Live Review: The Smith Street Band, Andrew Jackson Jihad

Last decade, Melbourne trio Something For Kate had such pulling power within the country that their tours were able to fund the cost of bringing lesser known American bands on tour for their first taste of Australia. Following on this tradition due to their similar punter pulling power is The Smith Street Band.

Not content with bringing international guests, Melbourne singer/songwriter Lucy Wilson was bought along without tipping the tour into excess baggage territory. The solo performer with the earthy voice was a low key start to the evening that served as a fine soundtrack for the people that were already queuing up two deep at the merchandise table.

Ohio punk pop The Sidekicks shouldn’t have to find themselves this early on a bill too often, such was the quality of their performance. Relative unknowns to all but a select few in the front row, the four piece kicked things off with a collection of songs from the second best album to be released this year to date, Runners In The Nerved World. Steve Ciolek leads the band looking like an unkempt slacker version of Gary from Thirty Something with tunes like Everything In Two’s and The Kid Who Broke His Wrist having the grunt of Superchunk and the bright melody of The Shins. Hard hitting drummer Matt Climer came into his own during the brash DMT whilst guitarist Matt Scheuermann showed off his inner white guy soul when the band ripped through an impressive version of Prince’s Kiss. The Sidekicks are an impressive beast.

Andrew Jackson Jihad is the brainchild of Sean Bonnette and Ben Gallaty who have had a roving band of musicians join them through the years before settling on the current live line up.

Many of the bands recordings are lo-fi recordings that are transformed into energetic beasts during when brought to the stage. The quirky group are nerdy looking rockers who play up to their socially anxious tunes, playing the part to perfection with a frenetic start or Temple Grandin and Kokopeli Face Tattoo. Mark Glick’s cello created a few sound issues early, but the muddiness cleared in time for Bonnette to continue with his tales of the darker side of human nature - particularly in People II: The Reckoning. All bases were covered with the solo acoustic of Getting Naked And Playing With Guns, the harmony infused I Hate My Brain and the brash rock of Hate, Rain On Me. A highly entertaining set full of great songs and clever lyrics was brought to a close with Bonnette (who sounds remarkably like John Darnielle) stalking the stage and rolling on the ground during the chaotic closer Big Bird.

Like the street they are named after The Smith Street Band share the hipster cool of Fitzroy and the toothless rock of Collingwood. You would be hard pressed to find a band that shift as many t-shirts per capita as the band did this night, with the crowd being familiar with tunes from the get go adding extra emphasis to the numerous mentions of the word ‘fuck’ during It’s Alright, I Understand. The political happenings at the start of the week had clearly buoyed the band as Wipe That Sh*t-Eating Grin Fucking Off Your Punchable Face was given extra vigour as a send off to the worst public official that this country has elected. 

The band don’t show a lot off finesse but make up for it with passion and strength with burly singer Wil Wagner leading the charge. After a particularly bright version of the riff heavy Surrey Drive, Wagner reminded the crowd surfers to ‘put your fucking t-shirt on it’s not a football game’. With their everyday tales and narrative of Melbourne, The Smith Street Band are like the Lucksmiths with muscles and tattoos as shown to great affect on Get High, See No One.

The majority of the songs were taken from the past two albums and gave the crowd a sense of familiarity that lead to much fist pumping, crowd surfing and sing alongs between sweaty men who revelled in the working class nature of the songs. I Can’t Feel My Face was a highlight with a high octane I Love Life was greeted with generous cheer.

Seeing as chaps had been singing the lyrics to Young Drunk whenever on a toilet break, there was no surprise that the tune worked the crowd into a frenzy as the bands parting gift. All in all a cracking night. Thank god for pub rock. 

Originally published in X-Press Magazine