 Photo: Candice Courtney It’s 7 pm, the line is already down the street and round the corner, and I’m worried that yet again, I won’t get one of the few coveted positions along the second tiered balcony. I clearly misjudged the drawing power of oddly monikered Dappled Cities Fly though, as I slide into a prime nook underneath the stairs, metres from the stage. The Sydney-siders are in support, and not many in the crowd seem to know how to take the indie group, though the die-hards at the front make enough noise to inspire us all. The well-known Fire Fire Fire goes down nicely, and from then on, the band seems more confident. At times, the sound is too thick and drowns out the vocals, which is annoying since I actually want to hear what these cats have to say. They close the set with The Birds, pulling out all the stops, determined to leave a lasting impression. The bogan chick behind me squeals, “Carn the ‘Chair!” throughout the interval, and after twenty minutes, I’m desperate to catch a glimpse, just so she’ll shut it.
Walking out onto stage with a neon-lit backdrop mimicking the cover art of their new release, Silverchair waste no time in rocking out. Chris Joannou on bass looks settled and at ease, while Ben Gillies on drums, kitted out in a wife-beater and sporting some sweet facial hair, reminds me of Animal from The Muppets – he just wants to let loose, but is chained by the calming effect of Daniel Johns. Old mate Paul Mac is also on stage, seated off to the side, his millennium mohawk flapping ever-so-slightly as he jimmies and jives behind his electronics set-up.  Photo: Candice Courtney Songs from the new album, such as The Man Who Knew Too Much, Young Modern Sation and B-side Midnight Oil cover I Don’t Wanna Be The One are met with cheers across the room, whereas tracks from previous releases seem only to inspire us young’uns. The Door and Freak get the quasi-mosh at the front going, and I can actually see the division of where their new fans end and the old ones begin. The track that unites us all is, unsurprisingly, Straight Lines. Everyone goes ballistic, including the band, and the camera crew running around trying to film for the DVD release are frantic. Trying to catch the incredible vibe of this performance. But then, at the end of it all during the encore, Johns seems determined to make our ears bleed, and spends some time creating screeching feedback that threatens to rupture tympanic membranes around the room. Many cringe, and I wonder why he’d mar a perfectly good performance. SEBASTIAN HAYES
1. Written by C, on 01-05-2007 15:08 , IP: 58.108.246.54
oh yeah...candice is the shit!  |
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