In a time when a lot of publicly accessible music is manufactured and treated purely as a commodity, this blog aims to be a celebration of real music, as shared with us by real musicians.
A far cry from the crowded, noisy university caf back in 1998 when I accidently tried to give "Vote Activate" flyers to the very comedians that had been booked to try to woo student voters as they left after the performance.
It's always a risk when you haven't seen a comedy group perform for a few years. Would they still have good material? Would it be new, or would they be doing the same skits as last time? (Not that I would have minded...) Are they still the lovable nerds we can all relate too or have they gone "Hollywood"?
These fears (particularly the last one) were quickly laid to rest when they opened the show with a mock boy band dance routine that would make even a gleek cringe, followed by a cautionary tale about technology, warning us to check our iPhones and iPads and set a Google alert on our laptops so we don't get caught unawares when computers start to take over the world.
Tripod have been entertaining us now for sixteen years and this show was certainly a celebration of that, as the boys embrace their apparent shift into the next stage of life - signalled by their ode to "Adult Contemporary" music and, later on, a sensual journey into the world of the much sought after, tried-and-tested man, or, more accurately, the DILF.
Along the way they helped us with our taxes, breaking down how one completes a BAS - with everyone in the audience that's been exposed to the displeasure of a GST experience most likely laughing the loudest as they argued on stage as to whether or not you divide by ten or eleven in order to determine how much GST you owe (spoiler alert: it's eleven).
For long-term fans of this trio, no, there was no hot dog man in sight. No Fabian, the no-nosed reindeer, either.
Ahh, memories.
There were, however, various reflections on married life - on becoming one of "those" couples who seem to lose the ability to form an individual opinion once they're married - and on planning a life together. Let's get married, have a baby, move near a pub that has live music, and get it shut down.
Woah, controversial.
Did I just accidently fall back into the Tim Minchin gig from a couple of weeks ago?
They surprised themselves (apparently), but the crowd loved it. The song I'm going to call "Blueprint" due to not knowing its real name was definitely a highlight and touched on some very real issues, the timing of which was beautiful, given that the day between their two performances in Melbourne last week was SLAM day ("Support Live Australian Music"), a day and night of live music performances in support of the remaining live music venues around the country that have not yet been completely crippled by noise restrictions and liquor licensing policies.
Overall, it was a wonderfully witty performance, strengthened by the unquestionable musicality of the trio - a fact that remains consistently understated, but without which the whole gig would technically be just as funny, but not nearly as entertaining.
So after opening with a warning about the dangers of technology taking over and finishing with "YouTube Party" as their encore, these - dare I say it - NILFs are as funny today as they were back in Fables lounge, in the RMIT caf and in whatever pub my sister dragged me to the first time I saw them perform (it's probably been closed down by now).
They thanked us at the start for logging off, shutting down our various devices and coming out to see an actual live performance and I'm very glad I did.
Of course then I had to jump back online to blog about it :-)
"From then on, I realized this is what I want to do, what I'm supposed to do: Giving energy and receiving it back through applause. I love it. That's my world. I love it. I enjoy it. I live for it." - Erykah Badu
On Wednesday night my friend Kylie and I went to see Erykah Badu at the Palais Theatre in St. Kilda.
The support act was Fat Freddy's Drop and between the name, and a very brief look at YouTube for what their style of playing was, I decided that I didn't mind whether we got there in time for them or not, because I wasn't particularly interested.
So that was a valuable lesson.
Fat Freddy's Drop
Fat Freddy's Drop were brilliant. Whatever clips I'd seen did not do them justice. I was expecting a DJ and one or two on the mic. What we got was a DJ, vocalist, keyboardist, guitarist and a tight little horn trio of (predominantly) trombone, trumpet and sax that fused half a dozen music styles into a performance that was captivating, energising and musically fascinating.
