It’s sometimes easy to boil the mid-‘90s to the turn-of-the-century down to a grunge-into-Britpop continuum, but there were tangents — some distinctly Sydney in origin and style. That those listed above are still making noise that stands as really individual — however infrequently due to time, distance and/or members having grown-up lives — suggests the quality. They’re linked, to the point of sometimes overlapping members, but vary in style and approach.
Happily uncategorisable then and now, Lobsterman. Chris Lobb is a softly spoken and gentle fellow. His music shambles at you with an awkward grace — a kinder and gentler version of The Fall’s diatribes one moment, some almost Tom Waits-ian surrealist folk like Lips Ripped Clean Off the next.
The sporadically seen Peg were a far more brutal proposition. They can rage, John Archer’s macho bellowing sometimes recognising its own insecurities, while he and Tony Bonza’s guitars drop into reveries — an exhausted exhaling or pause for breath before it all arcs up to batter you again. There are even a couple of new songs, suggesting there might be future plans — or not.
And then there’s Crow, still tapped as ‘band most likely’ of their era. For a million internal and external reasons, it just didn’t quite happen. They can be theatrical, at times savage, then musing, nearly gentle. Peter Fenton croons and yowls, the band careers alongside — or a bit behind or ahead. Songs from their 2010 reformation album, Arcane, regard this country with an affectionate jaundice, through Stray Leanne’s Ned Kelly snowdome.
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The faithful are rewarded with favourites from the back catalogue: Charley Horses big and lurching, the soaring Broken Machine, ‘other’ singer/guitarist Peter Archer’s arching Railhead. Even as a part-time proposition Crow can be fragile, they can be great. This night, they are — typically — a bit of both.
