ManLaughing

A pair of friends with self-perceived, “superior senses of humour to the rest of the dumbasses they know,” today spent a full morning at work sending Onion article links to each other via email.

The two men, both in their late-twenties, regularly chuckled at their office desks, unable to contain both their amusement and proud sense of knowing better than the rest of society’s naïve drones.

“Hahaha brilliant,” said one of the men, copying in a link to yet another lampooning of every day events that only their astutely self-aware minds could fully comprehend the cleverness of.

“GOLD!” said the other, firing back with a decidedly left-wing piece on gay rights, disguised as sports news.

“Lol, hilarious because it’s so dam true. Check this one out…” his friend typed, before also retweeting the link for his 37, mostly spambot Twitter followers.

The back and forth eventually came to an end when each of the men realised they’d reached the ‘5 free articles in 30 days’ limit.

“I’m getting a message saying I need to pay if I want to view any more articles…” said the slightly more earnest of the duo.

“Pay? Fuck that. I’m off for lunch now anyway, you coming?” said the other.

The pair then spent the first 20 minutes of their lunch break together, recounting their favourite lines like true jagoffs.

Majak

Fed up with the Australian media’s painful insistence on substituting the word ‘magic’ for his name, North Melbourne footballer, Majak Daw has made the sensational decision that from here on in he’ll be officially known as ‘Magic Awesome.’

Daw made the call over his standard 33 Weet-Bix breakfast on Monday, muttering to himself, “If I have to read one more pun headline about myself I’m going to f**king lose my mind.”

“The first couple of times I thought – “Oh ha ha, nice one guys, like I haven’t heard that one before” – but now it’s just getting sad. It’s great that people want to write about me and all but dead set, we get it, my name sounds a bit like magic. Get the f**k over it already,” he mused.

Sudanese born Daw, whose given name literally translates as “Stuart,” has attracted enormous media attention since his AFL debut in round 4 against the Brisbane Lions in which he spectacularly became just the 6,874th player in league history to take a mark and kick a goal.

“I’ll literally spew if I bring up the Herald Sun mobile site on my phone tomorrow morning and see another “Majak Happens” line. My parents don’t get it, they’re constantly asking me to do tricks for them. I’m pretty sure they think I’ve become some sort of celebrity magician. It’s f**ked.”

“Of course, the boys at the club have had their fun with it, but I tell ya what, if I walk in and see a newspaper clipping exclaiming “Daw-some!” stuck on my locker one more time, I’ll put a f**king hole through someone. I’m not kidding, look at me, I could literally do that you know?”

It was unclear as to why Daw hadn’t spoken to the media since his 6 goal haul against the Western Bulldogs, but it is now apparent that the blanket ban was a protest at the relentlessly awful punnery that is demeaning both he and his family’s name.

The usually mild mannered footballer went on: “You know what? F**k this. If they think they’re so clever I’m just going to go ahead and change my name to Magic. Magic Awesome. Pun yourselves stupid, f**kheads.”

Contemplating his new name, Daw continued. “Sure NBA legend, Earvin Johnson is already widely known as Magic, but it’s not like he owns the name. At least as far as I know he doesn’t. I guess I better check that first.”

“Oh and don’t even get me started on everyone’s f**king obsession with my body. I’ve already decided I’m taking next preseason off, I don’t give a f**k what Brad Scott says.”

130319-savages-silence-yourself

“It’s music to break shit and fuck on the floor to,” said Savages guitarist Gemma Thompson in a recent Pitchfork interview, as she and drummer Fay Milton attempted to characterise the band’s sound.

Silence Yourself is a primal record, straddling the paper-thin line between ecstasy and violence so expertly you could be convinced by Savages that they’re one and the same thing.  As debuts go, they don’t come much more assured than this. Raw but cultured, fuzzy but focused, familiar yet inspired, it’s a brilliant balance of contradictions.

The band themselves have an unmistakable allure. From their very first show in January 2012, the black-clad, all female quartet, exerted an unflinching intensity and unapologetic confidence that simply demanded attention. Of course what defined their aura was having some serious chops to go with it.

