MTV Australian Video Music Awards, Sydney 2007

Last night I went to The MTV Australian Music Video Awards at The Acer Arena in Sydney. Here’s what went down: I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the MTV Awards on telly, but it is a painfully long affair, leading one to inevitably and incessantly flick channels while all of the badly-written/delivered presentations are taking place. Well, last night was like watching it without a remote control. However, it was so bad that it actually became good, and was possibly the most fun you can have on a Sunday night in the same room as Australian Idol winner Damien Leith.

Quality-wise, the evening started deceptively promisingly. Pink gave a ballsy performance which morphed into a weird and wonderful trapeze-style act as she was lofted into the air with ribbons. It was genuinely impressive stuff, and led me to believe that maybe, just maybe, we were in for three hours of decent entertainment. Hmmm, how foolish I was.The presenters were wooden, the performances were generally lifeless and totally off-the-mark, and yet, in a strange and satisfying way, we were able to laugh, cheer and heckle our way through the night. It was odd, looking down on this entirely artificial and superficial world that my peers and I are a part of. As Phil Collins once said: “This is the world we live in,” and, for my peers and I, it was a scary window into our realm. This fake world, this hideous collection of people with delusions of attractiveness, talent and intelligence is essentially what pays our wages. I laughed as skeleton impersonator Nicole Ritchie failed miserably to carry out the simplest of tasks of reading two sentences and then walking off stage in the correct direction, yet somewhere in my mind, my conscience was nagging at me that her antics pretty much single-handedly paid my wages while I was a gossip reporter.

So yes, we laughed and cheered oh-so ironically as the back-slapping festival of the brainless and the beautiful took place in front of our very eyes, while secretly wondering whether our lives and jobs were as disposable as they seemed to be. We tried to distance ourselves from the plebs on the floor while they lapped up all of the garbage that was tossed their way, and yet, for all our snobbishness, we were there too, singing along to Good Charlotte. It kinda makes you feel dirty to be part of Generation Y. While the highlight of the night was indeed Pink, there were some other decent moments, including Silverchair picking up an award and performing live. Most of the best parts were booze-fuelled moments of mockery though. We yelled along to Damien Leith and sat in bewilderment as 30 Seconds To Mars employed an almost entirely superfluous string section and 30-piece schoolboy choir which only served to make their horrible dirge sound even more messy and seem even more precocious (if that’s possible). There was no cheering though, ironically or otherwise, as Fergie and Stephanie Macintosh battled it out for ‘the most abysmal attempt to sing along to a backing-track’ of all time. The fact that talentless goons sell more records than awesome storytellers like Jeffrey Lewis and David Ford makes me sick to my stomach. Oh, and Fergie also won the battle for ‘most manly woman’ over the supercool Pink.

Due to John Howard turning him away at the airport, there was no Snoop Dogg, which was a real shame.

And so, buzzing with excitement like a schoolboy on a field-trip, I boarded the bus back to one of the two main after-parties, where the booze flowed freely (and was free). While there wasn’t much in the way of excitement, it was nice to chat to fellow cynics about just how despicable the whole industry is, while seeing no irony in the fact that we were happily drinking the free beer and eating the free food.

Essential Festival 2007, Sydney

There are few things better than free tickets to a music festival that is indoors and a ten-minute walk from your front door. While others spent their ANZAC Day playing two-up and getting off their faces on grog, I went along to The Essential Festival to check it out:The Essential Festival is a one-day event in the heart of Sydney, held at three adjacent venues right next to Central Station. At the end of a hectic festival season, the nature of it made for a refreshing change, and the fact that it was taking place in cosy pubs and venues make it perfect for the time of year, considering the rainy winter weather outside. First up was singer/songwriter Erin Marshall (above). Erin is a delight in that she falls nicely into her own little niche. Essentially, it is pop music - and by that I am being complimentary; after all, we all know that pop music at its very best is the finest music of all. Unlike much of the mush you will hear on your local commercial radio station though, Erin's songs her songs are honest and not in the slightest contrived. In front of a decently-sized crowd (especially for 2.15pm on a Wednesday afternoon), she played a familiar set of tunes that, at their most upbeat, were cruisy pop waving in the direction of folk, while, at their most bare, were folk waving in the direction of cruisy pop. Either way, the set was always nicely stripped down, with just a couple of acoustic guitars allowing the songs to breathe, and showcasing her note-perfect and dextrous vocal. I have said before that, with her pleasing aethetics, charisma and song-writing ability, she has the potential to go far. Her catchy tunes are well-suited for the mainstream yet nicely interesting at the same time.Following Erin, there wasn't much that appealed other than a few games of pool in the pub. I had already given The Hate Game a wide berth, having reviewed their rather obnoxious yet strangely foot-tappy pop too many times already, and the thought of watching the likes of PoMoMoFo and Dappled Cities Fly again was, without wishing to be disrespectful, not as tempting as whacking a few balls around a table with my friends. I did catch five minutes of Regular John, who played hair rock, and not the good kind. Rather than the grubby, beardy, haven't-washed-in-a-month rock that would have enticed me, they were more of the 'perfectly straight hair grown specifically for headbanging' variety. I left after two songs.

