Tim RogersIt was an odd celebration and mourning of a few eras in Sydney this night. A few stations down the City Circle line The Human League were taking their faithful through the late '70s and into the '80s with squelchy synthesisers and girls singing acceptably out of tune, while here it was a catalogue of often near-perfect, three-minute pop masterpieces where, if you happened not to like one song there would be another along in a second. These nuggets with roots in the '60s were delivered by a band with its roots in the '90s or thereabouts. And singers who knew the debt Australian rock'n'roll owes to Harry Vanda and the recently lost George Young.
But here's a thankfully uncommon reviewer's problem: while much of what was happening onstage was terrific, the audience experience for a lot of people might not have quite matched up. Besides being told an incorrect start-time, and joining a queue into the venue that stretched around past the next corner just before proceedings commenced, it felt like elements of the crowd hadn't actually been to a gig since seeing The Radiators at the Comb & Cutter in 1982. Preloaded blokes who should be old enough to know better barged around and through to the bar. A wittering gasbag behind this scribe felt the need to mansplain everything going on to his missus - thanks, mister seat D20 in the Lounge, you fucked off a lot of people including your obviously long-suffering partner.
But let's put that aside and consider a helluva 'backing band' for this exercise. Erstwhile Whitlam Jak Housden seemed the main architect. As well as looking like a long-lost Young brother right down to his hair and height, Housden's credentials include putting together the music for the recent Easybeats mini-series with the guitarist on the other side of the stage, Even's/Rockwiz's Ash Naylor, and drummer Dave Hibbard. And keyboardist Clayton Doley really came into his own through this show when the music turned from The Easybeats' early guitar blasts of cars, girls and the weekend to the duo's later more esoteric arrangements.
But it was the rogue's gallery of singers that got us here. And from a shiny-jacketed Phil Jamieson with slicked-back hair opening with the staccato blast of Women (Make You Feel Alright), you knew they were putting in. Tim Rogers, of course, made the correct wardrobe choice as well: cravat, luridly striped strides and a nice line in doing the Frug - or was that Mashed Potato? - as he ripped into She's So Fine. Chris Cheney added a third shit-hot guitar to the ensemble and Kram seemed to have appointed himself main "How you doin', Sydney!?" cheerleader for the evening. Tex Perkins then ambled on, delivered Wedding Ring with typical half-threatening growl and all the pieces settled into place, even more so when The Tex Machine did the basso-profundo, call-and-response bit in Come And See Her.
The Vanda & Young catalogue was well-worked by various combinations of the above, including sidetracks into The Easybeats' short detour into psychedelica with Falling Off The Edge Of The World and Peculiar Hole In The Sky - who knew they were the Tame Impala of their day? And Kram served up, "The first pop song [he] ever loved on Countdown…," JPY's eternal Yesterday's Hero. And not sure if anybody really expected a run at Flash & The Pan's Down Among The Dead Men. But it worked, too.
And then it wound into the real classics: Stevie Wright's Black Eyed Bruiser was huge - Rogers pugnacious and bouncing on his toes like that Lionel Rose guy he once referenced in one of his songs. This, customers, was the business. Perkins offered the neon Euro electronica of Walking In The Rain - "Bet you didn't know they wrote that!," he challenged. "They wrote fucking everything." Seemed a fair appraisal.
And naturally the pub-rock opera that is Evie - Parts 1, 2, and 3 - is the centrepiece of the encore. Rogers and Kram were the boozy night out hook-up of opening section. Perkins got the sentimental longing of the middle bit. To be honest, Tex sometimes coasted, sometimes bludged in performance. Then again, often all he has to do is turn up and be Tex Perkins - some crowds don't require anything more. But here, he arched his back, put in and was masterful. The close-to-harrowing closing third was Jamieson's and he owned it. Considering that the Grinspoon frontman's story might have gone in a similar direction to little Stevie before he pulled himself out of that spiral added some extra poignancy and feeling.
A final messy group howl of Good Times - with added vocals from Girlfriend's Robyn Loau, even - and we all adjourned to no doubt raise a few snifters to George, Stevie and Malcolm, and probably quite a few others.