Silence Yourself is unmistakably post-punk in identity and although there are clearly many other influences at play, the band immediately garnered comparisons to the likes of Joy Division and Siouxsie and the Banshees. That said, the dark, forboding atmosphere of the genre feels more like a piece of shared DNA within the band rather than coming from any conscious choice to pursue it. They’ve managed to avoid a sense of derivativity, producing a set of songs that earn the right to be judged in their own right.

Each band member’s role radiates a vitality. Milton and Hassan’s rythm section provides both weight and dynamism, the latter woman’s bass line that cockily kickstarts ‘Shut Up’ a fine example of the often trampoline-like foundation layed out. The chiming riffs of Thompson’s guitar regularly degenerate into shredded squalls of feedback. Jehnny Beth’s passionate wail often intensifies into climactic shrieks.  Her physical prescence is as stripped back and raw as the music itself.

The result of the oft repetitive lyrics is that they’re effectively hammered into your brain. The band have explained that this is a result of peeling back the sentiments being expressed to their most essential form, enabling them to hit with maximum force. This simplicity works because the band rarely operate on literal terms. Every word is a double-edged sword.

Provocative lines like “I’m ready when ya hit me,” typify the blurred contexts Savages work in because they’re sung with such unhinged defiance it’s impossible to definitively tell whether it’s pleasure or pain we’re privy to or if the song’s protagonist even sees a difference.

Each song has it’s own power, yet they all fit seamlessly into the larger framework of the album. Previously released as half of a double A-side single last year, highlight, Husbands is all paranoid, break-neck urgency, the heavy-breathed chorus increasingly shrill as it loses meaning and a guitar-as-chainsaw comes crashing through the wall.

Bringing the high-octane, organised chaos to an end is one last contrast. Marshal Dear is all elegance, closing the album with brooding piano and curly woodwind flourishes.  It acts almost as a payoff for having fully and finally heeded the demand to silence ourselves.  When Beth makes a stark, echoed call of “Can you hear me now?” it is really only be answerable one way.  With a resounding yes.

HAERTS are Nini Fabi, Ben Gebert, Garrett lenner, Derek McWilliams and Jonathan Schmidt, a 5 piece whose English, German and American passports have allowed them to join forces in the indie capital of the world, Brooklyn to make sweet sweet music together.

Their outstanding debut song, Wings has been kicking around the internet since the tail end of 2012, earning the band some well received showcases at the recent 2013 edition of SXSW, but this week it received an official release, along with a truly spectacular visual accompaniment.

Frontwoman Fabi’s powerful voice has already been compared to Stevie Nicks and it’s clear to hear why, her southern intonation and folk origins combining with producer, St Lucia’s synth/reverbed guitar backdrop to create a pop sound both familiar and fresh as the country air. The song’s rapidly chanted vocal hooks, land in the same ballpark as those of fellow up-and-comers Haim.

The gorgeous Super 8 filmed visual is the work of fast rising director, Emily Kai Bock who in little over a year has forged an army of admirers through notable music videos for Grimes (Oblivion) and Grizzly Bear (Yet Again) as well as Doldrums and Majical Cloudz.

Shot in Nashville, the video provides a documentary style view of everyday lives, while expertly capturing a beauty in the most innocuous of moments. Childhood innocence is spliced with a hollow adult reality, combining with Wings for an unexpectedly emotional tone that consistently wavers between joy and heartbreak.

But just as we’ve been lulled into a sense of knowing, something kind of magical happens. Fabi’s voice soars and so do we. We’re whisked into the sky, a first person view of someone taking flight. A sudden feeling of wonderment and possibility takes over and any jadedness evaporates, like being a kid again.

The simplicity of the video’s concept makes it’s execution all the more brilliant, not just complimenting but enhancing what is already one of the pop songs of the year.

HAERTS’ debut album is due in 2013.

A-League Rd 1 - Victory v Heart

Prior to kickoff at Saturday’s Australia Day clash between Melbourne Victory and Sydney FC, the AAMI Park pitch played host to the induction of a fresh batch of Australian citizens. The setting was appropriate; a full stadium of people brought together by a sport largely introduced to this country by the immigrant families of decades gone by.  Our multicultural identity has always been clearly evident in the context of football but after long being dominated by a strong European flavour we are now  beginning to embrace a far worldlier range of influences.

