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For more reviews go to beat.com.au/reviews ERYKAH BADU & HIATUS KAIYOTE The Palais, Tuesday April 15 Acknowledging Badu as one of her musical inspirations back at a Northcote Social Club gig last year, Nai Palm was giddy when recalling the moment she found out that the queen of soul was digging her beats with Hiatus Kaiyote. Who would have thought that less than a year later, she and her band would be joining Badu on an Australian tour. The quirky, polyrhythmic Melbourne band are an acquired taste; drunk on off beats and complicated compositions. Their music isn’t for everyone, but those that love them – myself included – can’t get enough of them. They played a tight set, showcasing some new material. A band more suited to a less formal venue, their cover of Dilla’s So Far Go was so dope that it was a real bitch being confined to the limited standing space. A killer set regardless; be sure to see them heat up the floor at their Howler residency next month. Now, Badu. Dressed in a get-up that only she could pull off, the queen was wearing an ensemble of clothes that looked like they’d been picked off the floor of an op-shop. A headscarf, a Pharrell-esque hat, a flanny shirt with only the top button done up, those street pants that sag at the butt and then loosen up around the thighs and another mismatched thing around her waist. Like I said, nobody else could have pulled that off. She sounded great and performed well, despite it being nearly two decades since her Baduizm debut. She proved her range, switching effortlessly between vocals and rhymes. She also opened the beat in many of her tracks by slapping a vacant drum pad, quite well too. Ignoring the Palais’ conservative aesthetic, she soon had everyone dancing. Unlike her early sets where she would come out with her turban, incense and spirituality, this gig felt more ghetto. There were a lot of songs that she didn’t sing that I wished she had, and she dragged on a few choruses longer than was necessary. She also didn’t do an encore, which left her performance a bit abrupt. She had a habit of doing these exaggerated poses that came off as a little affected, due to the sheer number of times they were done. Her band was great, but nobody really took notice of them. It would have been cool if she’d added a horn player to the section, just to give the guys a bit of fair play. She was eternally grateful of her audience and her setting and she often voiced it throughout the set. She improvised well when it came to spitting rhymes and she made us laugh a lot with her impromptu wordplay about loose headscarves. Ultimately, LOVED: Hiatus doing J Dilla. HATED: That all the Badu she delivered a thrilling set, however self-indulgent it may have been. merchandise had sold out before I could get my hands on some. DINA AMIN DRANK: Cider.
Photo by Kate Davis
Photo by Kate Davis
CLOWNS & MESA COSA W/ BAD VISION & WEEDY GONZALEZ The Old Bar, Friday April 18 In celebrating Easter on Good Friday we remember the sacrifice made to save the souls of all men and women… or fuck all that and let’s go to a punk rock show. Ditching the usual passive/aggressive mess of family get togethers, the Old Bar entertained a capacity crowd for the first show of the Mesa Cosa/Clowns Crucial Dudes tour. Mesa Cosa are Mexican-fused garage punk, whose show pummels along at a freaky momentum as the band members pogo around the stage into each other and the crowd. A moment of real crowd involvement saw a guitar carried from the front of the stage to the back with everyone in between having a crack at soloing on the unplugged axe. By the end of the set, the stage had been invaded; people were trying to shove tambourines down each other’s throats and an average of one in nine people had been kicked in the face. Clowns play short, fast, loud and unabashed punk music without trying to mix in anything from outside the genre. As the band took to the stage, people started streaming in from all corners and erupted into a fist flinging pile of sweaty jerks two songs into the set. Vocalist Stevie led the brutality, one-upping everyone in the crowd and pushing them to keep up with him. Bombarding the audience with his body, he climbed as high as he could to the roof of the Old Bar and, after shoving his mic into his gob, catapulted himself downwards. That sort of body-on-the-line, don’t-hold-back showmanship is sadly becoming a lost art at a lot of rock shows today, with most lead men opting for the brooding potential-ofLOVED: Bands that are all out of fucks menace look. Clowns and Mesa Cosa both remind us that there are to give still bands willing to damn near kill themselves in the name of their HATED: How smug that Jesus guy looks music. in all his photos DRANK: H2woahhh RHYS MCRAE
