Live Review: Eagulls, Sunbeam Sound Machine, Halt Ever

It sounds like Halt Ever are trying to blow up the PA at Howler with a loud, distorted blast of volatile post-punk rage. The room is almost empty but that doesn’t deter these lads from throwing everything they’ve got at us.

Coming from Melbourne, it’s appropriate that Halt Ever bring to mind The Birthday Party and other bands from the ‘80s, like Swans, that produced a dark, tense, angst-driven noise. Plenty of reverb and effects on the band’s guitars blunt the mix, blurring the sound into a hazy fury.

Sunbeam Sound Machine’s debut album Wonderer saw Nick Sowersby bring to fruition his dreamy, psychedelic bedroom-pop project. Presenting as a five-piece, it’s Sowersby who remains the focus of our attention as his band keep it low-key and modestly arrange themselves around his vocals and guitar.

The outfit pump out easy, feelgood vibes that radiate warmth and memorable pop melodies. Sunbeam Sound Machine’s take on psychedelic pop edges more toward the charm of Yellow Submarine than some of the heavy psychedelics with which other bands have been recently experimenting. The surf vibes make their set almost feel like a day at the beach. It’s a refreshingly relaxed sound wedged between two bands that deal out an altogether more highly strung sound.

Eagulls very quickly time warp us back to 1979 or 1980 with their distinctly British, post-punk sound. They almost instantly bring to mind Joy Division as their dark, angry tones reflect bleak, urban environments and the kinds of dead ends in which the ‘have nots’ may sometimes find themselves. The titles of tracks such as Coffin and Tough Luck really speak for themselves. Playing live, Eagulls inject a whole lot of grunt into these songs, which means they sound even more ferocious than they do on record. The band rather desperately wallow in misery and oppression and soundtrack it with a thunderously violent guitar noise. Their energy and the melodic hooks that lurk behind that veil of noise draw the punters in. Despite attacking our eardrums with fierce attitude and voluminous decibels, the old men in the crowd wearing their The Smiths’ Meat Is Murder and New Order tees are grinning as they recall the sounds of their youth. Tom Kelly’s bass lines so often bring to mind Peter Hook’s trademark manoeuvres. There’s genuine rage and emotion in George Mitchell’s vocals and, as the set progresses, Robert Smith starts to feel like a more obvious point of comparison than Ian Curtis. Their short, ten-track set comes down with an unhinged version of Possessed that has some of the lads in the front row moshing with violent enthusiasm.