Photo credit: Gregory Lynch
From what I can gather, they are generally referred to as a dub/reggae group, which I suspect is simply for lack of a better way of categorising them. Yes, electro-Caribbean beats drove a lot of the music, but layered over the top were elements of soul, funk, blues and more than a little New Orleans style jazz. Hip-hop added flavour at times without being overdone.
Trumpeter Toby Laing once said, "live performance is the most natural state for music," and this group, along with Ms Badu later on, demonstrated this beautifully.
I learnt after their performance that they often improvise on stage, going with the energy of the space and the feel of the music, and I'm not surprised to hear it.
Their music was heavily progressive in parts, taking its time, building the energy slowly but surely, bringing the Palais to a delightful simmer, until finally it was time for the pot to boil over.
It would be hard work, I would imagine, to get 3000 patrons on their feet in an old-style theatre that was never built for a party. But work hard they did, with Joe Lindsay gradually stripping down to singlet and boxers in between trombone and tuba solos and jumping about, hyping the crowd, whilst the music built to a feisty climax.
It was as if the energy in the room could no longer be contained, with individuals suddenly jumping up out of their seats and dancing, much to the delight of the band. First there was a dozen, then soon it was fifty, even a hundred people on their feet. Eventually we were all up and dancing and the band responded, stepping it up another notch, as if suddenly renewed by the energy we were finally giving back.
The interval was long, which gave everyone a well-earned rest (though perhaps wasted a bit of the energy that had been so expertly built by the more-than-just-support act almost an hour before).
Then suddenly, the lights went down again.
Erykah Badu
I am still a fairly new convert to Baduizm. There were rumours a couple of years ago of her making an appearance at an impromptu Prince gig in Paris and, though it didn't eventuate, it led to discussions of their mutual respect and appreciation for each others' music and so, of course, I went out hunting for more on this so-called Queen of Neo-Soul.
Such a title would explain her majestic entrance on Wednesday evening, amidst a darkened stage, her band already providing a soundtrack to her introduction. Her graceful movement and dramatic gestures were tempered by a not-so-glamorous outfit, at least to begin with, of a trench-coat and oversized, white framed glasses, with her hairstyle more indicative of a conservative librarian than a glamorous soul singer.
Photo credit: Gregory Lynch
Erykah is a beautiful demonstration of someone who has built a strong enough ego to withstand the perils of fame, but who is not controlled by it. It is a tool she has learnt to wield, rather than the tyrant it can become when left unsupervised.
As such, she can hold unquestioning command over the stage, as well as her completely captive audience, yet can reveal layer after layer of self through her music, exposing fears and truths with vulnerability many would struggle with simply in the company of one.
Erykah has said previously that she does not consider herself a singer - that she simply allows people to watch her feel music and how it comes through her. Listening to her, this makes sense.
Though R&B is in the palette of so many of my favourite artists, it's not a genre that I generally connect with and as such, was not drawn in to her music, heavily rooted in R&B, as much as the rest of her audience clearly was.
But her singing. That was just one big continuous highlight for me.
Whatever the song, to watch her feel the music, to see how it came through her, undiluted and unfiltered, was truly a privilege.
She sang older material like 'On & On', as well as tracks from her 2010 CD, New Amerykah Part Two (Return of the Ankh), including '20 Feet Tall' which she opened with, right up to a new, presumably unreleased piece that she expressed gratitude for being able to share.
'Didn’t Cha Know' closed out Erykah's set - she dedicated it to her friend James Yancey and said that it was her favourite song to sing. The way she sang it, no one would argue. Again, the vulnerability of spirit allowed for the music to flow and soar, seemingly effortlessly.
She returned to the stage to wild applause to perform 'Bag Lady' as an encore, ending up in amongst the crowd, handing the mic to excited fans, one of which did a great job, covering the vocals for her as Erykah climbed back on stage, only to jam some more.
