Live Review: Dune Rats, Sea Legs, Dead Beat Band, Scrapes - The Zoo

There's a handmade sign hung behind the stage proudly proclaiming 'Dune Rats Cunt' amidst a flurry of cartoon greenery, this message which so dominates The Zoo's vista offering a brash indication of tonight's clear mission statement to have fun at all costs, damn the consequences.

They even seem to have their own version of a vibes man having a ball on the side of stage.

Openers Scrapes fly the fun flag high, the scrappy five-piece's short and sharp set manic in pace and cool enough to invoke numerous stage invasions by people overwhelmed early by the overt party spirit.  They even seem to have their own version of a vibes man having a ball on the side of stage and altruistically pouring drinks down band members' throats at various intervals, adding both randomness and merriment to proceedings. 

Next up are black-clad Gold Coast trio Dead Beat Band, and while their name sounds like some grisly Kerouac reference their music is all doom-tinged surf-rock, a dense take on garage rife with melody and vocal hooks. People dance unreservedly to the swirling, repetitive Gypsy Girl, and when they bring a Ramones groove to a killer rendition of TV On The Radio's gem Wolf Like Me the party vibe lifts even further. They chuck in a Black Lips cover as well but it's their originals like the punchy Head Spins and the biting, stomping catchiness of Sugar which really steal the show in a super-impressive set.

“And yes, this is fucking embarrassing”

Four-piece Sea Legs are from NSW's Central Coast and also strive to keep the celebration flowing, but they're coming from a completely different place to their predecessors. Beach balls are bouncing over the crowd as they begin pumping out a fun-laden indie pop hybrid which possesses a real '80s feel due to the, at times, cheesy keyboards and while they initially seem incongruous on the line-up the crowd's having a complete blast and they continue the night's convivial spirit. Songs like Boyfriend are upbeat and polished but are offered without irony, the band's conviction veering towards abandon at times, before frontman Byron Knight smiles and mutters, “And yes, this is fucking embarrassing” as the Oingo Boingo-esque college bounce of Morse Code segues into an epic cover of… TV On The Radio's Wolf Like Me. Luckily they do the great song so much justice that no one cares a jot about hearing it a second time, and even though we're at a punk gig and Sea Legs are more Wang Chung than Wayne County they ultimately do a great job of setting the tone for what's to come. 

“We're finally fucking home!”

The capacity sold out crowd is in full festive mode by the time their heroes Dune Rats hit the stage with a war cry of “We're finally fucking home!” and bash into the bouncy Dalai Lama Big Banana Marijuana, again hammering home the total lack of pretention on offer tonight. From the get-go they have the hometown throng by the scruff of the neck, fists flying in triumph and drinks outliving their usefulness everywhere in record time. There's a crew on side of stage in full party mode which gives the feel of a (massive) house show, the brash burst of brief Nuggets-flavoured punk numbers highlighting a bubblegum sensibility amidst the hedonism. There's a tangible chemistry between both the three band members – frontman Danny Beusa, drummer BC Michaels and relatively-recent addition Brett Jansch on bass – and also with their interactions with the fans, and by the time ET blares out we've survived chant-induced beer-skolling, a gigantic glitter gun, stage invasions and mass crowd surfing. Michaels decides to have a crowd-surf himself between songs and gets amongst the action, braving the raging ocean of flesh which somehow becomes even more frenzied when well-known numbers like Funny Guy and Red Light Green Light get an airing, even though every song has a killer singalong hook. Spliffs brazenly emerge during the cruisy Wooo!, boobs are being exposed everywhere and when Michaels declares that they're doing a “fake encore” and bursts into the effervescent Fuck It there's so much joy in the room that it's palpable. Everything finishes shortly after and as hordes of sweaty folk file into the night their faces betray a clear mixture of thrill at what had been witnessed and disappointment that it was all over, but also pride for local slackers done good and a clear sense that for many – the Dunies most likely included – the night is only just starting.