Live Review: The Blackeyed Susans

With the poetry and vigour of a Southern Baptist preacher, Rob Snarski appropriately transfixes the crowd gathered under the spiritual stained glass of the Great Hall with his opening monologue. The lead vocalist of The Blackeyed Susans displays no sign of jet lag, despite announcing the band has travelled far and wide on their tour "searching for answers". "Tonight, we hope to find it here."

Rollicking in rhythm and rabblerousing in dynamics, the band - whose members feature a virtual line-up of who's who from Australian alternative rock bands The Triffids, The Cruel Sea, Augie March, Dirty Three, The Jackson Code, The Drones and Hungry Ghosts - launch into an evening that is part nostalgic and part new horizon-testing. Tonight is definitely one for the silvery crowned among us as we watch Snarski, Phil Kakulas (bass), Kiernan Box (keyboards, harmonica), Mark Dawson (drums), JP Shilo (electric guitar, accordion, backing vocals), and Graham Lee (pedal steel guitar, backing vocals) regroup in fine form.

Pooling their wealth of collective alternative rock sounds plays to the band's strength, as evidenced by the giddy chorus of delight and familiar nodding of heads from the audience as they soak in A Curse On You and the achingly cool Smokin' Johnny Cash from their earlier albums. However, there is a distinctive mellowness in the offerings from their latest album Close Your Eyes And See; Lee's haunting, atmospheric chords on the pedal steel guitar channel the airy expanse of country and western tracks, while Snarski's prose delivery at the start of each track is an unmistakable nod to Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, and Richard Hawley.

Snarski firmly anchors us in Melbourne - speaking of walking down Degraves Street and turning to find Lou Reed walking beside him before "we both decided to get off this cloud". He conjures up everyday scenes from hip inner city suburbs in his lyrics. With his felt hat and rolled up sleeves, he brings the band's loftier sounds back to the familiar, slightly grungy bluestoned kerbs of our locale. The result is a sound that is country and western meets Brunswick Street, Fitzroy, with a lick of melancholy blues and tinges of rock. Slow diffusing ballads like I Don't Dance (Anymore) and Dream On round up the varied setlist that is just testing the waters from the band's comfort zone.

The moving large-scale projections of Vincent Van Gogh on the backdrop wall give the illusion of the band floating amongst the great master's works. It is no coincidence that many of their lyrics speak of the numerous faces of the skies, seas, and clouds - all thematic references that keen-sensed audience members would have observed from their jaunt to the main gallery next door. In these moments, The Blackeyed Susans share Van Gogh's climatic vision and ambition - a not insignificant feat.