For Victory this season, it is two foreign born players, one from across the ditch and the other from an African football powerhouse (via south east Queensland) who have had the most dynamic on-field influence under the new and improved Postecoglou regime. The close-control wizadry and suddenly prolific finishing of Kiwi Marco Rojas has lit up the the A-League and even turned the heads of European scouts, but at the other end of the field, Ivorian recruit Adama Traore has been no less outstanding.

Assured, cool under pressure, tremendously skilled, quick and an excellent decision maker, Traore ticks all the key boxes required of a wing back and his stats only enhance these qualities. With 76, Traore has made more tackles than any other player in the A-League so far this season – 14 more than the next best, Manny Muscat and twice as many as any Brisbane Roar player – and in 17 matches has received just 3 yellow cards.  Further, his 80% success rate in dispossessing the opposition means these figures haven’t just come about via a combination of over-exuberance and the law of averages but rather brilliant timing and ability in assessessing situations.

Saturday’s encounter with the team of a paler shade of blue contained another faultless display from the man from Cote d’Ivoire. Coming in the prescene of the player he replaced at the left hand side of Victory’s defense, Fabio, it was a stark reminder of how far this side have come since last season and showcased the significant upgrade Victory have made in that position.

That Fabio was shown a second yellow card for a rash challenge on Rojas (whilst desperately tracking back from the opposition half) and given his marching orders, summed up his deficiencies and added an exclamation mark to the gulf in class between he and Traore.  Although deployed as a defender, the Brazilian has never seemed to give much priority to his negating responsibilities, forever seeming preoccupied with making an impression further up the field. Of course any wide defender worth his salt knows over-lapping runs are as much an expectation of the job as preventing your man getting to the byline these days, but knowing when to commit forward and when to stay at home is the trick of the trade. Fabio is a long way from mastering it, and the chances at his stage are he never will, but it’s a quality Melbourne’s new number 3 seems inately familiar with.

Time and again Traore will arrive to support Thompson or Rojas with a one-two and even in relatively confined spaces has the confidence of his team mates to use him due to his strength and assurance on the ball.  As someone who has watched every Victory game this season, the automatic expectation in a one-on-one situation is that he won’t be beaten.  Last season it was a case of hold your breath and hope.

Ange’s possession based philosophy, with it’s insistence on playing out from the back wouldn’t have come nearly as far as it has this season without the influence of Traore.  Although still only 22 he plays with the head of a far more experienced footballer, the “chill” demeanour he conveys contributing enormously to an increasing level of calm across the Melbourne back four.  No player is unsurpassable, but maintaining an aura of confidence goes a long way to winning the battle as a defender, something Traore oozes.

I’ve marveled on numerous occasions when it has looked as though his man has gotten by him, only for Traore’s pace and nous in tracking the shortest distance to the ball to enable him to get back into position at what appears a cocky, laconic jog.

Traore spent the previous 3 seasons patrolling the flank for Gold Coast United, racking up 67 appearances and plenty of admirers in the process. So when United abruptly folded in 2012 there were no shortage of suitors ready to snap him up but it was Victory whose offer he couldn’t refuse.

He admits to having fallen in love with Australia since his arrival here as a teenager and will soon mark 5 years since having left the Ivory Coast, meaning the option of citizenship becomes available.  On that matter late last year, Matt Windley quoted Traore as saying this: “Australia is a fantastic country, I’d love to stay here. I think the first objective is to get the (naturalisation) papers, then it’s up to the coach. If he thinks I can do something for the national team, then fantastic.”

With this in mind, and given the Socceroos long term struggles at left back, it hardly takes Paul the Octopus to predict Traore becoming Australia’s answer in that position.  It’s a fantastic prospect, especially knowing that the man turning 23 this weekend – the day after a derby date with Heart – has many years of football and improvement ahead of him. Perhaps come next January’s Big Blue we’ll be watching him take the oath before pulling on the green and gold in Brazil later in the year.

