Live Review: Michael Beach, Tape/Off, Tiny Migrants, Soda Eaves

Some uncharacteristic torrential rain doesn't dampen the spirits of tonight's special bill at the Beetle Bar. Transient troubadour Soda Eaves kicks things off with a spacious extravaganza of soft, considered poetic vignettes set over spectral guitar loops and scratchy radio recordings. The artist is wholly immersed in his craft, weaving gossamer tapestries of bitter chagrin (On The Beach) or ruminative downward spirals (Sweet Stores), and it's hard not to be drawn into his quietly crowded world.

Rambunctious raconteurs Tiny Migrants are raring at the bit to get into their set, which is littered with cracked classics both old and new. It all sounds fresh tonight though, as the lack of reverb means vocals and guitar jump out of the blocks without subterfuge at play, and is livelier for the efforts. This means that tracks like Uncontrollable aren't as overtly bombastic, but adds an effervescent sheen to the proceedings. A new western-tinged seduction really lights things up. They are anything if not irascible though – expect their next show to be showered in shit, just to prove they ain't going soft.

It seems that Tape/Off is starting to get the taste for the open stage once more, and once more they offer a ramshackle set of deranged melodicisms and slacker wit wrapped garishly in distortion, shouts and slanted banter. They may be the only ones on this bill without a fresh release, yet the set is littered with new tracks for their incumbent album that are lightyears removed from the Pavement skillset. The slapdash energy remains, but is imbued with a tentative maturity to go with the caterwauling implosions.

The man of the hour is Michael Beach. In Australia for Sound Summit for one of his other bands, the newly minted Shovels, the San Franciscan-slash-Melburnian is given a rare chance to showcase his solo gear, specifically cuts from his magnificent sophomore LP Golden Theft. Roping his Shovels bandmates to back these elegantly wasted rustic tracks, Beach is in electrifying form, his gravelly voice and spirit in full display. The true glory of Beach's songwriting is embedded in his proclivity for permeating these tracks with a primitive punk spirit that always threatens to pinwheel out of control, yet instead crumbles under the weight of its own apocryphal intentions. The rollicking stop/start dynamism of Straight Spines, the bluesy burdens bristling on Dirt, the working class crossroads of Static, are all underscored with a maniacal desire to always traipse on the precipice of disaster. Finishing with the excellent The Exhilarating Rise, Beach and his cronies deliver a blistering performance that is far too rare in this day and age – one of raging heart.