Live Review: The Mark Of Cain, Black Level Embassy & The Sea Shall Not Have Them

26 March 2013 | 6:00 pm | Brendan Telford

A long time coming. Adelaide man-o-war The Mark Of Cain take to the stage without pomp or fanfare and deliver what can only be described as a brutal display of nascent.

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Kicking off a frenetic night of noise are Gold Coast two-piece The Sea Shall Not Have Them. Their dark, roiling take on instrumental rock may seem at odds with what was to come, but it soon becomes increasingly apparent that the duo will not go quietly into the dark dark night, their set coalescing from brooding tension to cathartic, explosive releases of distortion and crashes. The sound floods The Hi-Fi expanse, boding well for future excursions.

Melbourne angular upstarts Blacklevel Embassy have never veered away from uncompromising confrontations of the body, mind and ears, and this reputation continues as the trio tear through the visceral material from new LP New Veteran. Highlights include Tony, You Should Build Yourself A Deck and brutal closing number I Keep Making Tiny Men, and it is evident from this tightly coiled set that the band revel in the banal and mundane as much as they embrace the abrasive. Not everyone in the crowd with their sweaty mitts clasping rum cans are able to fully appreciate what unfurls before them, which is a shame because they are really missing something special on the Australian musical landscape here.

A long time coming. Adelaide man-o-war The Mark Of Cain take to the stage without pomp or fanfare and deliver what can only be described as a brutal display of nascent, serrated rock that revels in its coarseness, its unwieldy nature, its abject aggression. Losing none of the ferocity that has stoked the fires for over 20 years, the trio (John Stanier not behind the skins tonight, filled in by the very impressive pummelling of Eli Green) smash through a set that trades new tracks (the intense Separatist definitely the pick of the bunch) with the old. And it's how little these songs have aged that is the true trump card of the night. Whilst First Time, The Contender or Interloper are tinged with memories of '90s skateboard and surf videos, sweaty days in Davies Park or nights in the belly of the beast, their pure intensity and relevance is overpowering. Kim Scott's bass is a pure slab of metal distress, anchoring the songs whilst simultaneously driving them down the audience's throats, whilst his brother John spits out those oft-nihilistic lyrics over the top of his jagged guitar lines with the same sense of rabid assault as if they had never left.