Next up, someone who got it absolutely spot-on. Laura Imbruglia (above, and yes, she is her sister) whacked out punchy, kooky little anti-folk tracks about washing machines that double as jukeboxes and, between songs, did a chucklesome impression of Richard Marx singing Hazard. The diminutive singer was playful in a cheeky, tomboy way with a crowd who, due to her height and the lack of a stage for her to stand on, couldn't see her. There is something about Imbruglia that is quite wonderful, and her performance was of such a high standard that it had elements of Regina Spektor and The Moldy Peaches about it. It would be a shame if her delightful weirdness was overshadowed by her surname. This is a songwriter who deserves to be heard.Next, I headed to the Gaelic Club to check out a band I was very excited to see. Earlier in the day I had avoided Teenagersintokyo as I would avoid the plague, as I was more interested in watching the band that they can only dream of being, Young and Restless (above). This is a band that knows how to put on a show. Frontwoman Karina prowls the stage, dancing, sweating and screaming, while her four male band members make an awesome noise. Imagine if YYYs had gone harder rather than more melodic after their first album and you wouldn't be far away from the sound that Y+R belt out. OK, so all of their songs sound the same, and I wouldn't want to rush out and buy their records, but as a live show it was absolutely awesome. During the last song, Karina repeatedly yelled 'only bitches talk shit' as she surfed over a crowd which included the aforementioned Miss Imbruglia. While Imbruglia's show was good enough for her not to have to get any tips from what she was watching, I sincerely hope that The Hate Game and Teenagersintokyo were paying attention. They could learn a lesson or two from this electrifying band.

While Children Collide belted out their tunes with an impressive Nirvana-esque energy, it was time for this reviewer to head home, having happily hurdled yet another decent festival unscathed.

Future Is Now 2, The Gaelic Club

I got a last minute call-up to review the second Future Is Now night just around the corner from my house. Seeing as how two of my favourite bands were on the bill, I was delighted to:MERCY ARMS
SPARKADIA
BRIDEZILLA
THE HOLIDAYS
LOVER
20/04/07
The Gaelic Theatre, Surry Hills

Following the success of the previous Future Is Now night, it returned for a welcome sequel and once again attracted a plethora of excited youngsters, as well as a guest-list as long as your arm of industry folk keen to discover the next big thing.

Newcastle trio Lover opened the evening and, while they aren’t offering anything particularly new, their catchy tunes were certainly performed with infectious energy. Similarly, local boys The Holidays played jaunty guitar pop which was hardly ground-breaking, but their set, which grew in quality with each song, was fun to watch, especially for the record company representatives in the room. Retro-sounding tunes played by handsome young lads? Very marketable.

Next up were a band that industry bigwigs were more than a little keen to cast an eye over. Having reviewed alt-folk teenagers Bridezilla a number of times, it has become apparent to me that they rarely fall short of magnificence. Debuting two powerful new songs, their standout performance reasserted my belief that these four girls and one guy are destined for greatness. This is a band whose music is so refreshing and interesting that I could watch them every day of the week, and that is just about the biggest compliment a music reviewer can possibly give.

Since I last saw Sparkadia, they have expanded from a trio to a quartet, with the inclusion of Josephine Ayling on keys and guitar adding depth to their already lush sound. They were certainly a decent choice of warm-up act for tonight’s headliners, with their ambitious, sweeping pop tunes filling the room nicely enough.