YACHT CLUB DJS Prince Bandroom, Friday April 18 To say Yacht Club DJs know how to rock a guilty pleasure is an understatement. The born and bred Ballarat duo Guy Chappell and Gaz Harrison may as well own the term. Before they’d started their Oddity Number Five tour, Gaz, the hairier face of the two, told Beat that guilty pleasures are a “bunch of bullshit. If you like it as a guilty pleasure then you genuinely like that music.” On Friday night they put the theory to the test and I for one am on board. Shit yeah, I love Mya’s Case of The Ex and I’m not ashamed of that at all. The Prince Bandroom was already vibing when we arrived thanks to an energetic set by support act Remi. The Melbourne MC knows how to get a crowd started with sweet beats and pop culture references that are a little more on the subtle side. But things really kicked off when the self-described “super rad DJs” opened their set with the Wolf of Wall Street chest beat. We may as well have been in a crowd of thousands in the wee hours of a festival. Imagine a mix of every song you never realised you wanted to hear, from the Grease theme to Toto’s Africa. Mix that with originals from their newly released EP No.1 and that’s a bloody good gig. A girl in front of me was twerking so hard at one stage that she actually injured herself. Whoever you are, I sincerely hope you are OK. Apparently it’s a thing at their gigs - Gaz ended up with a bung ankle after their antics in Byron which he strategically gaffa taped back into place. I’m sure we are too young for these kind of injuries. But I’m also pretty sure that down the track when we’re old as fuck and we LOVED: Grinding with the stranger pull out a Yacht Club mix tape, we’ll all be nursing aching bones ‘cause next to me. we’ll be up all night doing the same thing. HATED: Grinding with the stranger next to me. JESSICA HAMILTON DRANK: Gin.
HUNX AND HIS PUNX & SHANNON AND THE CL AMS Copacabana International, Thursday April 17 The Copacabana International might sound like an odd venue selection, but it was just one of the several gloriously unusual aspects of tonight’s rock’n’roll hedonism. Newcastle’s the Gooch Palms are one of the country’s finest niche-owning garage rock acts right now. The vocalssharing male/female pair are perfectly matched. Dressed in skimpy leather print (guitarist Leroy in G-string and midriff, percussionist Kat wearing slightly more conservative covering), they fed each other’s deliciously irreverent banter and cheeky nods to their beloved hometown. For a minimal two-piece they don’t struggle to hold your attention either. With a frivolous concoction of garage grit, forlorn doo-wop, pub rock nostalgia and even a Cheap Trick cover, the Gooch Palms mischievously frisked into everyone’s heart. The first of the two Bay Area headliners, Shannon and the Clams presented a very studied doo-wop/surf-pop homage. h Shannon is an unbelievably talented bass player, crawling around the four strings with tentacle reach. This is additionally add d iti impressive given that it’s paired with her effortless soul-tinged vocal bellow. Not to be outdone, her guitarist guitaris is a technically endowed Dick Dale descendent. The sound and performance was strong but after just a couple of songs the exclusive ‘50s/’60s tribute started to become indistinct. It was all pleasantly bop-worthy, but, like a carefully fashioned quiff, it was a bit hard to penetrate. Never Ne mind though, because penetration came as soon as the unfettered queer feast that is Hunx and His Punx hopped h onstage. The band focused heavily on last year’s Street Punx LP, which is decidedly more ‘punk’ than previous LP Too Young to Be in Love. The record’s sonic filth was given extra bite in the live setting. Shannon doubles as bassist here and her fretwork continued to stun, while a couple of locally-sourced backing vocalists gave it all a merry bounce. Between songs, bandleader Seth Bogart made plenty of leering requests to “see some dicks.” He was unfazed to then jump straight into spitfire garage-punk outbursts, such as Everyone’s a Pussy and Don’t Call Me Fabulous. Pulling things back for Lover’s Lane revealed that, even though Bogart sings in an adolescent whine, the songs well and truly exceed gimmickry. Hunx and His Punx use the past as a reliable staple, but with Bogart’s LOVED: The crowd’s dress-up efforts diva-like self-importance it gets a twist of its own. Live, the band HATED: Security confiscating the giant conducts a celebration, both of music and the surrounding peculiarities. inflatable penises DRANK: Veebs AUGUSTUS WELBY PA BEAT MAGAZINE PAGE 46
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