Live Review: Iceage, Thee Hugs, Clever Unpeople

Five months ago Danish nihilistic punk wunderkinds Iceage rolled through town and played a set consisting entirely of material from their then-yet-to-be-released third album, and that was kind of a bummer. So it’s with a certain degree of trepidation that this reviewer enters the doors of Alhambra this evening.

Local outfit Unpeople kick off proceedings while the club’s main room is still sparsely populated. With an engrossingly lo-fi aesthetic that sounds custom-built for cassette tape, the band manages to sound like a sick cross-contamination of Darkthrone and Eddy Current Suppression Ring.

Clever embrace the atonal coolness typical of early ‘90s Ampethamine Reptile acts. It’s a smart move too, as the waves of garage rock feedback crash into a tightly-controlled post-punk rhythm section. Clever tap into the same vein of angst-riddled catharsis explored by bands like Halo of Flies.

Thee Hugs fill the position of main support tonight. That’s kind of fitting too, because at this point the air within Alhambra is soupy with humidity and the perfect atmospheric accompaniment to Thee Hugs’ gritty brand of swamp rock. The quartet barrel through their scuzzy set with a sense of humour and an ear for vaguely foreboding textures reminiscent of The Eighties B-Line Matchbox Disaster.

Perhaps less than flattering reports of their last Brisbane show have preceded them, because the crowd is still fairly sparse when Iceage take the stage. And when the band strike up On My Fingers and Let It Vanish, there’s a sense we could be in for the same setlist we got that last time. While some elements of the show are the same as they were back in September – vocalist Bender Rønnenfelt is still tragically swanning across the stage – the band is much more self-assured presenting the material from Plowing Into The Field Of Love now that they’ve had the tail end of 2014 to tour it.

The backbeat provided by Dan Kjær Nielsen now has a great deal more dynamism, which makes individual songs stand out from what might otherwise be an indecipherable post-punk drawl. And to his credit, Rønnenfelt can diverge from the vocals on the record to present a partly shouted, partly spoken, partly drawled delivery and then snap back to the melody with surprising accuracy. It’s a trick he uses to make cuts like Forever and You’re Nothing’s Morals – one of two songs in the set not from the new album – stand out against their recorded counterparts. The set is too short, and nothing from the New Brigade record is played, but Iceage’s set is captivating enough that the few in attendance are liable to turn up when the band next roll through town. Because Iceage probably could deliver the set we all want to hear, if they wanted to.