Both performances of the night were excellent examples of the essence of live music - a vibe that simply cannot be reproduced (solely) digitally. The presence of the performers, the energy of the audience, that moment in time that has to be lived, not recorded.
If it's been a while since you've seen some live music being played, it's a good time to ditch the earphones and find somewhere to go.
Whether it's to a large venue to see an international sensation like Erykah Badu, or a local pub to see a band the rest of the world will never have the privilege of hearing, it's worth the ticket (or cover charge) to get a bit of the real deal into your system.
Conversely, comedy is an element of a lot of musicians' shows.
The thing about Tim Minchin is that I don't know whether he is an extremely witty comedian who just happens to be remarkably musical, or an astonishingly good musician who just happens to be hilarious.
He's usually referred to as a comedian, but after last night's performance, backed by a 60 odd piece orchestra, plus bass and drums, I can't help but suspect that Tim's natural comedic skills have simply been honed into a particularly impressive vehicle by which to showcase musical talent that might otherwise have slipped through the cracks of a society that seemingly has less and less time for quality musicianship.
As for his apparent penchant for wooing an audience, lulling them into a false sense of security with beautiful lyrics and seductive orchestration, only to say the most appalling thing one could possibly think of to say in that particular moment, well, that's just the anchovy in the apple pie that is Tim Minchin.
The trailer above is for his new DVD, but gives a feel for the type of show currently re-touring Australia, after the success of last year's tour in the same style.
Missing the show in Melbourne last year was in fact the catalyst for me making a promise to myself that I would be more pro-active in buying tickets and then actually going to live events that I wanted to see, rather than engaging in the less fun activity of mentioning multiple times to friends, "oh yeah, I want to see that", only to become apathetic closer to the date and not do anything about it - an activity with which I was well acquainted.
Since making said promise, I've seen dozens of live shows and have since started this blog to go some way towards capturing these experiences, so I'm very grateful for Tim for starting me on a path that, roughly a year later, has rewarded me with something rare - almost a literal "rerun" of the show I missed.
Last night's show started with a bang, as well as a familiar Minchin irony, where the very thing he's trying to take the piss out of - in this case, so-called superstars trying to out-do each other with grand or gimmicky entrances - turns out in fact to be particularly impressive.
Similarly, his subsequent self-deprecating tale of the "Rock and Roll Nerd" made reference to writing song after song that the world will never hear, despite the fact that he now tours the world, selling out theatres and making frequent television appearances in Australia, the US and most particularly the UK, where the Aussie-born Perth native mainly resides these days.
This flimsy but somewhat charming affair with imaginary mediocrity continued once he started talking, behaving awkwardly, as if he'd never done non-musical stand-up before. Ever the social observer, he drew attention to how uncomfortable some audience members were, seeing a comedian on stage stuttering and lost for words, and assured them that he'd tell a joke soon and it would all be better.
And it was.
The first half was comparatively tame, particularly with respect to social taboos. The main exception being "Context", a song I won't describe any further in case you ever have the unfortunate experience of taking part in this social experiment, no doubt executed predominantly for Tim's amusement, whereby perhaps a dozen people applauded meekly at the end, if only because they were too polite to let the crickets chirp unaccompanied.
But of course it wasn't really the end, and we all got to breathe a big sigh of relief when it turned out that "Surprise!", Tim wasn't actually an abhorrent, racist, homophobic lunatic after all. Phew.
What he is though is a fierce atheist, so he tackled the apparently ludicrous notion of prayer-invoked miracles early on in the show. In the second half, he tore shreds off the Vatican with his Pope Song and Pope Disco combo, which has pretty much blown my swearing tolerance quota for the year, but other than that, and a brief discussion about sacredness whereby he placed a copy of the Qur'an on the piano and mused about why a particular object holds so much power ("such as the power to make 3000 generally jovial Melbournians suddenly very nervous"), he generally left his notorious pet peeves of religion and spirituality alone.
