Live Review: Alex Cameron, Body Type

Opening up tonight's show is Sydney's Body Type. A four-piece band formed in 2016, they've yet to release more than a handful of singles, their biggest hit being 2017's Silver. Instrumentally they're dreamy and pleasantly in the moment, despite describing their music as "scuzz". But beyond that, Body Type's songwriting quality and quiet vocal style tend to knock their stage presence straight behind the curtain of the listener's mind; they've certainly got the all the right pedals, chords and practice hours for this type of music, but something is still missing. Here's hoping they find it in time for a debut album.

To most, Alex Cameron is best known as one of the crooning cowboys who appeared in Kirin J Callinan's unforgettably silly Big Enough. But in his rising solo career, Cameron's stage presence is something that not even a giant, screaming Jimmy Barnes could overshadow. In his earlier years, Cameron masqueraded around the stage behind a mask of heavy prosthetic make-up. But since the release of 2017's Forced Witness, Cameron has silently dropped the character of a failed, elderly entertainer in favour of a hyper-masculine version of his own personality. Armed with a set of dance moves that could make Christopher Walken weep, Cameron's onstage persona is just magnetic. Side by side with his right-hand man and saxophonist, Roy Malloy, Cameron and his band are here to bring some greasy, digital blues to The Croxton bandroom's audience.

Lyrically speaking, Cameron is on a crusade for the ability to write about our lonely internet lives without sacrificing the gracefulness of a musical confessional. Clever songs about swiping through Tinder or grooming underage girls through chat rooms would certainly seem bizarre in the wooden world of folk music or the romantic side streets of vocal jazz. But inside Cameron's pop chamber of electronic misery, these subjects feel right at home.

Performing a set of highlights from Forced Witness and Jumping The Shark, Cameron croons his way through the pain with sleazy confidence and a natural ear for engaging melodies. A synth-laden song like Candy May has a melody worthy of New Order's Greatest Hits. And while the presence of Angel Olsen is dearly missed from Stranger's Kiss, Malloy's disjointed saxophone solo more than compensates for her absence by wailing especially hard within The Croxton's walls.

If hell has a local RSL, there's a good chance you'll find Alex Cameron there.