So beloved is Thurston Moore by the music community that he could roll around on a stage covered in guitars making snow angels and still be applauded by Pitchfork.
Thankfully, his show at the Arts Centre for the Melbourne Festival is without any of the expected attitude… or snow angels. Brought over especially by the festival to play his 2011 album Demolished Thoughts; the singer, songwriter, guitarist, and punk icon proved to be a highlight in what has been a stellar year for the Melbourne Festival.
The crowd, consisting of 90s throwbacks in grubby jeans, some sulky faced teenagers clad head to toe in Dangerfield’s finest, and miles of alternatively – yet tastefully attired members of the art scene all eye each other warily and ponder whether a $9 beer is in keeping with the punk rock ethos echoed by Sonic Youth all those years ago.
The debate over how punk pre-cut pointed sandwiches are is interrupted by the overhead chiming, signalling the commencement of opening act, Kieran Ryan.
Striding confidently but silently across the stage, Ryan has already started playing his guitar before most of the audience notices his existence. Standing tall in a sea of instruments, the singer is soon joined by his half dozen band mates who take the stage equally silent and quickly weave a vast musical landscape around Ryan’s lyrics.
Despite being backed by two percussionists, two guitarists, a bass player, violinist, cellist, and keyboard player; Ryan’s vocals never waiver nor jostle for attention. “Thank you for coming down early” he says to the early arrivals and goes on to play a politely received set.
After caving in and purchasing an exorbitantly overpriced beer, the Art Centre chimes ring out again and the crowd streams into their seats. A closer look at the stage shows that rather than using a guitar tech, Thurston Moore is testing out his own equipment and joking around with his band. As this is worked out slowly by the audience, a hush descends and the house lights eventually dim.
Any preconceived ideas of aloof pretention are dismissed instantly as Moore leans over to the mic and shushes the crowd with a goofy grin. “Hi everybody, I’m Thurston” he says before delivering a long introduction to his band, beginning with a long story about the cost of freighting a full sized harp around the world.
Once introductions are through Moore picks up his acoustic and opens with “Orchard Street”, a haunting piece which culminates in a screaming outro reminiscent of a swarm of bees. Rolling on to “Never Day” from 2007’s Trees Outside The Academy, the singer explains that the song is about falling in love at a record store to little avail.
In fact, Moore introduces nearly every single one of the songs in his almost two hour long set, most of the time his anecdotes reveal the story behind the song, which is a rare treat from any artist.
After a dark, dramatic performance of “Blood Never Lies” which is punctuated with lashings of sinister strings, the mood is lightened when Moore borrows a tissue from a member of the crowd. “17 hours on a Qantas flight” he explains, before awkwardly blowing his nose in front of the laughing audience.
He gets his own back when a punter shouts for a Sonic Youth song; “We don’t do covers,” he quips dryly.
Finally, discarding his well loved acoustic in favour of an electric, another excited punter yells out what most of the crowd is thinking; “Yeahhhhhhhh!”.
Attacking “Pretty Bad” and “Psychic Hearts” viciously, mellow Thurston is replaced with stomping, swaggering, punk Thurston as he produces a glass Coke bottle to use as an improvised slide.
The band takes a bow before being lured back with deafening applause. Closing with a couple of songs from his latest band, Chelsea Light Moving, Moore once again reverts to punk god. Their tunes are heavy yet painted over with blues.
Leaving the stage for the final time, it begins to dawn that this evening was spent in the company of a living legend. Not only is Moore an incredibly accomplished musician, he is charming, personable and downright funny. If only there were more as refreshingly as disaffected as him.
Hats off to the Melbourne Festival for procuring the perfect artist in the perfect location.
