Live Review: The Mark Of Cain, Black Level Embassy & Zeahorse

The Mark Of Cain

Presenting their down-tempo psych/drone-drenched heaviness to a largely empty room meant Zeahorse found gaining any real traction difficult. The Sydneysiders' off-kilter presence helped establish a modicum of momentum by set's end though, as did an array of hypnotic riffage.

A much larger although still somewhat passive audience greeted Melbourne's Blacklevel Embassy. Even broken strings didn't impede their swagger, fusing AC/DC-esque blues with Jesus Lizard noise and a tangible classic rock sensibility. The trio's lively, hard-hitting fare likely won some new converts, although several songs felt like a case of haphazardly trying to cram in a few too many ideas.

Personal issues and work commitments have sidelined The Mark of Cain for several years. However, the trio's stoicism and sheer intensity hasn't been negated by such real-life turmoil. If anything, it's unearthed an even leaner, meaner intent. When guitarist John Scott barked, “I could've been a contender” in his distinctively gruff manner, the writhing, crowd-surfing masses clearly appreciated that the Adelaide hard rockers had not only overcome such adversity to release a new record, but returned to play their first Sydney show in more than half a decade.

Even with youngster Eli Green ably substituting (and his demeanour even bearing some resemblance to) otherwise-engaged sticksman John Stanier, they were tight and efficient, albeit hardly animated. That has never been the band's focus though; a no-frills, no-nonsense ethos best encapsulated by Kim Scott's cold, dead stare and rigid stance, much of their material driven by his throbbing, low-slung bass. When locking into that groove, such as during a vicious Familiar Territory or thumping Second Hander, the impact was seismic. Boasting riffs tougher than a two-dollar steak, new cuts Avenger and The Argument meshed with long-time favourite, Interloper, so naturally that it seemed they were made for one another. An encore of Battlesick, LMA and the uproariously received Point Man further underlined their military-like precision and were about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the cranium. As punters departed the packed room sweaty, bruised and battered through, it was a beating they were more than pleased to take. They just hoped it wouldn't be quite so long until the next bludgeoning.