On a night of quality music performed by talented young things, Mercy Arms were well placed to bring proceedings to a close with their epic tracks. Despite a few technical problems, their set was typically exciting and full of grandeur. Kirin stalked the stage, throwing his guitar around, while Thom’s vocal soared beautifully over their classically-structured songs to create the most wonderful cacophony in a set which included new material, as well as old favourites like Caroline. The quartet was joined onstage by Bridezilla vocalist Holiday for their final three songs, including the absolutely massive set-closer Firing Line. It was a fittingly impressive end to the second Future Is Now, which is proving itself to be the premium all-ages event in the city.

Talk Of The Town

Since August I have been writing my own column in English newspaper The Sports Argus (below). I have just been informed that I have secured the column for next season as well, and there are plans to turn my inane ramblings into a book in time for Christmas. How exciting. Last week I totally abused my position as a columnist to write about an unsung family member:Over the season I have happily pontificated about all things Albion-related. I have berated mercenary footballers, revisited past glories and scratched my head about ticketing issues. I have also heaped praise on the staff who work tirelessly every day to ensure the club runs as smoothly as possible. When I say that Derek Allan is the best club secretary in the league, or that Martin Perry works ridiculously hard, I am not being sycophantic, but simply acknowledging how difficult it is to work for a homeless, cash-strapped football club. I feel the praise I offer is thoroughly deserved.

One person who I have deliberately avoided mentioning so far is perhaps the person that deserves the most credit of all. This person has worked tirelessly and often beyond the call of duty for the club for well over 20 years now. The reason I have not mentioned her before is because she is my mother, Sally Townsend, and I didn’t want to abuse my position as columnist by chatting about my folks. However, she has shown a level of professionalism, loyalty and love for the Albion that deserves applause, family member or not.

Sally’s role within the club is so far-reaching that I don’t even know what her job-title is anymore. PA to Martin Perry? Office Manager? Ticket Office Overlord? Who knows? The simple fact is that pretty much everything that happens within the club goes through Sally. That is how integral she is to the running of things. She is the first person that the players, staff, manager or directors turn to if they have a problem that needs solving.

Along with a handful of others that remain at the club, she had to put up with Bellotti everyday during the dark times. In fact, when he first arrived at the club, he made a lot of people redundant. Sally was one of those he randomly culled. Within a couple of days, he was begging her to come back, as the club simply couldn’t cope without her. Despite feeling let-down, she returned, and has barely missed a day’s work since. A few years back she had a serious operation that would normally demand months away from work, but such is her loyalty that she was back in the office within a fortnight, and continues to make that arduous journey on the train from Eastbourne every day.

Whenever Sally eventually decides to hang up her boots, I doubt there will be a massive fanfare, but there really ought to be. After all, there can’t have been many more loyal employees in the history of the club, and, while she doesn’t seek a pat on the back for her efforts, she surely deserves one.

Home

So, this week I booked my flight back to the UK. I leave Sydney on July 4, and am set to spend the summer back in Eastbourne (below).
It is with great sadness that I will depart this wonderful city, and yet there are plenty of exciting things - both professionally and personally - to look forward to back in the UK.

You will continue to read my words here, and Sydneysiders will still see my work in Drum Media.

As I have said before, I realise that I am very lucky in the fact that wherever I am in the world, I will be separated from some very, very good friends. I'm sure, come July when I wave my life in Sydney goodbye, I will feel as far from lucky as it is possible to be.

But lucky I certainly am.

Angus and Julia Stone at The Factory

Sometimes you can just tell when bands are on the cusp of something special. Last week, Angus and Julia Stone whipped The Great Escape crowd into an absolute frenzy of excitement, and last night they managed to pack out The Factory, a venue often left half-empty by more established acts. Following the sweaty festival sing-along last week, things were a little more chilled out on this particular Saturday night in Enmore (or, for those of us who have a grip on geography/reality) Marrickville. Julia opened the evening up with occasional set-closer, the heart-breaking Chocolates and Cigarettes, before Angus launched into Babylon. While these familiar tracks went down well with the attentive, friendly audience, it was once again the as-yet unreleased songs that shone through and showed an ever-growing confidence in the duo’s songwriting ability, most notably on Hollywood and Black Jacket. At separate junctures, both Angus and Julia showcased songs that edged away from their gentler folky roots: Angus purveying an astoundingly throaty holler into the mic while Julia encored with a jaunty number.

