Live Review: Ball Park Music, The Creases, Sahara Beck

Sahara Beck marries her short-lived set with interludes of surprisingly comfortable silence. Playing just a handful of songs to the incoming Corner Hotel crowd, the performance is both lilting and haunting with sublime vocal riffs and subdued guitar. Spinning Time is mesmerising, holding all the poise and maturity of a lifelong performer - it's easy to forget she's just 20. Beck has clearly worked incredibly hard to develop her sound and style, and the result is the perfect overture to beckon in the night.

The most disappointing thing about The Creases show tonight is that it is disappointing at all. On paper the whole thing works to perfection: the production level on the band's sound is arena-worthy and vocalist Joe Agius sprawls like a '70s punk poet. Somehow, though, these things come together to make something overtly dissonant and internally unbalanced. The transitions between tracks are faultless and guitarist Aimon Clark is on fire, but Agius seems to struggle more and more as the set progresses. There is much to enjoy here individually, but together it just doesn't work tonight.

As soon as the opening chords of Literally Baby hit the crowd, it's clear that Ball Park Music have brought something special to Melbourne. Through the lashings of dry ice and party lights, it's difficult to see anyone on stage past vocalist Sam Cromack. However, when the fog clears, the rest of the band are undoubtedly in top form.

Screeching hard into Everything Is Shit Except My Friendship With You and Blushing, the crowd instantly turn the night into a massive karaoke party. It's slightly tacky but unashamedly entertaining - quintessential BPM.

There's plenty of love given to the new tracks and songs from the debut Happiness And Surrounding Suburbs, but it's the appearances from the seminal Museum that make the night. Harmonies between Cromack and bassist Jennifer Boyce during Surrender are phenomenal, and drummer Daniel Hanson wins MVP for his unbelievable work in Fence Sitter. When the piano of Coming Down slowly breathes in, so to does an almost religious experience. The band is drowned out by audience participation, and it's perfect.

Cromack treats the crowd to a solo rendition of It's Nice To Be Alive while declaring, "I've never done this on my own before." By the end of the perfect performance, the crowd finds this very hard to believe. It's a night of popstar cliches and easy goals for the band, but in the absolute best possible way.