He demonstrated his ability to pen a beautiful love song, superbly orchestrated and titled "You Grew on Me", which also happened to be the first four words of the ballad. One could be forgiven for thinking we were about to hear something delightfully inspiring, in the same vein of his genuinely moving song, "White Wine in the Sun", had the remaining three words of the first line not been "like a tumour."
Near the end of the first half, he played one of my favourite of his songs, entitled "Prejudice".
I admit to being very confused though when Captain Irony asked everyone in the audience to sing along.
The second half started with a volley of gags that you feel you really shouldn't laugh at but can't help doing anyway. That led appropriately into "Lullaby", a deceptively sweet little ditty which is enough to make most non-parents a little queasy.
Luckily, most of Tim's audience seemed to be parents of young children, who tend to be the ones that best appreciate a song dedicated to the increasingly morbid and disturbing thoughts that might enter the head of a beyond-tired father trying desperately to sing his child to sleep.
"Cheese" and "Beauty" were back-to-back contrasting showcases of the musical talent of everyone on stage, a showcase that culminated in "Dark Side", Tim's notorious closing song that would surely leave anyone wondering how this artist does not get greater recognition as one of Australia's most gifted musical exports.
This question was perhaps answered in part, during a frenzied "free jazz" moment in the midst of the drama and dark humour of the piece, when Tim cried out for a "conductor solo!"
Conductor (and long time friend of Tim's) Iain Grandage immediately obliged, turning briefly towards the audience and cutting through the sudden silence by gesturing wildly with his baton.
Tim's encore was a genuinely lovely song titled "Not Perfect" - orchestrated beautifully by Iain (a task and privilege he'd apparently negotiated in return for touring with Tim) and a delightful way to end the night.
The only thing missing was the standing ovation that Tim, Iain, Pete Clements (bass), Ben Vanderwal (drums) and the entire Melbourne Symphony Orchestra truly deserved.
With all this Superbowl talk over the last week, I thought it might be a good time to share my favourite Superbowl performance - which, you will no doubt be shocked to learn, was in 2007 when Prince performed, 100% live, in the pouring rain.
I know it's cheating a little, because technically this was not a live event I attended, but, well, it's my blog and I make the rules :)
I love this performance because it demonstrates an artist truly playing to his audience - and a Superbowl audience is tricky for any performer, because the vast majority are there predominantly to watch football. The half-time show is generally just an added bonus.
So the demographic is broad enough in the stadium itself, let alone across the globe on TV and Internet.
In this performance, Prince mixed in some of his own songs with classics such as "Proud Mary" and "All Along The Watchtower", as well as the more contemporary Foo Fighters' hit, "Best Of You".
The finale was of course his signature song, "Purple Rain", made all the more poignant by the rain that was steadily coming down by the end.
As I understand it, the organisers had a contingency planned in case of rain, which involved making use of giant TV screens to display a pre-recorded show, but Prince wouldn't hear of it, so they all apparently put sandpaper on their shoes to stop from slipping on the famous symbol stage, fired up the lights and got on with the show...
Before Prince. Before Michael. Before hypercolour t-shirts...
...there was Iva.
One of my very first pin-up boys, with a poster carefully removed from the centre of TV-Week, no less.
Of course, this was all on my own personal timeline because Icehouse (initially Flowers) didn't release their first album until 1980, but I was still in primary school when I discovered this band that I loved so much - helped in no small part by the piercing blue eyes and delightfully long curly mullet of their frontman, Iva Davies.
Skip forward (please!) to last year, when a re-release of their first album seemed to prompt a surprise gig at the Espy one night - back to their roots, this was a proper pub gig jostle-fest booze up whatever you want to call it.
I lined up with hundreds of other nostalgic bogans in the freezing cold, hoping some punters would leave so that I could take their place in the over-capacity venue and see my first music love play live for the very first time (being that I was too young to go to a gig way back when).
