Live Review: Archie Roach, Alice Skye

Archie Roach

Alice Skye's songs float along at languid tempos, buoyed by her smooth, slightly smoky voice and her vulnerable, plainspoken lyrics.

Over clean, strummed chords and crisp drums, Skye pours her heart into dreamy, piano-led songs like You Are The Mountains and a heartbroken ballad. Between songs Skye gushes endearingly about how overjoyed she and her band are to be performing for such a polite, supportive audience.

Archie Roach eases himself into a chair at centre stage, surrounded by six backing musicians. Roach is so naturally comfortable and chatty on stage, he takes a few minutes to praise Skye and talk about being back at Corner Hotel before beginning with A Child Was Born Here. No fewer than four acoustic guitars are strummed. The songs sound so full and lush, so generously arranged and adorned with violin and mandolin. 

Tonight is in part a celebration of the 20th anniversary of Roach's album Looking For Butter Boy. The set continues with Dancing Shoes, an upbeat honkytonk B-side from that era. Ballads like River Song and Dancing (With My Spirit) are gorgeous, all shimmering chords, brushed drums and plucked ukulele. Watching Over Me is a poignant reminder that the Southern Cross had enormous significance in this country since long before it was appropriated as a symbol of bogan pride. The set reaches its peak with the glorious Beggar Man, surely the catchiest song ever written about panhandling. 

Of course, at the centre of it all is Roach's voice. Any number of seemingly contradictory descriptors can be applied to his remarkable vocals: rich and fragile, gruff and precious. His voice occasionally falters on sustained notes, but it is never off-key, and this only adds to its character and expressiveness. A voice like Roach's sounds great when singing or saying basically anything, but many of these songs have such strong melodies, beautifully accentuated by backing vocals supplied by the other musicians. He is such a gifted storyteller in speech and song that the audience is almost as enraptured by his between-song reminiscences about homelessness, and his younger days in Melbourne, as his music. It feels like a homecoming, with Roach repeatedly addressing a seated section reserved for friends and family. 

After a few gentler songs like Morning Star and My Grandmother, Roach wraps things up with Colour Of Your Jumper, a joyful ode to playing football and not being racist. Roach's songs are so elemental and pure, spiritual even. With apologies to Keith Urban and Lee Kernaghan, this is what Australian country music sounds like.