Saturday night will mark the eighth A-League derby between Melbourne clubs Victory and Heart, a fixture that in it’s short existence has already proved to be the season’s marquee match up for fans of both teams.  The round one opener between the two sides back in October attracted a crowd of 42,032 to Etihad Stadium, the largest attendance of the season so far and a clear endorsement of the rivalry that has been created.

It’s no secret that the tribalism of the game is it’s most useful tool in galvanising support and this concept is certainly not lost on the A-League hierarchy who actively pump up rivalries between clubs through canny fixturing.  Over the years, perhaps even more than seeking to satisfy the needs of a particular geographical market, the expansion of the league has been based on creating neighbourhood bouts, purely because of the instant “us versus them” basis for identity.

In the early years, as the club with the largest and most active supporter base, it was Victory’s match ups with traditional rivals in Sydney and Adelaide that stirred up the most passion.  With the flames between those clubs steadily burning and a brand new specialty football stadium ready to go, Melbourne Heart became the next log to be thrown on the fire, instantly catching alight.    

Since arriving on the scene in 2010 to forge the league’s first intra-city match up, the derby nature of their clashes has enabled them to consistently fill their shared home base at AAMI Park and create the kind of lively atmosphere that doubles as the perfect advertisement to neutrals.  Despite Heart’s lean crowd averages, the match up with Victory has never failed to draw the masses and it’s to these masses that football types pin their hopes of capturing the imagination of the wider public.

Last week up north, the Sydney derby between the Sky Blues and new kids on the block the Wanderers provided the kind of attention grabbing atmosphere that will have had Frank Lowy and league CEO David Gallop smiling in their sleep.  Given the region’s importance as a spiritual home to the sport in this country, there were concerns that the decision to usher in Western Sydney on the short notice of Gold Coast United’s demise could prove disastrous for the long term future of the league if it failed to work out.

But thanks largely to the coup of signing Tony Popovic as manager and the vocality of their already infamous Red and Black Bloc active supporter base the gamble of the rush job seems to be paying off. For the first seven seasons Victory’s Blue and White Brigade has been peerless in providing a virtual extra man on the field for the club but now we might finally being seeing the emergence of a contender for that mantle.

There are no apologies made for the fact the Melbourne and Sydney derbies are a manufactured form of rivalry, but that the fans are speaking in support of both in their droves says much for the “If you build it they will come” method.  While the naysayers scoff at the lack of history on which to base their passion, the pro-active fans who want to create their own are out in force. 

Time will tell whether Heart’s handicap of a bully-ish big brother 5 years their senior proves too big a shadow to escape but for now it’s their clashes with Victory that are the foundation on which to build an identity.  That ‘little brother’ has managed 3 wins to Victory’s 1 from their meetings so far won’t sit well with the blue team but it’s precisely this kind of early niggle that has gotten the blood pumping between Melbourne’s opposing fans and players. 

Come Saturday night as Sydney takes it’s turn to watch, it will become a matter of state pride that the two Melbourne clubs and their fans put on a show to reaffirm this fixture’s billing as the A-League’s main event.  Bragging rights will be fought out not only between Heart and Victory but between this country’s two biggest cities. It’s exactly what the men upstairs will have hoped for and can only provide another kick in establishing the code as a major player in the Australian sporting landscape. 

Melbourne Heart vs Melbourne Victory

Saturday December 22 @ AAMI Park

Kickoff 7.45pm

It’s been a few days now, enough time to have had the chance to reflect and attempt to come to terms with what happened between the approximate times of 1.55am and 2.00am Monday morning here in Melbourne. Most football fans will know exactly what I’m referring to but for those oblivious to the charms of the “World Game” as guru Les has befittingly coined it and more specifically the top tier of the sport in England I will painfully (some might say sadistically) re-hash what went down. The reason being that although I’m a diehard fan of the team who eventually had their hearts ripped out, the astonishing crescendo reached that night may never venture as close to fiction again in my lifetime. In any sport.