Finally I made it in and it was everything I'd hoped it would be. It was all as I remembered it (minus the mullet) and everyone was singing along. A highlight of the night was Can't Help Myself - the sound was a bit raw at times, but it suited the Aussie rock vibe and we all hoped this was a sign of more gigs to come.
A few months later, that dream was realised when it was announced that Icehouse would be touring with Hall and Oates in early 2012 at the Plenary (as well as some wineries).
The Plenary. The what? Not a pub. Not even close. Part of the Melbourne Convention and Exhibition Centre. Hmmm...
To be honest (and I say this rather sheepishly now), I wasn't so keen on seeing Hall and Oates either. "I know the names, but I wouldn't know any of their songs," I thought to myself.
I let the pre-sale come and go, then the actual sale, hoping that maybe a "better" gig could come along. Just Icehouse. Maybe at the Forum or something? Or back at the Espy? Not the Plenary.
In the meantime, I kept hearing "Hall and Oates" mentioned on the radio. It's like when you're considering buying a red car, so all you see on the road are red cars.
"Private Eyes? Wait. That's Hall and Oates?"
"Rich Girl? That's them too?"
It went on. And on.
So ok, it got to 2 hours before the concert. Yeah. I cut it that fine.
Finally I decided I'd regret not going, so I jumped on the net, grabbed a ticket (luckily singles are usually still available, even if they're right up the back), printed it off, had a bite to eat and took off for the Plenary, whatever that was.
So it turns out the Plenary is a really nice venue. It absolutely isn't a pub-style venue and I suspect the layout and setup would have made it tougher to build the energy in the audience, but the acoustics were good and it definitely had its own appeal.
Act One - Icehouse
The concert started right on time, to the minute - a startling contrast to a Prince concert, which tends to start, well, whenever Prince decides to start. "Icehouse" was an appropriate opener and it built nicely from quiet and dark to full concert light and volume.
The entire night, what stood out the most was the musicianship of everyone on stage. You'd think this would be (or should be) standard, but it really isn't - though, granted, I've been blessed to see many high quality acts in the last 12 months. There were no passengers in either band. Everyone gave an excellent performance.
Icehouse had so many hits in Australia that the set was pretty much chock full of songs everyone knew. One that is perhaps less known is "Cross the Border", which I found to be an unexpected highlight. It sounded terrific live and sent me back to the album "Measure for Measure" for another listen with a new perspective.
At one stage, Iva gave the mic to band member Michael Paynter, who proceeded to sing Man of Colours.
Initially, I wasn't happy with this, given how beautifully Iva sings it, but Michael has a powerful voice and really did it justice, giving Iva an opportunity to return to the stage with his oboe and remind the audience through his mesmerising playing that oboe was his primary instrument back when he studied at the NSW Conservatory of Music (yes, I'm an Icehouse nerd).
Another highlight for me was Walls, a long-term favourite of mine, as well as Don't Believe Anymore - a song I played over and over again (which in those days involved a lot of rewinding) when I was learning saxophone.
Given that John Oates co-wrote one of Icehouse's biggest hits, Electric Blue, with Iva Davies, it was perfectly appropriate for him to join them on-stage for what was probably their second biggest number of the set. For anyone that had been wondering why they were touring together, this revealed what was surely a big part of the reason and it was great to see them perform it together for what I believe was only the second time ever.
So if that was the second biggest song, what was the biggest? It came after the faux encore, when Iva walked us through the process without actually leaving the stage ("This is where we leave, you clap wildly *cue applause*, we wait, you clap, we wait some more, you keep going wild *cue more applause*, then finally we return!")
They had some fun with "Can't Help Myself" (no, Iva, those of us that were at the Espy that night know that it's not about stubbing your toe, no matter what you had to make up for the G-rated crowd!), before transitioning into "Great Southern Land", their biggest hit and an unofficial anthem here in Oz.
