Live Review: The Milk Carton Kids, Timothy James Bowen

It’s been just a tad over two years exactly since California-bred Americana exponents The Milk Carton Kids played this very venue on their first Australian tour, so accordingly there’s a sense of déjà vu when the lanky Joey Ryan enters the stage in his familiar black suit and starts showcasing his incredible dry wit, only this time he’s here early to introduce their tour support, Wollongong singer-songwriter Timothy James Bowen.

Ryan states that Bowen has “a voice that makes you feel shitty about yourself”, and he does indeed pack an impressive set of lungs as he kicks into Breathe Easy augmented by just his acoustic guitar. Amidst tales of travelling to Nashville and other extensive journeys, Bowen explains that next track Answer The Call was commissioned by Virgin Australia for their hold music and that the song is available in the foyer on handmade CDs — it is indeed a strange musical world that we inhabit these days — and he then continues with After Wintertime and the politically infused The Dharawal. The latter proves a welcome change of tone because whilst the bearded Bowen does heartfelt torch songs really well, too many of them in a row gets a bit saccharine — like the super smooth sides of James Taylor or Ben Harper, without any gritty respite. Bowen’s folky vibe is miles removed from the old school sensibilities of tonight’s headliners, but he still gets a warm response when he finishes with Whatever Makes You Happy and Love Is Loving You. 

After a short break the pairing that is The Milk Carton Kids — Ryan and his partner-in-crime Kenneth Pattengale — enter the fray to a heroes’ reception and open gently with Secrets of The Stars, their voices taking separate high and low routes but meshing perfectly in wonderful simpatico from the outset. They’re clad in traditional suited attire and stand on either side of the sole vintage microphone, staring into each other’s eyes as they clutch their vintage acoustics and continue with the gorgeous Asheville Skies — the opening track from new album Monterey which is ostensibly being launched tonight — then continue with Getaway, the music hushed but their imagery rich and compelling.

As the duo continue with The City Of Our Lady it’s apparent that they have the crowd in the palm of their hands with just their music — it’s so authentically old timey but without the slightest sense of contrivance, revelling in sincerity — but at the song’s conclusion the pair bloom into the between-song banter which elevates their act beyond that of mere troubadours. Ryan is so wonderfully dry and witty and Pattengale proves the perfect foil, the pair bouncing a routine off each other for a good five minutes and showing that a comedy career beckons if they tire of musical escapades, but there’s a serious side to their songcraft despite this bluster and a stillness envelops the room as they continue forwards with The Ash & Clay and Monterey (these being consecutive title tracks from their previous two albums). The pair exhibit deft finger-picking chops and their duelling vocal arrangements are spellbinding, continuing forwards with the nimble Honey Honey, the gorgeous Shooting Shadows and the heartfelt Undress The World.

An extended routine about Ryan’s recent first forays into fatherhood ushers waves of hilarity, and when Hope Of A Lifetime segues into Maybe It’s Time and Ryan forgets the second verse as he predicted at the song’s outset they’re suddenly getting massive laughs during musical interludes as well as before and after them: no mean feat. The pair’s songs are so peaceful but also contain plenty of substance, and they finish a stellar performance with a final flurry of I Still Want A Little More, Snake Eyes, Michigan and Heaven, earning an ecstatic and loud response from a crowd which had hitherto been whisper quiet. The responsive throng brays for an encore and soon the pair walk back on stage — their guitars firmly strapped on as a statement of intent — and sate the crowd’s thirst with a geographically based finale of New York and Memphis, proving in the process that their firming status as darlings of the current Americana crop is entirely warranted. Well played, sirs.