Suffix: flow or discharge
It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble
It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so
I’ll let the music do the talking today. There’s Teleman’s ticking beat to open, Kaytramine to bounce to, Mamalarky to wake you up, Bobbie Gentry for a warm hug, Laura Wolf for a bit of weirdness, and Weyes Blood’s terrific Andromeda from a couple years back to round it out.
It’s been a busy month for live music. Three very different shows, all enjoyable in their own way – but two of them well above the other.
This group had been on my list for a long time. Even in my two and a half years in their homeland of Canada I never found the opportunity. But it was worth the wait – they did not disappoint.
We arrived just as the support act was wrapping up, and moved through the room like ambulance drivers expecting a path to clear. Typically at these events the crowd thins between the support and the main act, and it creates the perfect opportunity to advance to a good position. But this audience was dedicated. No toilet breaks, no drink top-ups. We were ready to part a sea of people, but quickly discovered we were more of a Kmart-brand Moses than the Charlton Heston variety.
Nevertheless we found a great spot and settled in. The room went dark and blue spotlights started pulsing as the opening bars of Organon played. And from that moment we were transported to an ethereal place, floating on a sea of blissful swooning soundscapes atop an inflatable made of warm synths and delicious bass.
Emmanuelle Proulx up front was beaming with an infectious ear-to-ear grin, her joy shining through to her breathy vocals. Her voice was every bit as smooth and emotional as the recorded version. The lead guitarist Jessy Caron also made his presence felt, and was given several opportunities during the performance to show off with some solo work – pushing and bending the guitar to sound almost like a saxophone.
The crowd too were fantastic. Nobody there was a casual fan waiting to hear “that one song they knew”. Everyone knew everything and had been waiting a long time to hear it. By the encore it became one big sing-along.
I’d see Men I Trust again without hesitation. They were absolutely incredible, and almost as haunting and powerful at times as Agnes Obel from last year (that being a very high bar to clear). I was grinning ear-to-ear, completely at peace as the waves of dreamy bliss crashed upon the shores of our ears.
These guys have been on my radar for a while, but it’s never been intimate. They have a million albums, a lot of lengthy songs, and they dance across a broad spectrum of genres. These are all things that typically can appeal to me, but I discovered them far too late. It’s a bit like someone recommending a series which is already ten seasons deep – enough to make it all seem too daunting. But what I heard, I liked – and over time I listened to more and more. I’d still only touched the surface, but felt I had my head wrapped around enough to know most of the songs in a concert.
I heard none of those songs played live.
But it seems I was not alone. Part of the problem with having such an extensive and varied body of work, is that it makes it harder and harder to satisfy everyone. Those I was with felt the same way, but all for different reasons. Some wanted the heavier stuff, some wanted folksy songs, some (myself) would have enjoyed more of their psychedelic tracks.
All that said, it was still an enjoyable show. The stage visuals and lighting were great, the band were tight and sharp. But as the show progressed, the crowd grew restless (most likely for reasons mentioned above) – and the band knew it. There was no encore. The lights came on and everyone seemed fine with the show being over – the energy just wasn’t in the room.
A great night out with friends, but perhaps not the best gig, all things considered.
I was in two minds about seeing this. I’ve long been a fan of Beck – but I’ve not really been into much of his work in the past fifteen years, so it was feeling very much like a love of the past.
The drawcard which got me over the line was the announced “acoustic” tone of the show, which suggested the potential for more of his back catalogue of blues and folk songs, along with cuts from the greatest breakup album ever recorded. The show delivered these, and more – and it was an absolutely incredible experience.
The show was divided into two sections – the first with Beck alone on stage, singing stripped-back acoustic versions of a bunch of songs. These were interspersed with amusing anecdotes detailing the stories behind them, as well as tales of his previous adventures in Australia. A ton of favourites came one after another – Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime, Guess I’m Doing Fine, It’s All in Your Mind, and more.
Later Beck was joined on stage by two supporting musicians – one on a steel guitar, the other on a double bass. Beck remained on his acoustic guitar, added a harmonica, made use of a drum machine at his feet, and took the occasional journey over to a piano at side of stage. The harmonica and steel guitar are two of my favourite instruments. In fact, they’re probably the main reason I have time for country and folk music. While synths make me float, the harmonica keeps my feet on the ground. I find the twangs and whirrs as comforting and warm as a hug – and we got plenty of hugs. Perhaps the warmest was during a cover of Lonesome Whistle, which I found myself still singing the next morning as I cooked breakfast (without a doubt to the delight of my neighbours).
There were none of the alt-rock, funk, electronic or hip-hop-flavoured tracks he’s best known for, but that didn’t equate to a lack of energy on stage, nor in the crowd. He even managed to get in some of his trademark dance moves as the drum machine played an improvised loop. And it wouldn’t be Beck without a few surprises – the best of which was a song he performed featuring Chat GPT-generated lyrics for a “generic Beck song”. The results were hilarious, and the self-deprecation with which he performed it only made it more endearing.
The show ran just shy of two hours, with two encores – the first of which ended with an amazing performance of One Foot in the Grave, complete with crowd work and Beck churning his harmonica faster and faster with each section building to the song’s climax.
The audience were cheering loudly for a third encore, but we knew we’d been spoiled already. A cover of Daniel Johnston’s True Love Will Find You in the End finished the show, which seemed a fitting mood on which to leave.
I found myself down a rabbit hole this week reading about The Year Without a Summer. In April 1815, the volcanic Mount Tambora in Indonesia experienced the most explosive eruption in recorded history. It ejected so much sulphur dioxide into the atmosphere that a persistent fog reddened and dimmed the sun well into the Spring and Summer of the following year, and as far away as the United States and Europe. It was a fog that was unaffected by wind or rain. Global temperatures dropped, crops were heavily impacted, and mass famine claimed the lives of up to 100,000 people.
It also forced Mary Shelley, Lord Byron and John William Polidori to stay indoors for much of their summer holiday in Switzerland, away from the incessant rain and red skies. There, they took a bunch of laudanum and Byron challenged the group to see who could come up with the scariest story. Shelley created Frankenstein, and between them Byron and Polidori conceived the modern concept of a Vampire. Two of literature’s most enduring creations were invented at the same time in an opium-fuelled lockdown. Wild.
Now we’re far from that, but it still felt pertinent to read this as the days have grown shorter, the air cooler, and the skies darker. The mornings especially have been dark. I don’t consider myself a “morning person” nor an “evening person”, but I do know that I’m not great at sleeping in. My body clock has its own plans and more often than not wakes me around 5:30 almost every day regardless of when I go to bed – and I’m not usually one to fight it. Last year at Splendour in the Grass, I spent two to three hours each morning killing time as I waited for the rest of the house to greet the day. But mornings are superior for many things – workouts, sunrise runs, long breakfasts, reading, thinking, sex. An early start can leave a day feeling fulfilled before work even begins.
But evenings have also been a lot busier of late, and as the end of daylight saving turns that 5:30 start into 4:30, it makes the next few weeks a challenge until my internal timekeeper adjusts my body clock. Jetlag rarely takes me, but winding back that clock one hour is like fangs in my neck.
I wouldn’t last too long as a vampire. The moment the sun came out I’d race out and explode like Mount Tambora.
Here’s what’s been in my ears this month. I’ve had that Spaceport song on loop.