The race for the 2011/12 English Premier League title had boiled down to the 38th and final round of matches with the two Manchester clubs – United and City – locked on 86 points and everything to play for. City held the advantage via goal differential that barring a freak of nature couldn’t be usurped, so the scenerio was simple for them, win their final match against Queen’s Park Rangers at home and they’d be champions. In fact equalling whatever result United obtained would be enough.

The beauty of the final round is that in order to maintain a level playing field and maximise any potential drama all of the matches are played simultaneously. Of course far more often than not the focus of the final day shifts to the lowest rungs of the table where the fates of the battlers clinging to the financial safety net of TV-money-rich, top tier football are decided. As it happens, Queens Park Rangers were right in the thick of this unenviable mess, facing the fanciful task of improving their atrocious away record in the veritable “house of pain” that is the Etihad Stadium this campaign. City were undefeated there all season, in fact only dropping points on a single occasion (something United did in the previous campaign). Adding another element of spice to this fixture was QPR’s manager Mark Hughes who had been uncerimoniously sacked as City manager in December 2009 and replaced with current head man Roberto Mancini. Hughes also happens to be a Manchester United legend, having played under Sir Alex in the mid 90’s, meaning the incentives for an improbable victory couldn’t have been greater.

For United, another campaign in which they’d been criticised for being inferior to previous incarnations of themselves, yet achieved a points tally that few clubs have ever gotten near seemed to be fizzling out into a disappointing climax. Only 5 weeks earlier with 6 games remaining they’d opened up a commanding 8 point lead at the summit, a position that prompted various betting agencies to pay out on them as champions and Mancini to publicly concede his sides chances of getting up. However after an upset loss at giant killers Wigan and an uncharacteristically sloppy finish to the home game against Everton in which they surrendered a 4-2 lead at the 80 minute mark to draw 4-4 was looking likely to haunt them if they couldn’t hold on. Astonishingly after a lucklustre showing at City where they lost 1-0 it had taken them only 4 games to blow the lead. Perhaps the most bitter pill to swallow was the fact that City’s 6-1 victory way back in October which represented a 10 goal swing in goal difference was now effectively the difference between first and second. United were visiting Sunderland in their season farewell, a club sitting mid table with not a lot to play for in that they were safe from the drop, out of contention for a European place and well adrift of bitter rivals Newcastle.

So dawned the final day in which City were the overwhelming favourites to be crowned champions for the first time in 44 years.

The beauty for sports fans at home on an occasion such as this is that the power of television allows you to choose which of these simultaneous matches you wish to watch and at any time flick between them to check the scores around the grounds. In the case of this see-sawing final day in which the destinies of teams change minute-to-minute I doubt there could ever be a more dramatic example of the rollercoaster of emotion endured by fans in the 90 minutes of a football match. United in real time scored first meaning they were in the position of champions on the live table. City scored just prior to half time putting them back on top at the break. Having gone ahead the likelihood of dropping points to QPR also blew right out. In the minds of the United players and fans, it looked as though the inevitable was well on it’s way.

A few minutes after the commencement of the second half however, the highly improbable happened. QPR scored. Word quickly spread through the United fans in the Stadium of Light, who’d been keeping a close eye on proceedings back in Manchester via radios and smartphones and a roar went up that the United players could only have assumed meant they were back on top. Of course in my loungeroom in Melbourne this was a cue for me to channel down to FoxSports 2 and gleefully enjoy the equaliser that had given us renewed hope. It wasn’t long after returning to the United game however that the commentators informed us that QPR had had a man sent off – Mr Self-Destruction himself Joseph Barton – which sent a surge of frustration through the United army knowing the task of QPR holding out for 35 minutes was going to be hard enough with 11 on the pitch let alone 10. A few minutes later though, the first of 2 miracles occurred. QPR scored again. With 10 men. Away from home. Against the title favourites. The United fans lost their shit. I flicked over and watched the goal being replayed, it was still difficult to believe. All of a sudden with United maintaining a lead over Sunderland it meant City had to score twice to get back in front.

