Live Review: James Reyne Plays Australian Crawl

Despite Australian Crawl being one of our pre-eminent bands during the halcyon days of the’70s and ‘80s, for various reasons – including key members passing away and acrimonious divisions in the remaining ranks – this is the first time that erstwhile frontman James Reyne has revisited the band’s music in anger since they split asunder back in 1986. It’s a seated affair at The Tivoli – in complete contrast to last night’s apt recreation of old school beer barns at Eatons Hill Hotel – but the staid nature of the logistics doesn’t stop the band from firing on all cylinders, smashing into the classic Beautiful People like the last three decades haven’t happened (although the titular rich people are now riding “two thousand dollar push bikes in the park”, ten times what they were worth when the song was first issued in 1979).

The five-piece band – featuring actual Crawl alumni John Watson on drums, plus Phil Ceberano and Brett Kingman on guitar and Andy McIvor on bass – are extremely faithful to the source material, all of the little licks and nuances present and accounted for, although following Indisposed and Lakeside Reyne gets slightly sanctimonious and slags off Shutdown as being “rubbish”, the crowd not caring a jot and screaming with appreciation anyway. The pop culture references from the day still hold up (such as “Unlike Chrissie she’s no pretender” from Love (Beats Me Up), although some of the latter-era lyrics are a tad questionable (you have to hope that “I’m going to stab your body with my general issue knife” from Trouble Spot Rock doesn’t mean what you think it might).

"The pop culture references from the day still hold up"

Mainly, however, the exercise just serves to remind what a brilliant band Australian Crawl were back in the day. Reyne’s voice is as full and distinctive as ever – he even seems to revert back to the days fronting the band in the manner and content of his banter – and the capacity crowd are clearly reveling in reliving their youths and revisiting the music that soundtracked them. Heartfelt crooner Downhearted gets a great reception, the relatively obscure Man Crazy gets an airing, before crowd-pleaser Reckless has everyone singing en masse.

Reyne drops his guitar and hits the keyboard at back of stage for the triptych of White Limbo, Hoochie Gucci Fiorucci Mama (which he also doesn’t hold in high regard) and Always The Way, before going back upfront for La Califusa and the powerful Unpublished Critics. There’s strangely no mention of the much-missed Guy McDonough before classics Errol and Oh No Not You Again – even though he penned and sang both back in the day – then the place goes ballistic for the vital Things Don’t Seem, the crowd finally getting to their feet during rousing finale The Boys Light Up, the trademark track finally evoking the dancing and moves that had only threatened until now.

They’re coaxed back for an encore and Reyne gets breifly nostalgic, bringing up the spectres of Joh and Cloudland before finishing on the geographically relevant Daughters Of The Northern Coast, one of the high water marks of a fantastic canon. All in all it’s a slightly reluctant – but ultimately fruitful – return to the music of one of Australia’s great bands, one with a tumultuous history but whom left behind a cool body of work and made an integral indentation on the fabric of our musical heritage. The sons of beaches live on.