Live Review: DZ Deathrays, Palms, Foam

While some of Perth three-piece FOAM's songs were just big, beefy rock-outs (powerful distorted guitar, frantic drums, and singer Joel Martin's best Kurt Cobain snarl), a few later tracks showed off a knack for infectious melodies, both in their guitar lines and the sung-shouted vocals. These times, where the band took their foot off the accelerator, were the set's strongest moments, providing much-needed dynamic contrast. Regrettably, due to a poor mix, for the most part it was a just a wall of rhythmic noise, and much of what was going on was obscured by the distorted sludge.

“Hi everyone, we're Miley Cyrus,” says Palms singer Al Grigg with a cheeky smile, as he tore into You Were Mine, a propulsive highlight from the band's debut, Step Brothers. A small handful of brand new tunes showed the band's diversity, the first of which featured a killer melody and a deceptively complex bridge, atop their typical fist-pumping garage-rock palette. Another newie, Dreamcatcher, had a 6/8 groove and felt about as close to a ballad as these guys come, until the massive chorus (as explosive as This Last Year's), capped off with a Weezer-esque guitar solo way up the neck. For their predictable-but-perfect closer Love, the band's friend and The Knits bassist Bec Allen took the stage, freeing Grigg up to lark about and finish the set with a stage dive. Top shit.

What's really impressive about seeing DZ Deathrays play is the immensely powerful sound these guys can produce between the two of them. The combination of super-charged electric guitar and huge drums, combined with the band's smart songwriting, led to a very warm reception, as the crowd sang and moshed along to tunes like Black Rat and the anthemic Northern Lights. Plus, having only two members left plenty of room for a parade of sweaty dudes to run up to the stage and jump off. For the last song of the tour, every member of every band came on stage, shirtless, for a spirited rendition of the Beastie Boys' (You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!), and anyone who left the Oxford Art Factory without being completely exhausted and drenched in sweat after that had clearly wasted their time.