The night was certainly a 2-for-1 deal. Icehouse were not the supporting act, they gave us a concert of their own and it was hugely enjoyable. I still want to see them back in a pub (the Espy, the Corner, the Prince), or just somewhere where we can jump up and dance, but this venue gave an opportunity to really appreciate the music itself - something that admittedly might get lost in the dancing, singing along and - I say this fondly - overall oafishness of Aussie Pub Rock.
Because Icehouse is a pub band, but it's a lot more than that too.
Act Two - Hall and Oates
After a lovely chat with the guy sitting next to me during interval (one of the advantages of going to concerts alone is the people you meet) about the state of the music industry and what needs to happen, etc... it was time for Hall and Oates to take the stage.
I had read something earlier that day about this hugely successful duo, about how their sound is so recognisable, partly because they have been sampled so much in more recent music, but also just because of the number of hits they have had over the years.
Of course, I'd been completely oblivious to this initially, but it's certainly true that even of the songs that I truly didn't recognise (of which there weren't many), the sound was very familiar.
They opened with "Maneater", which was a fun start, and from there they jumped around from era to era, from the most recent to some of their earliest hits.
Like Icehouse before them, I was very impressed with their drummer, as well as their wonderfully enthusiastic percussionist.
Both bands were very guitar-heavy, not exactly a surprise, but it was a delight for me to see Paul Pesco live.
Just as I thought I wouldn't know Hall and Oates' material, you may think you don't know Paul, but there's a very good chance you've heard him playing on something you own, or you may have seen him in concert, particularly if you're a Madonna fan.
I know Paul from The John Blackwell Project's debut album, 4ever Jia. He's got a fabulous sound and, although highly sought after as a session guitarist, he was absolutely terrific live.
But probably the biggest surprise package for me for the whole night was the saxophonist in Hall and Oates' band, Charles DeChant. He offered up the most fantastic solos at various times during the night, including in the midst of the party atmosphere created during their first encore, "You Make My Dreams Come True", which followed "Rich Girl".
Much as I really enjoyed the show, the first encore did feel somewhat obligatory, but the jam session that followed was so vibrant and full of energy that we were all on our feet, clapping and screaming for them to come back in a very genuine desire for a second encore, with which the band willingly obliged.
They finished the night with "Kiss on my List" (she types hesitantly, hoping she's got the order right), which transitioned seamlessly into "Private Eyes", which made for a terrific finish with just enough 80s nostalgia and awkward audience attempts at non-standard clapping rhythms.
I'm so glad I decided at the last minute to head off to the mysterious Plenary and see these Hall and Oates fellows, as well as my beloved Icehouse.
A terrific night of live music - two great acts, head to head - thoroughly entertaining.
"You go to so many live concerts, you should blog about them!"
And so, based on a suggestion from my sister and brother-in-law, I have started said blog, aimed at discussing the live music events I see this year, amongst other things along the way, I'm sure.
As fellow fans may already have realised from the purple references already littering this blog, I'm an avid Prince fan - so much so that I took off on a spontaneous 10 day trip to California last May in order to see him during his residency at L.A. Forum (I ended up seeing him twice in L.A., once in Fresno and twice in San Jose). This is probably a good time to mention that I live in Melbourne, Australia.
When it was suggested that I blog about my live music experiences, I argued that I wasn't at all qualified to do so, given that I'm not a musician, I'm just a music lover who enjoys seeing musicians performing live.
It was pointed out to me that the beauty of blogs is that you don't have to be an expert in anything, you can just write about your experiences and people who enjoy reading about them can do so.
Well, cool.
So if you have found your way here, I hope you do enjoy reading as I recount my experiences at live music events this year (and possibly highlights from past years along the way).
Feedback is always fun and welcome (well, it's only fun if it's nice - or amusing - I suppose, but definitely always welcome) and I'm particularly keen to hear about your own concert experiences. It's also a blog rule that you have to share your thoughts if you went to the same concert, of course! :)