Angus’ voice was as soft and laid-back as ever and induced many a swoon from the females in the room, while Julia’s vocal was typically intriguing. The way she can vary how she delivers a song gives it a whole new meaning and feeling each time. I have seen her perform All Of Me three times in the last week, and each time the song offers a different emotion: pained, yearning, tender. This is not a contrived performance construct, but rather shows that there is genuine feeling poured into each and every gig. Angus and Julia Stone clearly do not go through the motions.

And so, all too soon, Sydney said a fond farewell to their favourite siblings, who went off to finish recording their debut long-player, which, on current form, promises to be something truly special.

The Fratellis - Costello Music

I recently interviewed Barry from The Fratellis. He was fun to talk to, and it prompted me to post the review I did of their debut album a couple of months ago. Having spoken to the band, I like to think I got it pretty spot-on:THE FRATELLIS
Costello Music

Some bands want to reinvent the wheel. Some bands want to save the world. Some bands want to tell you all about their tortured souls. Scotland’s The Fratellis seem to desire nothing more than for you to sing and dance to their unabashed, sweaty, raucous, nostalgic rock ’n’ roll music.

Because of this, Costello Music isn’t remotely groundbreaking, and at times, actually plays like a cut-and-paste history of British indie rock. It’s has the upbeat, joyous disposition of Supergrass, the drunken swagger of Oasis and the glam of T Rex, not least on standout track Chelsea Dagger.

There’s not much hidden depth to Costello Music, but it is inarguably enjoyable. Jaunty opening track Henrietta is a perfect indicator of what is to follow, and if the band’s intention was to cram as many frighteningly catchy riffs and choruses into one record then they’ve succeeded. Even one of the few moments of relative calm - the slower, acoustic Whistle For The Choir, has an absolutely massive chorus seemingly designed for festival crowds to holler along to.

With the shameless retro of Costello Music, The Fratellis draw comparisons with Jet, but that shouldn’t necessarily put you off. Admittedly, there is nothing new on offer here, but there is also nothing contrived about it, and certainly there is enough energy, fun and infectiousness to make this a good, sing-along album. Nothing more, nothing less. Oh, and if ever a record sounded like a drunken night on the town, it’s this one.

The Great Escape Festival

I went to The Great Escape Festival as a guest of the official photographer, Daniel(below). The festival is a three day event situated at Newington Armory on the Parramatta River: With its laid back vibe, interesting venue and host of alternative attractions, The Great Escape falls into the same category as England’s Latitude Festival and, while the organisers need to perhaps try and lure a few more big name acts next year, there was plenty to see and do over three days of changeable weather.

Friday started with a performance in the VIP area from my dear friends, Angus and Julia Stone (above). After the show I was delighted to hang out with them, catching up with their tales from their time in my homeland, and accompanying them on a photo shoot with the aforementioned Daniel. As the day grew older, it became apparent that I wasn’t really going to see many bands at all. This was largely due to the fact that I simply had no inclination to. It would appear that I am turning into one of those despicable industry people who get free tickets to festivals and then neglect the array of live music on offer. In my defence, I wasn’t reviewing for any publication, and simply enjoyed the freedom of sitting in the sunshine with some friends.However, in spite of my blasé attitude towards the music, I made sure I caught the acts that I really wanted to see. After enjoying a typically fun show from a sore-throated Ben Kweller, I headed to The Tin Shed to watch Iain Archer. His tunes nicely showcased his songwriting ability, while retaining plenty of charm.

After Archer, it seemed that half of the festival crowd headed to The Terrace to watch Angus and Julia (above, playing the trumpet). Anyone who has ever seen them knows that they are simply wonderful, and on this occasion they were as lovely as ever. The amazing thing about the gig though was the crowd's reaction, which was simply unbelievable. Angus would sing a line, then step back and just watch the crowd sing the words for them. Neither he nor his sister could hide their astonished delight. It was clearly a seminal moment for them, and left me with a genuine sense of emotion that I haven't felt since Morrissey had me in tears at the Reading Festival a few years back. Seriously, seeing their beaming faces utterly awestruck at the reaction they were receiving was truly affecting.

