Live Review: The Drones

At this point, The Drones' place in the annals of Australian rock history is already secure. The band will go down alongside other quintessentially Australian acts such as The Beasts Of Bourbon, Midnight Oil and Hunters & Collectors. The Drones are touring to acknowledge the tenth anniversary of their Australian Music Prize-winning album, Wait Long By The River And The Bodies Of Your Enemies Will Float By, but pointing out the continued relevance of that title, given the countless flavour-of-the-moment Aussie acts that have come and gone in those ten years, seems like lazy music journalism.

Gareth Liddiard's performance is always visceral and direct. Whatever combination of musicians is behind him, they prop him up when necessary and clear out of the way when he needs to lash out on that defenseless old Fender he wields like an oversized prison shank.

So what remains to be written about The Drones? Should I mention the large, anticipant crowd and the heartfelt cheer we gave as the band launched into album opener Shark Fin Blues? Should I mention Liddiard's dishevelled appearance and the slightly slurred words that clumsily slipped past his lips as he greeted the crowd? Or that none of that impaired his always-arresting vocal delivery? Should I note his curious collection of custom-made guitar effects boxes, to placate the gear-nerds reading this?  

What of the other players? Of Dan Luscombe — a consummate utility man whether he's providing a solid chord bed, atmospheric effects, backing harmonies or spontaneous makeshift crowd control. Of Fiona Kitschin — so focused, fluid and seemingly effortless on bass. Did it matter that Mike Noga is no longer the band's drummer? Not really — Christian Strybosch was fantastic. Was keyboardist Steve Hesketh audible? Well, sometimes. The mix was excruciatingly loud no matter your vantage point inside The Gov. 

Were there extended noisy jams? Of course. Were there any dickheads in the crowd? At least one — Liddiard called out a bloke in the front row who nattered on through quieter sections of the show. "I wouldn't watch your fucking band and talk through your fucking songs," he taunted. I wonder whether Liddiard knew the guy does have a 'band' of sorts — he can often be seen shredding through a five-watt amplifier on Hindley Street in the middle of the night. I later saw him scaling the venue's beer-garden fence, shouting obscenities at those still inside.

I've really got nothing else — it was a great gig by a great band in honour of a great album. I expect the estimation of Wait Long... will continue to grow in the minds of critics and fans, while we patiently wait for whatever Liddiard and co serve up next. This tour will do nothing to tarnish what is rightfully held up as one of Australia's great rock'n'roll records.