Live Review: Hugo Race Fatalists, Angie Hart

You could be forgiven for thinking you've arrived at the wrong address when you arrive at Caulfield RSL, for Flying Saucer Club is through the entrance and around the corner, via the pokies. Once inside, the open fireplace is a homely feature.

For the first half of Angie Hart's first song we're busy trying to remember the name of the band she fronted back in the day. By the second song, she opens her eyes and looks out into the audience a little. The guitarist is incredible; he's clearly lived with and been through a lot with his instrument. Hart introduces My Year Of Drinking, clarifying, the title is "not an accurate timeframe... It was a bit longer than a year". Did we really hear her sing, "Cocksucker on the rocks"? That's right, Hart was in Frente! Ordinary Angels is a highlight. There's loud clanging noises coming from the venue's kitchen during Hart's New Order cover - one of the dish deems it sacrilege.

The characters that crawl out of the woodwork for a Hugo Race gig are worth the ticket price alone. As Hugo Race Fatalists take the stage we are immediately in awe of Michelangelo Russo's harmonica set-up; the amplified sounds echo nostalgically providing a wistful layer. Roll out the audio book range, Race's timbre - even during between-song banter - captivates. The trio is rounded out by keyboardist Julitha Ryan and what they achieve sonically with limited resources is astounding. We don't even notice the lack of percussion until Race's subtle stomp boxing gently punctuates one song. A coat, bag and hat pile materialises in the standing section, around which some enthusiastic dancing takes place.

The swashbuckling Beautiful Mess is a standout track from their new album, 24 Hours To Nowhere, which the outfit launch tonight. Hart is invited to the stage to join Race in performing a "suite" of three songs that Race tells us he wrote with his partner Alannah Hill during a coffee-and-cigarette-fuelled night of inspiration. Even Race's choice of words when speaking is poetic; his vocabulary would make him unbeatable at Scrabble. A sample is triggered and we're treated to a more upbeat vibe. The lyrics in Until You Surrender have a surprise sting in their tail and we're taken in by the story, Race's diction impeccable but never overdone.

Their encore includes Too Many Zeroes, during which a sozzled couple dominate the dancefloor with their creative movement (what's the bet they went to The Most Wuthering Heights Day Ever?) That is until the male half of the dancing duo falls backwards over a backpack sitting on the floor, landing directly onto his derriere. Race's vocal is like a shot of Frangelico with a twist of lemon in between puffs from a top of the range Cuban cigar. Just why Race isn't celebrated to the same extent as Nick Cave continues to baffle and, once again, this intimate venue hosts an exceptional artist pouring his heart, and soul, out.