ‘Blue Room’ are frozen in time by an enduring, impermeable nostalgia; a remembrance of discovery. I can still hear it – faintly, reflexively – how I heard it back then and I can still summon the same excitement. It also means I arrive at The Orb’s show at The Metro Theatre on Saturday night with an oversupply of emotional expectation. I want – need – for this to take me on the journey that I want – need – to go on.
Image C/O The Vine
First published on Mess+Noise, here.
Never trust anyone over 30 (to review a music festival). Known for our pernickety gripes, misanthropic snipes and general nitpickery often we can’t see the wood (the music) for the trees (the irritations). The task is handled better by breezy early-20-somethings to whom those perennial festival agitations (lack of dunnies, shade, cheap booze and nice food; glut of dickheads, schedule clashes, short sets and clusterfucks) make barely a blip on the radar. To counterbalance my years, I decide to go all in for Sydney’s Laneway Festival figuring that if frustrations arise I’ll self-soothe by catching a chillwave act.
"Kirkbride" ~ Photo c/o Elize Strydom
First published on Mess+Noise, here.
Last time I saw solo guitarist and singer Kirin J Callinan (Mercy Arms/Jack Ladder) he tried to sell me a two-track cassette tape for $40 (ONO) at the merch table. In a display of effeminate pique onstage, Callinan had flung his nylon jacket over a stage light and speculated, “I wonder if you’ll all still be standing here when it bursts into flames?” The coat steamed angrily until an unimpressed security guy plodded over to pluck it off. And somewhere amid the silliness and the eccentricity, Callinan delivered a performance of fitful incandescence that even won over the non-committal early crowd. Me included.
Goodgod crowd (Photos by Rafaela Pandolfini)