And so the nervousness set in and the clock in the corner of the screen ticked slower and slower. United had squandered numerous opportunities in the first half to put the game to bed early and this continued in the second, painfully leaving the situation in both games on a knife-edge. As the minutes passed I daren’t switch channels to check City’s progress out of fear of jinxing QPR and as long as the United fans at Sunderland remaind stir-free so did I. Towards the end of the 90 the commentators announced there would be 3 minutes of stoppage time in our match and word had it there would be 5 minutes added to City’s. As injury time began I was well and truly dreaming of title number 20. In the 92nd minute of our match, Rio Ferdinand is seen gesturing to the bench, seemingly seeking confirmation that City are still down to which he receives a thumbs up. Moments later though the United fans have their chants interrupted by the news City have pulled back an equaliser. The buffer was gone but surely…they couldn’t score twice in added time…could they? United wrapped up their end of the deal by seeing out the 1-0 result. But now they had to wait for City’s match to end. If QPR could see out the next 2 minutes without conceding, United were champions again. I took a deep breath and switched channel ready to endure what would probably be the longest 2 minutes of my football supporting life. The action was picked up unsurprisingly on the edge of the QPR area where all 10 of their players were camped, the ball found it’s way through to Aguero on the right…my body tensed up as he got it out from his feet and pulled the trigger…it went in…not 5 seconds after I’d changed channel and with what turned out to be the final kick of the season. They’d done the unthinkable. Those c*nts had pulled a United.

It’s fair to say I’d been waiting a while for this one.  The last time Radiohead toured this country I was 21, but thanks to Thom’s voice packing it in early on that visit my unused ticket has stared back at me from my pinboard of stubs as a piece of unfinished business for 8 and a half years.  On Saturday night though at the age of 30 and having basically spent my entire 20’s learning to be super cynical about Radiohead tour rumours I finally got to experience them from within the same room.

Kiwis ‘Connan Mockasin’ opened, handpicked by Radiohead for reasons that soon became clear stylistically speaking.  The performance was enough to earmark them as one to keep an eye on but they were only ever going to be a footnote on the evening for most of us in attendance.

So the lights went down and Thom, Ed, Colin, Jonny and Phil arrived on stage to a roar of anticipatory excitement, many in the crowd undoubtedly with stories of enforced patience and longing like my own.  Lotus Flower kicked things off and was immediately followed with Bloom, the 1-2 ‘King of Limbs’ punch serving as an early statement that this tour isn’t some career victory parade, Radiohead are very much focused on ‘the now’.

It’s always been part of the band’s personality to do things on their terms and the setlist is no different. New material like ‘The Daily Mail’ and ‘Ful Stop’ was showcased, the sort of songs you’re either slightly miffed are coming at the expense of some back catalogue gold or are intrigued by and hope they’ll turn out to be classics heard in their earliest incarnations.

‘Planet Telex’ is the only song included from the first 2 albums, a disappointing stat on paper considering the greatness of ‘The Bends’ but in truth the performance itself transcended any niggling regrets about specific tracks I’d hoped to hear.  After all, they haven’t forged their legendary reputation by pandering to the masses with ‘hits’.

It’s difficult not to become pre-occupied with Thom Yorke.  His voice often tells the story more by tone than discernable lyrics, the inimitable trumpcard in the band’s considerable arsenal.  I was blown away by it’s quality, songs like ‘Nude’, ‘How To Disappear Completely’ and ‘Exit Music (For a Film)’ showcasing it’s note perfect tenderness that had 15,000+ staring in silent fixation.  When the rest of the band cranked into gear it was Yorke’s dancing that grabbed the attention, largely for it’s complete lack of inhibition.

For the most part Phil Selway was kept company at stage rear by Colin Greenwood and a guest drummer, introduced simply as Clive who beefed up the rhythm section with an extra kit.  Ed O’Brien and Jonny Greenwood flanked the stage occupying worlds all their own, immersed in the precision of their cognitive tasks, seemingly oblivious to the sum output of their efforts.

The live set re-inforces just how versatile they are.  Switching between piano ballads, proggy electronic numbers and bursts of guitar rock yet always sounding like nobody but themselves. ‘Paranoid Android’ was rolled out in it’s 3-phases of glory, a song that sits at the apex of all we love about the band with it’s blend of bleak drama, forward thinking and classic riffs.  Hearing it live is a bucket list fulfilling moment..

