The Troubadour - Thur Apr 10

As their set concludes with a hearty call and response amid a storming bass-driven number that evokes images of a dimly-lit dive on the wrong side of town, it’s hard to believe we’re watching the same band who began so sedately. Once Hot Liquid Sex show their true colours – namely, the loud pink, red and purple leggings of the three girls out front – they’re an entirely transformed beast. Ocean’s trebly, ugly guitar tone permeates many of their short and abrasive jams, but a mid-set, fuzz-driven blues solo leaves us suitably impressed by the time she drops into the mostly-seated audience and requests that we tie our dancing shoes.

Three facts: petroleum ain’t getting cheaper, the only possible response to ‘How ya doin’, Brisbane?’ is ‘Wooooo!’, and the Custom Kings are exceptional musicians. Before an appreciative, sold-out crowd, the five Melbournites traverse considerable musical territory with apparent ease – surely, they’re close to reaching their tipping point and becoming rock royalty (see what I did there?). Blazing harmonica, soaring saxophone, stirring electric guitar – hell, there’s even a bouncy bass guitar solo. The world needs more bass solos. An astonishing recreation of Number One contains all of these delicious ingredients. They’re easily persuaded back for a two-song encore that concludes with Up Late – a song title that would only be more appropriate on Friday night at GoMA...

ANDREW MCMILLEN

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