Live Review: John Grant, Tom Kline

A more mature crowd gathers at Corner Hotel. Tom Kline gets the evening off to a mellow start with a selection of introspective songs that deal with heartache as they paint vivid pictures of inner-city Melbourne.
The last time John Grant came to Melbourne he went it solo on piano. Despite the intimacy, those shows felt a little sparse. Tonight Grant fronts a five-piece band comprising players from his new home, Iceland. They start with You Don't Have To which, working to Grant's formula, is a bitter break-up song that softens all those ugly feelings with acerbic wit. Grant's thick, lustrous baritone oozes like treacle and shines as it is wrapped up in lush layers of synthesised sound. Grant's portly frame leans over the front row as he croons into the mic, eventually retreating behind the keyboards to deliver a solo in the instrumental break. Grant's tunes can be dark and heavy-going, but instead of tending toward tear-jerking these exquisitely written songs are presented with all the majesty and power his band can muster, avoiding the mawkish for something that's even more overwhelmingly intense.
“I love being in Australia,” says Grant, dedicating a song to the late, great Christine Amphlett. “This is for all those people who think I need to love myself a little more, but, you know, I think they could do with a little less self-love,” says Grant, introducing GMF with an evil grin. The deep bass electro throb of Pale Green Ghosts and Black Belt lighten the mood as Grant invites us to get down. “I used to dedicate this song for the gays in Russia but I've seen that there's a lot of messed-up shit going down in all parts of the world. Besides, I know some really lovely Russians. I use this song to remind myself that America isn't a theocracy.” The crowd doesn't quite understand Grant's comments but he soon silences them with the majesty of Glacier. This live version replaces the orchestral arrangements with searing guitar solos that evoke the grinding pressure of stone moving through ice – it feels like a future gay anthem laced with plenty of hope. Later when Grant vents the harsh rage of Queen Of Denmark it feels so good. “Sounds like he blew a pretty big load on that one,” Grant giggles, referring to a particularly nasty, cathartic guitar solo during this song.
An hour in the company of Grant and his band just isn't enough. They oblige an encore with the electro disco machinations of Sensitive New Age Guy and the particularly touching love song Caramel. A master songwriter in full bloom, Grant transcends sexuality and all those grubby personal revelations to present a very honest and human portrait of himself.