Josh Pyke
Gin Wigmore
Fergus Brown
The Palace Theatre, Melbourne
Thursday 29th October 2009
It's a super balmy October evening and I'm dragging my flu induced body up Bourke st towards the Palace theatre for a line up that has me slightly curious - as much as fearful - to see if the sedative element in my capsules will be ignited earlier than planned. Once inside a remarkably female-heavy quotient is apparent. Not that I'm complaning.
As the crowd meanders and mingles, on stage a sensibly dressed, black-rimmed glasses wearing chap by the name of
Fergus Brown is easing into his set. I've heard bits and pieces from this Sydney-sider over the past month - namely his highly amusing and "evocative" album title
Burgers Frown. Perhaps better known for the inclusion of his track 'Last Winter' on the Emmy award-winning US TV series
The Starter Wife, Brown has a quirky vibe happening as he's flanked either side by two equally nerdy muso's. The nearest comparison I could make, and I would be being generous here, would be Ryan Adams, or perhaps more likely Jonathan Richman . He does have a cracking voice and the momentum of his set is matched by crowd enthusiasm as he finally finishes to a roar.
Next up is one the plastered-all-over-myspace queen, New Zealand's
Gin Wigmore. Her affected, raspy voice has been gaining lavish attention from parts of the industry of late, and from what's on display here tonight, it's not all media-speculation. Not afraid of a bit of dialogue with the punters, Wigmore jokes and prompts the audience with her often indiscernible kiwi-twang. The music is sharp, if painted with broad brush strokes, as she bangs out track after track of convincingly familiar pop. Crowd favourites 'Too Late for Lovers', 'Don't Stop', and 'Mr Freakshow' pull focus and are delivered with high energy. She throws in a cover of Dillinger's 'Cocaine' - after endorsing it I might add - and wraps up the set with 'Oh My'. Gin, you have my nod.
The once vacant pockets of air around me are now inundated with satchel bags and roman sandels as the pretty young things cram in for the main event. Having never seen Pyke perform before, my mind ponders the main event, returnng again and again to a central question: Can polite folk rock be entertaining on this large, uncomfortable scale?
Pyke opens his set solo and armed with an acoustic around his neck. For me, acoustic music needs to be incredibly redolent, evocative, and adventurous in order for it to be different from the thousands of strummers who have left their mark on the genre. Pyke does not do this. His sound is stock-standard and dare I say it cliche, offering little adaptation. Opening track 'Feeding the Wolves' sets the lounge room scene as the crowd hums and sways under what seems to be a bizarre hypnotic power lost on me. He goes on to play five more songs acoustically by himself - 'Silver', 'Our House Breathing', 'Lighthouse', and 'Vibrations'. An amalgamation of perhaps one extremely long ballad comes to it's conclusion and he's joined on stage by a handful of co-conspirators.
Things do pick up from this point as the music gains dimension. 'Memories' and 'Goldmines' are fun; Pyke strumming a banjo while mouthing his harmonica. Five more songs in the current format unfold, including the newbie 'Pressed Against You', and the main set closer and crowd favourite so far, 'Middle of the Hill'. Once again the music is fast becoming repetitive and I somewhat tentatively brace for the third installment of the evening.
Now in full band format Pyke marches on. After battling through a whopping twenty tracks he leaves the stage...only to return! An encore of 'Variations', 'Doldrums', and 'Private Education' closes the night to an enormous cheer and the want for more. I feel like I'm caught in a pep-rally as my sedatives are taking their full effect. It's obvious tonight that Pyke's music is appreciated, nay downright loved, by many. Perhaps even due to the same simplicity and cosiness that turns me off. He has his fans, they have him, and who am I to be snoozing under the influence.
Nick Holt