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 Photo: Kristen Ashton
There are special times at special gigs throughout the year, where punters acknowledge that an opening band does not immediately mean they are low quality and show up in force to support them. Sadly, this was not the case for The Butcher Birds, as their impassioned delivery of muddy garage rock was witnessed by the most miniature of audiences. Even pushing the starting time back did not allow for more fashionably-late hipsters to witness their set of brash, girl-fronted grime that was equal parts exciting and emasculating. Basically, they have more balls than the handful of gentleman in the Zoo at the time.
After some more-or-less light-hearted heckling of The Butcher Birds from the front of the stage, Violent Soho soon appear as a much more aggressive beast than the openers. While The Butcher Birds use subtle and suggestive methods to imply they’re angry, Violent Soho makes no attempt to disguise their destructive nature as layers of distorted feedback and crashing cymbals bring on premature deafness. Alternating between a nasal drone and a fingers-on-blackboard screech, frontman Luke Boerdam attracts the attention of all present, including the mega-wasted guy in an Iron On t-shirt who just spilled his drink all over my notes. Don’t be that guy. If you be that guy, I will kill that guy. I hate making sweeping generalizations (wait, that’s not true, I just hate getting reprimanded for them), but the loud-soft dynamics and snarling vocals of Boerdam (not to mention his love of flannel) do a pretty decent job of recalling Bleach-era Nirvana. Big call, I know, but I’m putting it out there. Members of Iron On are selling merchandise for 75% of the night, illustrating how committed they are to pleasing their fans. Either that or they love handling the sweet moolah. I’m cool with both. Playing songs from their new EP The Verse for the first time, the audience is keen to hear what they’ve been doing with themselves since 2005’s Oh The Romance. It would appear that time has been very well spent, tinkering away like tune-making elves hunkered down in Santa’s workshop of well-crafted powerpop. Initially struggling with the spotlight that comes with being an headlining act (literally, the main light was blinding him), vocalist and guitarist Ross Hope fits the ‘happy, but something lurking underneath’ persona perfectly, like a less neurotic and megalomaniacal version of Rivers Cuomo. Kate Cooper encourages the crowd to dance and introduces songs in truly peculiar ways (one is apparently about ringtones, another devoted to Missy Higgins), highlighting the party mood and the group’s happiness to be playing again in their home-town. New songs like One Man Band show a deep well of songwriting and an effortless ear for melody, while Ross Hope’s restrained but forceful voice brings to mind Teenage Fanclub’s simplistic efficiency. Even songs that appear to be brooding and melancholic messes in the verse do a handbrake turn, often giving way to glistening two-part harmonies and interweaving guitar lines in the chorus. Having built a reputation as a band you can’t say a bad word about tonight’s album launch – it is another step cleared on their path to indie-pop world domination. MITCH ALEXANDER
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