There was no way to suitably follow this rather emotional occasion, certainly not by watching Wolfmother huff and puff their way through a histrionic set on the Village Green Stage (below), and so I headed home for the night. The following day was ruined by the weather before I had even arrived on site. I met up with some of my friends at Central Station and we jumped on a train to Olympic Park. After reaching the park, one must then catch a shuttle bus to the venue. While we were waiting for the bus, the heavens opened and we all got absolutely soaked to the skin. My imitation Converse were like sodden cardboard and my entirely impractical felt jacket acted as a sponge.

The sun came out and dried me off nicely while I watched Little Birdy, who were everything I hate about music - ugly songs fronted by a tryhard lead singer. To be honest though, I was merely killing time before The Magic Numbers, who were the only band I wanted to see on this day. As they were about to start, the rain lashed down again, meaning that, having been dry for approximately 4 minutes, I was completely soaked once more. Lacking an umbrella, raincoat or change of clothes, I was set to be stuck in wet threads for the rest of the day. To be honest, The Magic Numbers were so excellent that I didn't mind the inclement weather. Since I last saw them two years ago, they have improved their stage presence immeasurably, and rocked the Riverside Stage to within an inch of its life. It was a joyous hour of lovingly crafted music, and worth getting drenched for.

A couple of hours’ aimless wandering followed the second magical brother-and-sister show of the weekend. I took in a show by the barking mad Lee Scratch Perry (whose set ended with a Cribs style mass stage invasion). The impressive Children Collide showed plenty of energy but not enough to stop me thinking about my wet feet, and so I made my way home again, in the hope that the decent weather would return for the final day's fun.To my relief, the sun blazed down as I made my way back to the festival for the last day, and upon arriving I immediately went to admire the beautiful folk music that Lou Rhodes was purveying down by the river. After spending a few minutes gawping at the statuesque Sarah Blasko, it was time to take in Bridezilla (above). It was another very impressive performance, played out to a packed Tin Shed, and saw the second mass stage invasion of the festival during singalong set-closer Saint Francine.

After the quintet had spent forty minutes wowing me, I took in the end of The Lemonheads’ show, saw some stuff on the cabaret stage, made a fool of myself at Swingball, and hung out with old and new friends, all while I really should have been watching Gomez. Finally, The Temper Trap (above) rocked my socks off with a familiar-looking string section, and a show that was infectiously energetic and exciting. They really are great to watch live. Then, as others went to check out The Roots, and then made an impact on the booze at the afterparty, it was time for me to bid The Great Escape a fond farewell.

So, while the line-up hardly blew the V Festival out of the water, the atmosphere of The Great Escape was rather lovely and laid-back. It had an old-fashioned feel to it that is sadly lacking with the current crop of corporately branded uber-festivals. Sometimes, all you really need is a field, some likeminded people and for the festival organisers to pay attention to the little things (ping pong tables, beanbags, pretty lighting, free bbq). Now, if they can just encourage just a few more big name foreigners to come along next year, we’ll have a mind-blowingly fun festival to look forward to.

V Festival 2007, Sydney

I reviewed the first ever Australian V Festival for Drum Media. My hero, Jarvis Cocker (below) was one of the highlights. It was tough keeping within my 800 word limit, so here is an extended version for you:Does Sydney really need so many festivals? Well, probably not, but with a plethora of international talent on offer at V, punters were happy enough to stump up the cash for yet another day in a field. However, here’s a tip for festival organisers, if you want a reviewer to review the bands you are putting on display, it might be worth making sure they get in on time. I stood in a queue with of host of other Very Important People after the music had started, while stewards tried to organise a wristband to verify that I was over 18. Ironically when the wristbands arrived, my companion, who wasn’t over 18, was happily handed one with no ID check. It’s good to see the system works. Anyway, once through the gates with freedom to responsibly drink alcohol, I took in Sydney’s own Mercy Arms (below), who got proceedings off to a bracing start, with Thom’s vocals soaring over their classically-structured epics, which, as always, were played with honesty and conviction. Judging by this showing, they might just steal your heart this year. Meanwhile, Melbourne’s The Temper Trap embellished their excellent live show by adding a string section which gave nice depth to their fast-paced, invigorating guitar tunes. And yes music fans, that was indeed Bridezilla’s supercool Daisy on violin.While LA’s Softlightes made the most of the beautiful sunshine to woo the crowd with their dreamy, melodic, experimental pop, local kids The Ghosts put in another sterling performance which illustrated exactly why their star continues to ascend at pace. Gabby’s vocal has never sounded so good. This is a band that improves with every performance.