For all the emotional intensity of the music the band were quite the contrary between songs. Talk was kept to a minimum but when the occasional word was uttered it was usually delivered with a tension alleviating sillyness that induced chuckles from the audience.  Yorke at one point dryly offering: “If you’re wondering why I’m wearing a tie, it’s cos I have a job interview after this.”

The impassioned ovation that commenced after Idioteque had capped the first encore and continued long after Yorke alone had re-emerged to kick off another was amazing.  It was as sincere an outpouring of gratitude and adoration I’ve ever seen for a band and you get the feeling is the kick of inspiration that makes the slog at the end of a gruelling world tour all worth it for them.  Shortly after this the night come to a close with ‘Everything In It’s Right Place’ and personally, those words have rarely rung truer.

Setlist:

1.Lotus Flower

2. Bloom

3. There There

4. The Daily Mail

5. Myxomatosis

6. The Gloaming

7. Separator

8. Kid A

9. How To Disappear Completely

10. Nude

11. Weird Fishes/Arpeggi

12. Ful Stop

13. You And Whose Army?

14. Paranoid Android

15. Feral

16. Bodysnatchers

Encore

17. Exit Music (For A Film)

18. These Are My Twisted Words

19. Pyramid Song

20. Planet Telex

21. Idioteque

Encore 2

22. Give Up The Ghost

23. Reckoner

24. Everything In It’s Right Place

Ballarat chaps GOLD FIELDS recently unleashed their shiny new video for ‘Treehouse’ onto Youtube which at the time of writing had been viewed just over 230,000 times in 4 days. The people have spoken, these guys are going places.

Shot in LA earlier this year on the back of shows in Austin for South By South West and an appearance at the Aussie BBQ, it’s a clip with a budget befitting a young band on the rise. The thunderous drumming, cowbell infused percussion and hooded Stonecutter choir of handclaps underpinning this tune are offset with some atmospheric keys that permeate the smoke-filled dream sequence of a video. It’s random imagery takes us through a hazy forest of spandex clad workout girls, animal masked hospital visitors, bouncing tribesmen and an evil-eyed unicorn amongst other things, while the band themselves strut their stuff at the centre of it all.

A standout from their self-titled debut EP released at the back end of last year, the lush layered sound produced by the 5-piece on ‘Treehouse’ brings to mind the indie dance rock of bands like Friendly Fires and Delorean. Fingers crossed having recently wrapped up some regional shows on the Groovin the Moo tour, we’ll hear a full length release out of these lads asap.

Dan Deacon is a self confessed ‘nerd’, but gone are the days when the use of this term with derogatory implications has any traction. In fact it’s probably fair to say the label has taken a 180 degree turn. Nerds are now our celebrated tastemakers, just ask Mark Zuckerberg. Hell even thick rimmed glasses, a once stereotypically key component of the nerd uniform have become the ultimate fashion accessary.

Deacon’s nerd credentials are legit. Well schooled as a graduate in electro-acoustic and computer music composition, a breakthrough album unashamedly titled Spiderman of the Rings and a pair of spectacles that’d look at home on Rick Moranis in ‘Honey I Shrunk the Kids’. His high energy, participation compulsory live shows convert too cool for school, arms folded hipsters into giddy, eager to please children whose self consciousness has yet to develop and corrupt their ability to let it all hang out.

August 27 sees the release of America his first album for Domino Records and the initial taste of it comes to us via single True Thrush. It’s both immediately identifiable as a Deacon track and brimming with fresh ideas. Dense layers of hyperactive noises that crank along like the mechanisms of a souped up cuckoo clock in magnified detail, somehow working together to create a well oiled device. His ability to present these inhuman sounds in such a euphorically warm piece of music is stunning. It’s more eccentric samples that might come off as grating on their own become charming idiosyncrasies in conjunction with the lush harmonies here that every fan will be dying to lend their own voice to in the communal setting of his live gigs.

Deacon comes off as a nutty professor type whose off the wall experimentation has lead him to a discovering a very special formula. You get the feeling he could play conductor to a symphony of wind up toys and make it sound like a joyous celebration. The genius is the method behind the madness.