Peter ‘Blackie’ Black is certainly a fitting choice of opener for tonight’s bill. It’s the type of crowd that boasts a wealth of seasoned rock devotees, and some degree of familiarity with Hard-Ons is a given for most. However, a familiarity with his recent solo offerings seems another thing completely. The aesthetic equivalent of Dr Jekyll, his acoustic performance is much gentler and softer than one could come to rationally expect from such a notorious rocker. And though delicate it may be, it is as impassioned as always and works wonders in setting a tone of diametric contrast to our heady headliner.
There’s barely a wait before the view of a silver afro bobbing over the horizon of the now-packed-in crowd heralds the arrival of King Buzzo. We are greeted with Melvins classic Boris, before a cover of Alice Cooper’s Ballad Of Dwight Fry is delivered with as much frenzied animation. With his distinctive guitar work and booming voice in full form, Buzzo is no less lively in acoustic mode. On being faced with the decision of whether to sit or stand during his solo performances, he tells us he’s taken his loving wife’s advice of, “Why don’t you just walk around the stage like an idiot like you do in our lounge room when you’re playing guitar.” He seems in the chirpiest of moods and makes the most of the intimate setting, stopping between every few songs for a bit of playful banter. To see this side of Buzzo reveals new facets of him as an entertainer, which are rarely glimpsed in such depth at a Melvins show, and the fans respond eagerly to the rare opportunity. “If you guys are good in a bit I’ll tell you a sort of funny but semi-pointless story,” he quips. And in the middle of a run of selections from his recent solo debut, This Machine Kills Artists (the title a reference to Woodie Guthrie’s ‘this machine kills fascists’ slogan), he pauses to tell a hilarious story of his band supporting Mr Bungle, and how Mike Patton became his hero by launching an enema-induced projectile shit onto an abusive crowd in defence of Melvins’ honour. He thanks tonight’s audience for being so kind in their response to his performance, and assures that if the same kindness hadn’t been afforded to Blackie that it would have been a very different set indeed. All too glad to escape Buzzo’s wrath, the strong communal vibe in the room bolsters, and the final reward, a trinity of holy Melvins gems (We Are Doomed, Hooch and Revolve), brings this special little gift of an evening to a close.