By the time Melbourne’s Muscles had made an energetic surprise appearance, the crowd had noticeably swelled in anticipation of the arrival of Phoenix. “Good evening, my friends,” said frontman Thomas, even though it was only 3.15pm. Still, we happily forgave the much-loved Frenchmen for their slightly incorrect use of English, as they played neat, tight indietronica so charming that the world seemed a much nicer place by the end of their set.
Another French act, Nouvelle Vague, offered some kitsch, instantly disposable bossa nova covers of classic indie songs, including The Buzzcocks’ Ever Fallen In Love?, while elsewhere rock dinosaurs New York Dolls churned their way through an ugly set. Meanwhile, those who sought fun danced along to English quintet New Young Pony Club (above), who had the crowd practically turning cartwheels with their funky favourite, Ice Cream.

“It’s getting a bit chilly in’t it? I hope you’ve brought a cardigan,” said Jarvis Cocker in his familiar northern English drawl. An astonishing 29 years after he formed Pulp as a geeky teenager, the songwriter brought his legendary dance moves to V just as the sun was setting, and performed a collection of solo material which sounded as fresh and important as ever. Between songs, the bespectacled crooner threw confectionary treats into the crowd and chatted with such humour and affability that one would have been forgiven for thinking each and every audience member was a close friend of his. For many people, including me, Cocker (below) represents pure genius, and why anybody chose to be anywhere other than watching his wondrously beguiling performance is a mystery. Following Cocker’s majestic show, Beck really didn’t live up to expectations. He played his hits, his band members had a dance-off and the ingenious live puppet display was a clever touch, but there seemed to be a piece of the jigsaw missing. Mr Hansen was clearly lacking his usual spark, and was apparently suffering from the remnants of a bout of flu. While an off-colour Beck is still more entertaining than many fully-fit artists, the great man is capable of far, far more spectacular performances than this. After all, when the best thing about your gig is a puppet show, you know you’re not at the top of your game.

With queues for the bars and the toilets stretching as far as the eye could see, people who wanted to either expell or intake liquid were frantically checking their watches, as it was soon to be time for the arrival of two really big-hitters from overseas, who, due to the capriciousness of festival timetables, annoyingly performed pretty-much simultaneously. Purveyors of intelligent synth-pop, Pet Shop Boys (below) played hit after hit to a joyous crowd. Sartorially stunning, and with great visuals and dancers, the English duo can really put on a show. It’s also easy to forget just how many classic tunes they’ve penned, and, as the opening bars of each song rang out, the crowd yelped in utter delight. Amongst others, we were treated to Rent, Suburbia and Always On My Mind. Camper than Christmas and infinitely more fun, Pet Shop Boys’ magnificent performance was unquestionably the most enjoyable of the day. Quite simply, those who missed it, missed out.
People who tore themselves away from the Pet Shop Boys experience to finally see Pixies literally role into town might have initially felt slightly disappointed. Sure, they played absolutely faultlessly, but with a serious lack of interaction with the crowd, one sensed they were simply going through the motions. However, all it took was to hear one of their seminal songs to remember just why they are so well-loved. After all, how can anyone stand in the middle of a field with thousands of likeminded fellows singing the “oooh” parts to Where Is My Mind? and not have the best time ever?

After hollering along with abandon to Gigantic, Sydney waved farewell to the American legends, probably for good, and a jubilant crowd shuffled home in the knowledge that they’d just been entertained by one of the most influential bands of all time. So memorable was the overall experience that it no longer seemed to matter whether Pixies had come here to fulfil their desire to play to Australian audiences or merely to milk the cash cow dry.

So, does the city really need another festival? Well, any event that has the clout to offer such an impressive line-up is surely a welcome addition. More of the same next year please.